Black Hills Bride (7 page)

E
rik sent his two most reliable men—definitely
not
including Ellis—to pick up Dixie’s new horse and have him shod in town as she’d instructed.

She had surprised him with her declaration that she’d
found the one,
as if choosing a horse was some kind of magical heart thing, and not knowledge and logic.

It wasn’t all knowledge and logic for him, either, he supposed. More of a gut instinct.

But then again,
he
knew what he was doing. Dixie was a complete novice where horses were concerned.

And she’d named him Victory.

He chuckled aloud and shook his head. What kind of a name was that for a horse?

The stable boys arrived back, bounding out of the truck with the energy of youth. But instead of going to unload the horse, they made a beeline straight for him, their expressions sober.

Worried.

“What’s wrong?” he muttered, immediately sensing trouble.

“It’s Miz Sullivan’s new horse, boss,” the older of the two hands answered, pulling his hat off and mopping his forehead with his sleeve. “He’s—”

“What?”

“Well. Would you look at this.” Erik recognized the sarcastic drawl as Ellis’s, and it was coming from the back of the trailer.

He gestured to the two youths, his gaze warning them to get Ellis away from the horse and out of the picture before Dixie arrived. It was no secret how Erik felt about Ellis, and how Ellis felt about Dixie. Everyone involved knew of the animosity between the threesome.

He set off immediately behind the stable hands, his heart bolting out of his chest as he saw Dixie rounding the corner of the main lodge, her eyes sparkling in delight.

He made an abrupt turn to intercept her, hoping to allow the hands time to deal with Ellis.

“Did you see Victory yet?” she asked, bouncing with nervous energy. She reached for his hand and pulled him along, as eager as a young child to show off her prize.

“Not yet,” he answered gruffly, but he didn’t release her hand, which felt soft and tiny in his. He allowed her to drag him, as slowly as he could manage, in the direction of the trailer.

“What a hoot.” Ellis again. Apparently the hands hadn’t done their job.

“What?” Dixie demanded, dropping Erik’s hand and rounding the corner of the trailer to confront Ellis. “What’s wrong with Victory?”

Ellis barked out a laugh. “You don’t know, do you, little miss?”

Erik felt darkness drop over him like a cloak. With supreme effort, he managed to control his anger, and with even less restraint, his fist, which clenched convulsively, begging for a target.

“Ellis,” he warned, his voice low and gravelly.

“What, boss?” Ellis protested. “I was just looking over Victory here,” he said, snickering as he said the horse’s name. “A fine-looking horse she’s got here. Perfect for her.”

Erik frowned at Ellis, then turned his attention to Victory, his gaze automatically running over the gelding’s frame, checking him for faults from head to toe.

He was a real beauty of a horse, all right. Erik would have chosen Victory himself, if given the opportunity.

But for Dixie?

Not the choice he would have made. Not the kind of horse he’d pictured her riding. Not the sweet, gentle mare he’d put her on.

He knew without asking exactly to what Ellis was referring. The horse was skittering way too much under a simple rope halter lead, and his round, brown eyes communicated his panic.

“Lady, you can’t ride this horse,” Ellis declared, hooting his disdain.

Dixie planted her fists on her hips and frowned. “And why is that, exactly?”

Erik’s chest tightened as he stepped forward to intercept the impending storm. She looked so tough. And inside she was so very vulnerable.

Why hadn’t she taken him with her to buy a horse? She should have asked for his help. He would have gladly given it to her.

“For starters,” Ellis sneered, “because he’s green broke and newly gelded. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that.”

“So?” she demanded, her face turning a shade darker by the second.

“Did you ride him, Dixie?” Erik asked gently, quietly, attempting to turn the tide of the conversation.

She whirled on him, her eyes glowing with sparks of anger that made his gut clench in empathy. “No, of course I didn’t ride him. He didn’t have his shoes on yet, as you well know.”

This time, every one of the stable hands laughed, though they sobered immediately when faced with Erik’s glare.

He reached for her, but she backed away and folded her arms around herself in an instinctively protective gesture that made Erik’s heart ache for her.

“What?” she asked, sounding suspicious as her gaze darted from boy to boy, finally resting on Ellis. “What did I do wrong?”

He wished she wouldn’t have phrased her question that way, especially not while looking straight at Ellis. She was unconsciously blaming herself for her error, even before she knew what she’d actually done wrong.

And Ellis was the worst person in the world she could ask. Couldn’t she see the blatant animosity spewing from the young man?

“You’ve been had, lady. You can’t ride this horse,” the belligerent boy scoffed.

“That’ll be enough, Ellis,” Erik barked.

Dixie laid a gentle hand on Erik’s chest, causing his heart to stop cold. “It’s okay, Erik. Let him have his say.” And to Ellis, “Go on.”

