Meeting Her Match (3 page)

Sheri knew that was right. She could live alone much easier than Lacy. Lacy would talk the bark off a tree if she didn't have people around to absorb her chatter. If Lacy were to live like Pace—oh, boy, the cows snowed in with her alone over a long winter would probably know the English language come springtime. Sheri smiled thinking about it.

The big truck and its huge trailer pulled to a halt, the sound drowning out their voices; Sheri leaned in close so Lacy could hear her question. “So he's going to lease the land and break horses?” She was curious. She told herself it was only because he was going to be living beside her. But she knew it was because, despite everything, there was something about the guy that she found appealing.

Lacy nudged her in the ribs, and Sheri realized she'd been staring at Pace again. So shoot her, she liked to look at him. Not only was he easy on the eyes, but also his stance was that of a man who was very comfortable in his skin. That was a major attraction to Sheri.

“It's like this, Sheri. Clint says Pace is one of the best there is at breaking horses. So when he called Clint and said he'd decided to go into business for himself but needed a place to start, Clint jumped at the chance to get him to Mule Hollow. He offered the lease in trade for Pace breaking some colts for him. They've worked something out. Plus, according to Clint, they go way back. His dad used to break horses some summers for Clint's dad.”

Sheri found herself watching Pace again; she couldn't help herself. He strode across the lot to the big truck, his hat was pulled low over his eyes, and there was this little hitch in his stride that made the fringe of his chaps dance and the spurs on his boots sing.

Okay, so the man was fascinating.

So was a porcupine. Both could sting a person if they weren't careful.

The horses in the huge trailer were whinnying and cutting up something fierce. Sheri wasn't thinking about the mustangs, however, as Pace untied his horse from the trailer and stepped up into the stirrup. In one graceful move, he was seated in the saddle.

Sheri lost her breath at the sight. It just whooshed right out of her. If ever there was a man meant for the saddle, it was this one. Wow. Tall and straight as a rod, he sat with a command that took Sheri straight back to
the heroes of the Old West. She just couldn't shake that image of him. She swallowed and fought off the sigh that tried to escape her lips.
Get a grip, girl.

“Come on, Sheri, let's get up to the fence so we can watch them unload.”

“Um, right,” she said, blinking. Following Lacy to the corral, she climbed up onto the second rung and hung on to the top board with one hand. She drank the last of her now-cold coffee as she watched the action.

The air crackled with energy as Pace rode his horse into the corral, then moved to the side as the truck doors were pulled open. When the first black mustang exploded into the pen, Sheri was immediately struck by what she was seeing. This was a part of history. Majestic and wild the proud horses galloped out of the interior of the transport trailer. Heads held high and manes flying, the horses were utterly beautiful as they trotted down the ramp and loped around the circle of the large pen. It was awesome.
Awesome!

“Pace, he's going to break these horses?” she gasped. Suddenly, it seemed a shame to tame something so untouched. The word
break
just held a connotation that seemed almost criminal when used in reference to these proud animals. They were supposed to be wild and free—

“Clint says no one can do what Pace can do. He's the best there is at giving a horse manners while still letting it retain its dignity and character.”

“So that's his excuse,” she said softly.

“What's does that mean?” Lacy asked, looking at her funny. Only then did Sheri realize she'd spoken out loud.

She smiled. “He's been reading the wrong book.”

“Huh?”

Sheri laughed. “From the way he was acting yesterday it's obvious that Cowboy Pace has been spending too much time reading the book on horse manners and hasn't even cracked open the one on cowboy manners.”

Lacy looked from her to Pace and back again, a sparkle in her eye. “Well, Sheri, maybe he needs someone to open the book for him.”

“Oh, no, you don't.” Sheri stepped down from the fence shaking her head. “I know trouble when I see it. That man might be easy on the eyes, but he's a heartbreaker.”

Lacy followed her as she walked away from the pen. “I don't think so.”

“Come on, Lacy, it's written all over him. That guy would shy away from commitment quicker than…” Sheri paused and thought about what she'd just said.

“You?” Lacy finished, grinning as if she'd just won the cow chip toss.
She always won the cow chip toss.

“Yeah,” Sheri admitted, turning back to look at her neighbor with an entirely new perspective.

