The Rogue (3 page)

He never had a chance to complete the sentence, as Diana broke in angrily: “I am a better rider than practically everyone on this ranch, maybe in the county.”

“That isn’t saying much.” He opened the corral gate and stepped through, latching it behind him. “Hand me an end of the lounge line.”

“Why?” She eyed him warily.

“Call it a test,” he answered. Diana sensed a challenge and couldn’t refuse. She handed the end to him and he stepped back. Less than three feet separated them. “Hold on,” Holt instructed. “Don’t let me pull it out of your hands.”

Wrapping the long leather lead around his hand, he gave a steady pull. Diana dug her heels into the ground and resisted, successfully. A sudden, hard yank sent her stumbling forward into his chest. His hands closed around her shoulders to steady her, his superior strength jolting her like a cattle prod. Diana jerked away.

“That was a dirty trick,” she accused. “It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Doesn’t it?” His mouth quirked in a taunting, humorless smile. “If that stallion took a notion, he could jerk the reins right out of your hands, the same as I did.”

“Shetan is a well-trained horse,” Diana defended. “And I never ride him around the mares, only in the arena, and only after I’ve worked him a bit on the ground. I am perfectly capable of controlling him.”

“Even the best-trained horse can rebel, if only for a few seconds. With someone like you on his back, that’s all the time it would take.”

“I’ve been riding these stallions for years.” Which was stretching the truth quite a bit.

“I don’t care what you’ve been doing. While I’m around, you aren’t going to,” he informed her.

“You’re nothing but hired help,” Diana declared with haughty scorn. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I just did.”

“Holt has a good point.” At the sound of a third voice joining the heated conversation, Diana spun on her heel to see the Major standing at the corral gate. “I think it would be best if you don’t exercise the stallions anymore, Diana. I’ve had misgivings about it from the beginning. There are times when you have to manhandle even the best-trained horse. And you couldn’t do it.”

Every nerve in her body screamed in protest, but not a sound passed from her lips. She shoved the line into Holt’s hands and walked rigidly out of the corral. Her eyes were dry, but there was an enormous lump in
her throat. She thought she would choke on it.

Diana walked blindly, not caring where she was going, heading into the open spaces beyond the corrals. It was several minutes before she heard someone hurrying along behind her. Diana glanced back and saw Guy.

“If you still want to ride,” he began hesitantly as she finally acknowledged his presence.

All the pent-up anger suddenly exploded. “You dumb little kid! This is all your fault!” she accused. “Why did you have to open up your mouth and tell your stupid father what I was doing?”

His small face whitened. “I didn’t mean to, honest.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Diana repeated in sarcastic mimicry. “I thought you didn’t like your father, so what were you doing talking to him about me?”

“I don’t like him,” Guy insisted, “but he asked me what I was doing with your saddle and—”

“—you told him,” she finished. “You said you wanted to be my friend, but you are no friend of mine. Go away and leave me alone. I don’t want you around! You’re nothing but a pest!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Tears filled his eyes as he stared at the ground, his chin quivering. He began sniffling, seemingly unable to move.

Diana was still glaring at him with contempt when the tears began spilling over his pale lashes, streaming down his cheeks. His small hand couldn’t stem the flow. She was suddenly uncomfortable. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen anyone cry. Diana didn’t know how to handle it.

“Stop being a cry-baby,” she muttered, but that only seemed to increase the volume of tears, despite Guy’s valiant attempt to obey. “Come on. Stop it.” Impatience and unease brought a frown. Diana turned partially away, not wanting to watch him cry. “Forget what I said. It wasn’t your fault. It was
your father
making trouble, trying to worm his way into the
Major’s favor by pretending he was concerned that I might get hurt. He doesn’t give a damn about you or me.”

“Then you’re not mad at me?” Guy asked for more assurance.

“I’m just mad in general.” She gave him a sidelong look and grudgingly extended a peace offering. “I’m going to the irrigation pond to cool off. Do you want to come along?”

He hesitated. “I don’t have my trunks on.”

“So?” Diana lifted her shoulders in an uncaring shrug. “Neither do I. Do you want to come along or not?”