“You shouldn’t buy a horse without riding him,” he instructed, looking superior.

“I told you, I—”

“You can ride a horse without shoeing him first, Dixie. Especially in the meadow,” Erik inserted, his voice low and gentle, the same tone he’d use with the skittish horse now tied to the trailer.

“But John said I couldn’t!”

“John?” he asked, puzzled.

“John Needleson.”

Her nearest neighbor, discounting Erik.

Erik tensed. There was something more going on here than merely a mistake. It was a gut feeling, but he was a man who paid attention to his instincts.

He shook his head, though he kept his thoughts to himself. He’d bet his next paycheck Needleson sold her a green broke horse on purpose. He’d flat-out lied to her, and Erik wanted to know why. He made a mental note to investigate—find out just exactly what John Needleson was up to, and why he had any negative interest in Dixie.

“How could I have known horses didn’t need shoes?” Dixie’s eyes welled with tears, and Erik had never felt so helpless as he did at that moment. “Humans do.”

You could have taken me with you,
he wanted to yell, but instead he put an arm around her. “It was an honest mistake,” he soothed.

Every tear wounded him, and he couldn’t imagine what they were doing to her. He only wished he could somehow take away her pain.

Incapable of helping Dixie through her trauma, he refocused his anger on John Needleson. How could the man deceive her like that?

“Snivel a little. That’ll help,” Ellis taunted, laughing derisively.

“You’re
gone,
” Erik shouted, glad he finally had someone to vent on. “As of now.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding!” Ellis yelled, turning on him. “I’m the best man you have to run your horses, and you know it.”

“Not anymore you’re not,” Dixie inserted, wiping her tears away with the edge of her flannel shirt and glaring at Ellis.

Then she turned to Erik, her eyes flaming with anger. “And I don’t need your help. I can handle my staff problems on my own.”

Ignoring Dixie, Ellis shoved Erik on the shoulder, but he stood his ground. “You’re gonna can me because of a
woman?
”

“I’m firing you because of your attitude. Now move.” Erik turned his back on the young man and reached for the horse, which warily shifted to the side, away from his grasp.

He immediately dropped his hand and lowered his voice. “The rest of you boys better find something productive to do. Now.”

He didn’t have to say it twice. They were gone.

But when he turned around, so was Dixie.

D
ixie had never been so disappointed in her life. Or so humiliated.

She had no one to blame but herself for her actions, and the fingers of guilt pointed right at her. She had bought the first horse she’d seen, and hadn’t even had the common sense to mount him.

It was bad enough the entire brood of stable hands had witnessed her error. They already disliked and distrusted her, and now she’d given them plenty of fodder with which to verify their original impressions.

But what distressed her most was seeing the gentle compassion on Erik’s face as he commiserated with her over her own stupidity. His tender expression was forever etched in her mind.

If he’d maligned her as the others had done, she could have handled it, brushed it off and forgotten it happened. But if a picture was worth a thousand words, Erik’s expression was worth ten times that.

She didn’t know why it mattered so much—why it mattered at all. She’d had her one love, and look how that turned out. She didn’t want to think of Erik as a man, especially a man she could depend and lean on. Her heart welled, but she forced her feelings back.

She didn’t need a man. What Erik thought didn’t matter. But the situation rankled nonetheless, a vaguely familiar feeling from childhood, and from her father.

A sensitive little girl and only child who wanted to please her daddy, she’d felt awful whenever she’d done something wrong, whether intentionally or by accident.

She remembered the stern look on her father’s face that said
I’m disappointed in you.

He never had to say a word to load guilt on her small shoulders. A look would do just as well—better, perhaps, for all that was left unspoken.

She hated rejection, especially from those she most loved.

But she was an adult now, and not a child to be reprimanded. And Erik was as different from her father as night was from day.

He was—well, she didn’t know what he was, other than extraordinary.

He’d been a perfect gentleman, not censuring her for her mistake, but sympathizing with her. Why did his compassion load the guilt on so much stronger than if he’d brushed her off or dressed her down?

And why did she care so much what he thought?

The fact of the matter was, she should have asked his advice and she hadn’t. She should have allowed him to come with her as an expert horseman, but she hadn’t. She’d selfishly wanted to keep this one area of her life to herself alone.

And she’d been wrong.

As an adult she could admit that, and, she realized belatedly, she should. The best thing for her to do now was to find Erik and apologize. Then they’d both feel better.

She’d explain why she had chosen Victory, however irrational her reasons might be, and he’d tell her for sure if she’d made an irreparable mistake.

Finding Erik wouldn’t be difficult, she thought fondly. If he wasn’t in the dining room, he was in the stable with the horses. His love for horses was one of his most endearing qualities, and Dixie found her stomach fluttering in her throat.