Sheri wasn't one to think that the Lord paid much attention to her needs. In all fairness, she'd stopped trying to get any special attention from Him a long time ago. Lacy was the one with the direct line to Him. For years Sheri had coasted on her coattails when it came to all that. She'd be lying if she didn't admit that it bothered her some. Maybe at one point a lot. But it wasn't as if she was going to beg anybody for attention and certainly not God.

Anyway, she understood that when it came to trying
to please the Lord, Lacy had that wrapped up. Lacy lived to please Him, and Sheri couldn't really blame the Lord for giving Lacy more attention. Sheri loved Lacy like a sister and knew she could never have the heart that Lacy had. Why pretend? Some people were good enough to have priority in the Lord's eyes, and some weren't. No matter what people might say, that was the way it worked.

Still,
if
she'd said a prayer for the Lord to send her someone to get the posse off her back—well, she figured Pace Gentry might be the answer to that prayer.

But since she hadn't asked the Lord for His help and Pace had turned up anyway, she knew it was only a coincidence. Still, she was no dummy. She wouldn't throw away a golden opportunity when it rode right up to her. Look out, Mule Hollow Matchmakers, the game was on.

P
ace looked over each mustang, assessing them as he guided his mare through their ranks. They looked healthy despite the long trip from the Oklahoma Field Station. A bit ragged, but healthy. They were scared and wary though, congregating in a tight knot and moving about the pen as one unit.

Because they'd made such a long trip and now were in unfamiliar territory, he wanted to make certain their transition was as easy as possible. His own transition gave him even more empathy for these poor creatures. He herded the first six into the second pen then waited on the next group to be released from the second compartment of the trailer. Once he was satisfied that they, too, had made the trip without being injured in the crowded trailer, he rode to the gate and nodded at the young cowhand to let him pass.

“Mr. Gentry,” he said as Pace rode his horse through the gate he held open. “I'd like to come out and watch
you work if you'd let me. I mean, sir, Clint said he'd let me help you anytime you needed help.”

Pace dismounted and studied the younger man. He recognized the familiar light in his eyes. “You can come out some—we'll see about helping me. First, you have to call me Pace. My dad was Mr. Gentry. What's your name?” Pace held out his hand.

“Jake, sir.”

He accepted Pace's handshake, and Pace noticed with satisfaction that he had an easy but firm grip. That went a long way in handling a scared horse. “You want to break horses?”

“If I can do it your way, sir. I've broke a few, gentled some, but frankly, sir, when I saw that documentary you were featured in I knew I didn't really have a clue how to do it the right way.”

“Do you have patience?”

“Um, yes, sir. I do.”

Pace nodded. “Come out the end of next week. Right now I want some time alone with them. They need time to adjust to the trip and the change of scenery.”

Jake grinned and nodded as though he'd just been given the best present under the Christmas tree. “Yes, sir. I'll be here. You need anything else, you call me. I'm at Clint's bunkhouse.”

Pace watched the younger man leave, reminded of himself, recognizing the gleam in his eyes.

“Hello, neighbor. What's that you said about patience?”

Pace twisted around, recognizing the voice he knew belonged to his nosy, beautiful neighbor. He might have been less than friendly the day before, but
that didn't mean he hadn't noticed her. He'd noticed plenty.

He'd been watching her ever since she'd climbed out of that atrocious car of Lacy's.

He studied her, taking his time, thinking if he could keep her offended enough, maybe she'd leave him alone…. She was staring at him with a playful smirk on her lips that matched the easy lilt of her voice. A tone very different from the irritated one of the day before. Today, she had a bright hat on that said Mornings and Hair Don't Mix, and she was right. Her chestnut, shoulder-length hair was more out of her ponytail than in. It reminded him of a horse's tail that had tangoed with a crop of scrub bushes.

“My name's Sheri Marsh, by the way. Thought I'd tell you since you had that sudden emergency inside your cabin yesterday and didn't have time to inquire.”

There was mischief in her eyes as she held her hand out to him. She had long, slender fingers, and he hesitated before reluctantly wrapping his callused fingers around hers. He swallowed hard at her touch, feeling an unexpected connection as her soft hand met his.

“Patience with people—” he started, his gaze meeting hers and suddenly his gut felt the way it did the moment before he settled into the saddle of a bronc “—is on an entirely different level for a loner like me,” he finished, realizing only then that he was still hanging on to her hand. He dropped it like a hot branding iron, then reached to check the saddle cinch on his horse. His movements out of sync, he forced himself to focus on what he was doing instead of the woman standing near him.