He accepted eagerly, scrubbing the last traces of tears from his face. Now and then he sniffled at his runny nose as he walked beside her to the pond.

The summer went from bad to worse as far as Diana was concerned. More and more of her activities were curtailed. In previous summers every minute of the day was filled with things to do. Now she was fighting boredom.

Kicking a rock out of her path, Diana shoved her hands into the rear pockets of her Levi’s® and glanced impatiently around the ranch yard. Surely there was something to do. She breathed out a disgusted sigh. There was always Guy.

Diana changed her direction and walked to the fourplex. The door to the last unit was open. Not bothering to knock on the screen door, she walked in and paused at the sight of Holt Mallory standing at the kitchen sink shirtless, halted in the act of wiping his face dry with a towel.

“It’s polite to knock before entering someone’s home.” He finished wiping his face and hands.

“I’m looking for Guy. Where is he?” Resentment glittered darkly in her blue eyes.

“Somewhere outside.”

As he turned to hang up the towel, Diana’s eyes widened curiously. A network of scars lined the tanned
flesh of his back. “How did you get those marks on your back?” she demanded.

There was an instant’s hesitation before Holt reached for his shirt. “I don’t remember.”

“Somebody beat you. You wouldn’t forget a thing like that,” Diana accused.

He looked at her for a long, hard moment. “You can forget anything if you try.” His attention became absorbed in buttoning his shirt. “You said you were looking for Guy; he’s outside.”

Diana eyed him with curious speculation, but knew he would tell her no more. Finally she turned and left, going in search of Guy. But she didn’t let the matter drop. She revived it at lunch with the Major.

“Did you know Holt Mallory had scars all over his back? It looks like somebody used a whip on him.” She offered it into the conversation with seemingly idle interest.

The Major’s look was swift and piercing. “Really?” His response was deliberately bland. “Pass the salt.”

“How did he get them?” Diana set the salt and pepper near his plate.

“Did you ask Holt?”

“Yes.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He said he couldn’t remember. Of course, it’s a lie.” She dismissed the answer with an infinitesimal shrug of her shoulders. “How did he get them, Major? Was he in prison before he came here?”

“I don’t believe they whip people in prison anymore, Diana,” he replied in an indulgently dry tone.

“Maybe not anymore, but . . . how did he get them?”

“I really can’t tell you, Diana.” He said it as if he didn’t know, yet Diana suspected that he did. He simply wasn’t going to tell her. He had always told her everything. There had never been any secrets between them. It hurt, but it didn’t stop her from fantasizing about how Holt had acquired the scars, even if she didn’t bring the subject up again.

With summer’s end came the fall round-up. It was one of Diana’s favorite times. Riding for long hours, miles from the ranch yard, sleeping beside a campfire under a canopy of stars, it was adventurous and exciting out in the wilds. There was always so much to see, mule deer grazing, an occasional glimpse of a desert bighorn, or a fleeing band of wild horses skylined on the crest of a hill.

By the golden light of dawn, Diana retightened the cinch of her saddle, a bedroll tied neatly behind the cantle. Everywhere there was movement, others quietly and efficiently preparing for the start of the annual event. All the faces were familiar. Year round, the ranch usually employed an average of eighteen men on a regular basis, but extras were hired during round-ups or haying time. They were generally locals. It was rare for the Major to hire strangers for part-time help.

Over the seat of her saddle, Diana saw Holt Mallory approaching with an air of being in command of the operation. What had begun as instant dislike on his arrival at the ranch had magnified over the last few months. It smoldered in the look Diana gave him. There was a hesitation in his firm stride when his cool gray eyes saw her. They flicked from her to the saddled horses and bedroll before glancing thoughtfully away.

When Diana saw him stop to speak to the Major, her lips thinned into an unpleasant line. Her pulse started hammering in ominous premonition as she saw them both glance at her. She didn’t like the way the Major was looking at her, nor the short nod he gave to Holt after a relatively lengthy exchange. When the Major started walking toward her, Diana pretended not to notice, looping the reins over the horse’s neck and preparing to mount.