It was only a short walk from her new studio apartment in the main lodge to the barn, and as she walked, she admired the many changes she—
they
had made.

The main lodge, a beautiful, rustic log cabin structure with evergreen trim, was finished, complete with a large kitchen and a staff to match. Individual log cabins for guest facilities were springing up around the outskirts of the main lodge, tucked privately into the profusion of pine trees.

The stable was the delightful centerpiece of the retreat, with well over a dozen trail horses for staff and guests. The stable hands had broken several trails, and had even set up a faux campsite for steak-dinner rides and singing guitar-accompanied hymns around a campfire.

Erik had even promised to teach her to handle a team of horses with the hay wagon. Hayrack rides were one of her favorite childhood memories. She couldn’t wait to share the experience with a whole new generation of bright-eyed children.

Abel would be pleased she’d done so well. For some reason, his memory didn’t hurt as much. She wasn’t lonely anymore.

She had God. And Erik was coming to mean more to her by the day. God had given her a new direction, and she found she was really, truly able to find joy through her sorrow.

She entered the stable, immediately inhaling the pungent, enticing aroma of fresh horse and hay. She loved the inherent peace the stable brought to her soul.

Here, she often thought of Jesus being born in a lowly manger, and grasped a small snippet of understanding of the wisdom of God in sending a King to be born in such a place, swaddled in a bed of hay.

But she was rarely alone in the stable, and was surprised to find no one was present. Not Erik, nor a single one of the stable boys.

“Erik?” She called his name several times, but heard only the echo of her own voice from the rafters in response.

She turned to go, then hesitated. She might not be able to ride Victory, but there was no reason not to visit him and start to build a trust relationship between them.

She could feed him a sugar cube or a carrot, anyway. Maybe even groom him.

She walked down the middle of the stable aisle, noting the nameplates on each of the stalls, some with horses whickering and snorting at her over the doors.

Jazz. Commander. Mercury. Antonio. But where was Victory?

The stable hand nicknamed Tallahassee shuffled noisily through the back door at the opposite end of the stable, which was a normal, human-size door, as opposed to the front, wide-swinging doors specially made to accommodate the horses.

The boy whistled as he worked, and didn’t appear to notice Dixie, who stood silently watching him for a moment, a little nervous about speaking to one of the stable hands individually, though of course she’d never show it to his face.

She still didn’t understand their aversion to her. Though they treated her with respect, they appeared to avoid her as studiously as she avoided them.

Tally was a sturdy, broadly built boy, and one of the friendlier hands. She felt he’d warmed to her, just a little, but it was hard to tell, especially in the company of his peers, where she usually found him.

Her heart stirred with longing to introduce this boy—each of the boys—to the Lord who loved them.

When Tally looked up and realized he was being watched, he immediately stopped whistling and swept his hat from his head, exposing a mop of shoulder-length golden-brown curls. “Is there something I can do for you, Miz Sullivan?” he asked respectfully.

There was none of the mockery or coarseness on his face or in his voice which she half expected, expressions she’d often experienced in the past.

And Tally had more reason than any to ridicule her, as he was one of the boys sent to get Victory.

He knew all the details of her blunder, probably by heart. But unlike Ellis, he didn’t appear inclined to razz her with his superior knowledge and her own foolishness.

“I wonder if you could point me in the direction of Victory’s stall.”

He nodded, though he looked oddly perplexed at her simple query. “Yes, ma’am, Miz Sullivan.”

“Thank you, Tally.”

He directed her back down the long double row of stalls, stopping before the stall nearest the front doors. “Right here, ma’am. We haven’t made a nameplate for him yet.”

“That’s okay, Tally.” She looked to see if he found the name Victory as amusing as Erik appeared to, but Tally was looking at his boots, his face lightly flushed.

She smiled at the adolescent’s shy reaction to her. It beat resentment by a long shot.

“I think I’d like to get him a plate myself. Something unique. Victory is special to me.”

Tally nodded, his gaze now fixed on her. She could see he understood the odd, wonderful connection between horse and human. He’d make a good stable hand, when he grew into the job.

She now understood and accepted Erik’s choice, at least in Tally. Maybe the other boys were the same. She hoped they’d choose to stay the year, maybe longer.

Anxious to see her beauty boy, she walked up to the stall door, reaching in her pocket for a sugar cube. “Victory isn’t here,” she exclaimed.

Tally shrugged. “No, ma’am.”

At least now she knew why he’d looked so perplexed when she’d asked to see the horse. He’d known Victory wasn’t there.

Now why didn’t he share that vital shred of information with her?

“Where is he?” she demanded, then instantly regretted her imperious tone. She flashed him an apologetic smile, which he returned with a tentative grin of his own, blushing so strongly, his freckled face looked like it might be sunburned.