Stepping closer, she ran her hand down the flank of his horse. “Believe me, I figured that one out myself,” she said drily.

He shot her a sideways glance from beneath his Stetson. She was standing close enough that he caught the fresh scent of her. Something tangy and tart, like the personality that radiated from her.

“Well, anyway, cowboy. I just thought I'd tell you that I was sorry to interfere with your business yesterday. I was only looking out for Clint and Lacy.”

He nodded and tried to work up the will to say he was sorry for his behavior. But before he could respond, she spun on her bright red city boots and strode away.

He didn't call her back, but watched her leave instead. She bounced as though she were walking on springs.

He realized suddenly that he wasn't alone in watching Sheri Marsh sashay away. Almost every cowboy in his line of vision and probably on the lot had stopped what they were doing and were calling goodbyes to his striking neighbor. She knew it, too. She tilted her head to this side, then that, smiling at each one and waving. The woman acted as if she were on the red carpet or something. There was no doubt that she was one hundred percent comfortable standing in the limelight. Again, that did not surprise him.

 

Pace had always liked Sam's Diner. It was a diner and pharmacy all rolled into one, like so many drugstores had been way back when. This one was complete with the original marble soda fountain and spinning bar stools. He could still remember the first time he walked
into the place as a kid. He'd been ten, and he and his dad had been on the road for eighteen hours straight. Pace had been starving, and the smell of bacon and eggs had started his stomach growling the minute they'd walked through the heavy swinging door. Even as a kid he'd been taller than the bowlegged man who came storming from behind the counter and grabbed his dad's hand. He'd shaken it so hard it looked like a strong-arm contest.

Pace smiled at the memory of wiry little Sam taking on his six-foot-four-inch dad. To this day he'd never met anyone who could shake hands like Sam.

“How ya doing, son?” Sam greeted him heartily as he grabbed the hand Pace held out. Though Sam had aged, his grip had only grown stronger. Pace was pretty certain it came from years of practice on all the customers who walked through his doors. “Sorry to hear about yer dad,” he said, pumping away. “It was a terrible shame. He was a good man.”

“Thank you, sir. He died doing something he loved. He was luckier than most in that respect. I doubt he had any regrets when it came to the life he lived.”

Sam let go of his hand at last, crossed his arms and nodded thoughtfully. “Yer right about that, son.”

From the window table Pace heard a snort and glanced toward the two old-timers hunched over a game of checkers. Seemed nothing much changed around Mule Hollow.

“Sam'd be right smart if he took a lesson from yer daddy on that,” Applegate Thornton practically shouted as his opponent, Stanley Orr, nodded.

It had been five years since Pace had traveled through Mule Hollow, and he wasn't sure if those two old-timers had moved an inch since he left.

“Turn yer hearin' aid on, App, yer shoutin' loud enough to wake the dead,” Sam ordered, then turned back to Pace and Clint. “What kin I get fer you boys?”

It was early for lunch but late for breakfast so they settled on burgers with sautéed onions and fries. They'd chosen a booth near the back of the diner, one they'd huddled in on many occasions when they'd kicked around as early teens. If he wasn't missing Idaho so much, Pace would have felt as if he'd come home. But try as he might, he was still fighting a longing for what he'd left behind. He was trusting that the Lord was going to help handle that with time.

“How are you doing with the move?” Clint asked as if reading his thoughts.

Pace set his hat in the seat next to him, then met his old friend's knowing gaze. “I'd be lying if I said I wasn't having trouble. I keep asking myself what the Lord needs me for down here.”

“Could be He just needs you to be willing to follow Him.”

Pace hadn't thought about that. “Could be.”

Clint clasped his hands on the table and leaned forward. “I think it's more than that. I believe you'll be surprised by God's plans for you. You're thinking he can't use you because you're not the most social guy I know. On that I have to agree, but he used silent types all through the Bible.” Clint grinned. “The thing is, God doesn't need any of us. We need Him.”

“Yeah, my dad said something similar right before he died.” Pace felt the familiar tug on his heartstrings thinking about the last days with his dad. An extremely quiet man, he'd raised Pace all alone after his mother died giving birth to him. He'd taught Pace to be the man he'd become. He'd been overjoyed when Pace had finally come to love the Lord. Pace thanked God his dad lived long enough to see him accept Christ. It blessed Pace every time he remembered the hug his dad had wrapped him in when Pace told him.