“Diana.” His crisp voice called for her attention.

Damn!
she cursed beneath her breath, but pivoted to face him. She adopted an expression of bland unconcern
while an inner sense warned her in advance what his next words would be.

“You’ll be staying home this year, Diana.” Her father came straight to the point.

“I’ve been going on the fall round-ups since I was eight years old. Besides, you need all the help you can get. And you know I can ride and rope with the best of them.”

“The work is too hard for a young girl like you.”

“I’ve never complained,” Diana reminded him. “I don’t mind the dust and the heat and the sore muscles.”

“I know you don’t complain.” Major Somers had always spoken to her as an adult. His attitude had always been very honest and frank. This time was no different. “You are growing up and filling out, Diana. It isn’t proper anymore for you to be sleeping out for several nights in the company of men.”

Diana replied with equal candor. “You aren’t suggesting one of the boys might try to molest me, are you? They are all my friends.”
Except Holt Mallory.
“It’s ridiculous. Besides, you’ll be along.”

“Not this time. I’m getting too old to be sleeping on hard ground,” he informed her. “But that isn’t the point. I don’t want you to grow up to be a rough-talking, hard-riding Calamity Jane. I want you to be a lady and not quite so much a tomboy. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Major.” She surrendered to his wishes.

“Good.” He looked satisfied with the outcome. “I’ll be driving out every day in the Jeep™,” the Major continued. “It will be relatively quiet around here for you. Why don’t you arrange to have Sophie take you on a shopping expedition for some new clothes— something a bit more feminine than those Levi’s?”

“All right,” Diana agreed.

If it was a lady her father wanted, she was willing to comply. From that morning, Diana began the transformation. She went shopping and bought new clothes
designed to accent her femininity without going overboard with a lot of ruffles and bows. She began to take an interest in what she believed were womanly things, learning to cook and sew. However, she didn’t go to extremes. She continued to ride frequently and do less arduous chores around the ranch.

As a rule, only single men made use of the accommodations afforded by the ranch. The small handful of married ranch hands lived off the ranch, generally on small holdings of their own. It was rare, if ever, that Diana came in contact with their wives.

However, that winter, their closest neighbor, Alan Thornton, who owned the ranch ten miles away, was married. It was only natural that Diana became acquainted with his young schoolteacher wife, Peggy. It was her first real association with an adult female. It was Peggy who persuaded Diana to let the black silk cap of her hair grow to a more complimentary length and made suggestions as to the type and amount of makeup she should use.

Diana listened to Peggy’s dreams, trying to comprehend the older woman’s romantic imaginings. The Thornton ranch was considerably smaller, thus considerably poorer than the Major’s massive holdings. When Peggy spoke of her plans to remodel the small ranch house, Diana would try to be enthusiastic, but she knew there would never be the money to spare to do a third of the things Peggy envisioned. It was impossible for her to understand the woman’s bubbling contentment.

It was equally difficult for Diana to understand her female classmates in school. Their preoccupation with pop stars and pimply faced boys and titillating gossip seemed silly. As always, Diana excelled in her schoolwork and was a favorite of the teachers. The combination of shining black hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a slim and increasingly shapely figure made her even more popular with the boys. Diana was more comfortable with them, having been raised in an almost
solely male environment, but they seemed very juvenile much of the time.

Her attitude toward Holt Mallory didn’t change. She continued to regard him as her enemy. And she waged open warfare whenever she could, trying to undermine his steadily growing influence on the Major. Antagonistic, Diana took every opportunity to issue orders to him, assuming on her position as the boss’s daughter. She sought to constantly remind Holt that he was only hired help, paid to do the Major’s bidding— and hers. Whenever he was around the stable, Diana never saddled her own horse, but demanded that he do it. She used any means she could to get at him, secretly hoping she would push him to the point of quitting.

Guy was still her puppydog, trailing after her whenever he could. It didn’t seem to matter how Diana treated him. He was grateful for any scrap of attention from her. And Diana gave him just enough to be certain the wedge between Guy and Holt remained firmly in place. If he liked her, he couldn’t like the man who was his father.