He cleared his throat, then toed his boot into the dirt. “Mr. Wheeler has him,” he admitted quietly, looking as if he were wishing he could dig a hole to China with his boot and climb on through.

With effort, she restrained the annoyance she felt with Erik for taking her horse without her knowledge, and patted Tally on the shoulder. “I don’t suppose you know where he is?”

She forced herself to keep her voice gentle and persuading, though what she really wanted to do was shout the barn down.

Tally looked away.

He obviously didn’t want to tell her. She watched a war rage on his face, and she knew what he was thinking. She was the boss lady, but Erik might not care to have his whereabouts known, and most especially not blabbed to the female boss by a common stable hand.

“Never mind, Tally, I’ll find him myself,” she said, saving him the agony of a decision. She turned away, toward the back door and the corrals.

“You might look for him in the back pasture,” Tally said so low, she almost didn’t hear him. She glanced back to see him plant his sweat-stained, honey-colored hat on his head.

She chuckled lightly. “Thanks, Tally.”

He tipped his hat and grinned shyly.

She found Erik just where Tally indicated, in the back pasture, with Victory on a long, braided rope. She marched toward the pasture, primed and loaded to read him the riot act, but as she approached and saw what he was doing, she realized she was witnessing something out of the ordinary.

Erik spoke in the same low, kind tone he used with her when they were alone, though she’d never heard such a long string of words from the man’s mouth at one time.

Her heart fluttered erratically as she listened, feeling like an eavesdropper. His words were soft and sweet, the words of a lover. She wanted to close her eyes and let the resonance of his voice wrap around her, though she vetoed her heart’s content.

Not surprisingly, the horse was responding. How could he not, she wondered, with such a man beckoning?

Victory whickered at the man and paced around him in an easy trot at a distance of several feet. Erik kept the lead loose, guiding the horse with his voice more than his hand.

Dixie found herself responding, as well. If she were a horse, she most certainly would have whickered as Victory had done. Inside, she felt as soft as a down comforter, and knew her reaction was
quite
different than her horse’s reaction, whicker or not.

She watched for a moment more, then suddenly felt she was intruding on a private moment between horse and man. She spent an awkward second wondering what she should do.

Leave or stay?

In the end, she didn’t announce her presence. Neither did she leave, though her conscience pricked her that she ought to. But her eyes were glued to the silent dance and her heart compelled her to stay and watch.

Erik stopped crooning, and the horse stopped pacing. Victory froze, muscles taut and gloriously alert, his uneven mane waving in the gentle mountain wind.

Erik was equally still, his gaze calmly resting on the horse, which eyed him speculatively but without fear.

He didn’t say a word, but Dixie couldn’t erase the impression he communicated with Victory, something beyond what she could hear, something far beyond the scheme of normal horse-human contact.

She pulled a breath and held it, biting the corner of her lip as a silent reminder not to make a sound.

After several minutes, Erik made a horselike nicker and lifted a hand toward Victory. Dixie expected the skittish yearling to bolt, but to her astonishment and delight, he responded to the invitation, moving forward and nudging Erik’s hand, sniffing around his pockets for a tasty treat.

“That’s it, Vic, my man,” Erik encouraged, sounding pleased. “That’s my boy.”

“No, that’s
my
boy,” Dixie murmured. “And that’s absolutely incredible!” Her breath caught in her throat as she realized her gaze was locked on the ruggedly handsome man, and not on the horse she’d dreamed of for so long.

Erik ran his hands up and down Victory’s head and neck until the animal was completely quiet beneath his gentle touch. Watching his hands gently caressing the horse’s quivering muscles, her skin began to tingle.

Then, taking his time, and with more patience than Dixie’s wildly pumping heart could imagine, Erik picked up a bristle brush and followed the same path his hands had taken earlier, finishing by grooming his tail and calmly picking up each leg to examine the hooves.

He spoke in a low monotone the entire time, telling Victory what a fine-looking horse he was and how well he was doing today. It brought tears to Dixie’s eyes just to watch, and her heart was brimming with emotions she was afraid to identify.

“That was the hard part, my fine boy,” Erik explained to the horse in the same low monotone. “The rest is like stealing sugar from my pocket.”

He removed the long lead from the halter and replaced it with a short one, looping it around Victory’s neck.

Dixie held her breath. Erik was going to attempt to ride the horse. She felt a jolt of jealousy, but stilled it as she watched in amazement.

Still speaking nonstop, Erik slid easily onto the horse’s bare back, with so little fuss Dixie doubted Victory even knew Erik’s intentions at all. Then Erik clicked his tongue, and the two were off.

Victory didn’t buck and protest as Dixie would have expected. Instead, horse and man moved at an easy pace around the corral. No objection, not even a whinny, as Erik put the horse through his paces.