“If only I'd inherited Dad's patience.”

Clint laughed hard at that as Pace knew he would.

“If only, if only.”

“I'm serious, Clint. Did I tell you how I just about bit the head off my new neighbor?”

“Sheri?” Clint's eyes widened. “All I can say is watch out. That gal can bite back.”

“Tell me about it.”

Sam came out carrying two large plates and a bottle of ketchup. He placed them on the table then turned to leave.

“Sam,” Clint said, drawing him back. “Did you hear Adela's daughter is after her to move to Abilene?”

Sam stiffened.

“A' course he heard,” Stanley called.

“But do you think it's spurred him on to pop the question?” Applegate boomed. “Nope. He's still keepin' his lips buttoned up like an old fool.”

An almost wistful look passed over Sam's face before he glared at his two friends. “Can't a proprietor get any peace in his own place of business? What happened to the two of you getting out of here by nine?”

“It's called re-tar-ment,” Applegate snapped. “And it's fer the birds.”

“Yeah,” Stanley sighed. “These here golden years ain't exactly what we expected.”

“Well, if that's why y'all keep stayin' in my business then I wish you'd go back to work,” Sam growled.

“We're stayin' in yer business 'cause we're yer friends,” Applegate snapped. “You love that sweet woman and need to ask her to marry ya, and I aim ta bother ya 'til ya do.”

Sam grumbled his way back into the kitchen.

“What's up?”

Clint shrugged. “Honestly, we don't know. He's loved Adela forever. Her husband's been dead around sixteen years, but Sam won't ask her to marry him. Everyone knows if he did she'd say yes. It's baffling, especially because we know he wants to. But from what he's told a few of the guys over the past few months, he can't get over the fact that she loved her first husband so much.”

“You think that's all there is to it?”

“I don't know, Pace, it just doesn't make sense. I think there's something more, but you know Sam. He won't talk unless he's good and ready.”

Pace could relate to that.

“The only thing that worries me is if Adela were to leave, I think it would break his heart. He's been real moody for the last few months, and I think it's wearing on him. That, or something else is wrong with him and he's not letting on.”

“Maybe you should talk to him.”

“Don't think I haven't tried.”

Pace was driving home an hour later and kept thinking about Sam. The man had lived basically seventy years a bachelor. Maybe he just couldn't see changing his situation after all this time. It seemed that the town had a preoccupation with weddings, and he could see why. He remembered the first time he and his dad lived here. That had been when the oil was flowing freely and there seemed to be as many oil wells dotting the pastures as mesquite trees. It took men to run the wells, and the town was busting at the seams with families. Not the case when they'd come the last time to break some horses for Clint's dad. The wells had been locked up and the families gone, leaving behind only the ranches and a town that seemed like a ghost of what it had been. He'd been eighteen, but he'd noticed it. It was nice to see it coming to life again.

He just had to hope nobody got any ideas about fixing him up. He drove past the little white house where his neighbor lived. The woman had all kinds of stuff in her yard. There were strange sparkling things hanging out of the trees, made from what looked like triangles cut from mirrors and copper sheeting. One large tree was so sparkly, it looked as if it had earrings on it. In the flower beds there were spikes of copper tubing and what looked to be cups and saucers stuck on top of them like whimsical bird feeders. Her yard seemed alive with sound and movement as the summer breeze wove its way through the obstacle course.

There were bright painted birdhouses along the fence line, and her mailbox was painted bright purple with
yellow daisies all over it. Then there was an assortment of hummingbird feeders hanging from the porch.

He'd never seen anything like it. He shook his head and moved on past the house. The woman was either hobby crazy or spent all her money on flea market finds. Neither image fit the woman he'd met. Maybe all the stuff came with the house. That would seem more like it, since Sheri Marsh didn't appear the sort to tinker with yard decorations. Then again, she didn't seem the sort to tinker with flowers, either, and they were hanging off window boxes and overflowing from pots and beds. Even if those had come with the house she would have to tend them. She didn't seem to be a tender, a nurturer.

His conscience pricked. How would he know, really? He'd been rude to her yesterday, but she'd reared up at him like a mamma wildcat protecting her cubs and that hadn't set well with him.