He had heard it all before. Nearly the same words his grandmother had told him over and over with hope sparkling in her eyes. After all that she had lost, how could he outright disappoint her? Life was complicated and love more so.
Would the girl understand? Was she already packing her hope chest? She swept into sight, farther away, hardly more than a flash of red, a bit of gray and those bouncing black curls. From behind, she made a lovely pose, willowy and petite, with her flare of skirt and elegant outstretched hand, slowly approaching the lone horse. The animal looked lathered, his skin flicking with nervous energy as if ready to bolt again.
Fool girl, ORourke growled, halting the horse near a paint-peeling, lopsided barn. She ought to know shell never catch the beast that way.
Her back was still to him, distant enough that she was more impression than substance, more whimsy than real with the falling snow cloaking her. If he had the time, he could capture the emotion in watercolors with muted tones and blurred lines to show her skirt and outstretched hand.
Ian vaguely realized the older man was digging in the back for something, and the rattle of a chain tore him from his thoughts and into the bitter-cold moment. He did not want to know what ORourke was up to; hed seen enough of the man to expect the worst. He hopped into the deep snow, ignoring the hitch of pain in his left leg, and reached for his cane. I shall take care of it. I have a way with horses.
So do I. ORourke shook out a length of something that flickered like a snakes tongueaye, a whip. This wont take long with the two of us.
No need to get yourself cold and tired out. Under no circumstances was he going to be involved in that brand of horse handling. Best to placate the man, and then figure out what he was going to do. What his grandparents hadnt told him about their best friends son could fill a barrel. The ten-minute drive from town in the mans company was nine minutes more than he felt fit to handle. He gestured toward the ramshackle shanty up the rise a ways. You go on up to the house where the fire is warm. Let me manage this for you.
Well, young fellow, that sounds mighty good. ORourke seemed pleased and held out the whip. I suspect you might need this.
Ian looked with distaste at the sinuous black length. I see a rope looped over the fencepost. That will be enough.
Suit yourself. It will be here if you need it. ORourke sounded amused as he tossed down the whip and sank boot-deep into the snow. He gestured toward the harnessed gelding, standing head down, as if his spirit had been broken long ago. Ill leave this one for you to stable.
It wasnt a question, and Ian didnt like the sound of mean beneath the mans conversational tone. Still, hed been brought up to respect his elders, so he held his tongue. ORourke and how he lived his life were not his concern. Seeing his grandmother through her final days and figuring out a way to make a living for both of them was his purpose.
He ought not to be giving in to his fanciful side, but with every step he took he noted the gray daylight falling at an angle, shadows hugging the lee side of rises and fence posts, but not over the girl. As he loosened the harness and lifted the horse collar from the geldings back, he felt a strange longing, for what he did not know. Perhaps it was the haunting beauty of this place of sweeping prairies and loneliness. Maybe it was simply from traveling so long and far from everything he knew. There was another possibility, and one he didnt much want to think on. He led the horse to the corral gate, unlooped the coiled rope from the post, used the rails to struggle onto the horses back and swiped snow from his eyelashes.
Where had she gone? He breathed in the prairies stillness, coiling the long driving reins and knotting them. He leaned to open the gate and directed the horse through. No animal stirred, a sign the storm setting in was bound to get worse. Only the winds flat-noted wail chased across the rolling and falling white prairie. Different from his Kentucky home, and while he missed the trees and verdant fields, this sparse place held beauty, too.
Cmon, boy. He drew the gate closed behind them. The crest where hed last spotted the girl and horse was empty. He pressed the gelding into a quick walk. Falling flakes tapped with greater force and veiled the sky and the horizon, closing in on him until he could no longer see anything but gray shadows and white snow. He welcomed the beat of the wild wind and needle-sharp flakes. The farmer in him delighted in the expansive fields and the sight of a cow herd foraging in the far distance. Aye, he missed his familys homestead. He missed the life he had been born to.
When he reached the hills crest, hoofprints and shoe prints merged and circled, clearly trailing northward. A blizzard was coming, that was his guess, for the wind became cruel and the snowflakes furious. At least he had tracks to follow. He did not want to think what he would find when he was face-to-face with the woman. He could only pray she did not want this union any more than he did. And why would she? he mused as he tucked his cane in one hand. The girl would likely want nothing to do with him, a washed-up horseman more comfortable chatting with his animals than a woman.
Perhaps it was Providence that brought the snow down like a shield, protecting him from sight as he nosed the horse into the teeth of the storm. Maybe the Almighty knew how hard it was going to be for him to face the girl, and sent the wind to swirl around him like a defense. He could do this; he drew in a long breath of wintry air and steeled his spine. Talking to a woman might not be his strong suit, but he had done more terrifying things. Right now none came to mind, but that was only because his brains muddled whenever a female was nearby. Which meant that somewhere in the thick curtain of white, Miss Fiona ORourke, his betrothed, had to be very close.
He heard her before he saw her. At least he thought that was her. The quiet soprano was sheer beauty, muted by the storm and unconsciously true, as if the singer were unaware of her gifted voice. Sure rounded notes seemed to float amid the tumbling snowflakes, the melody hardly more than a faint rise and fall until the horse drew him closer and he recognized the tune.
O come all ye faithful, she sang. Joyful and triumphant.
He wondered how anything so warm and sweet could be borne on the bitterest winds hed ever felt. They sliced through his layers of wool and flannel like the sharpest blade, and yet her sweet timbre lulled him warmly, opening his heart when the cruel cold should have closed it up tight.
O come ye, oh come ye The snowfall parted enough to hint at the shadow of a young woman, dark curls flecked with white, holding out her hand toward the darker silhouette of the giant draft horse. To Bethlehem. Come and behold him
The horse he rode plunged toward her as if captivated. Ian understood. He, too, felt drawn to her like the snowflakes to the ground. They were helpless to take another course from sky to earth just as he could not help drawing the horse to a stop to watch. Being near to her should have made his palms sweat and cloying tightness take over his chest, but he hardly noticed his suffocating shyness. She moved like poetry with her hand out to slowly catch hold of the trembling horse.
Born the king of angels. O come let us adore him. Her slender, mittened hand was close to touching the fraying rope halter. O come
Let us adore him. The words slipped out in his deeper baritone, surprising him.
She started, the horse shied. The bay threw his head out of her reach and with a protesting neigh, took off and merged with the snowy horizon.
Look what you have done. Gone was the music as she swirled to face him. He expected a tongue-lashing or at the very least a bit of a scolding for frightening the runaway. But as she marched toward him through the downfall, his chin dropped and his mind emptied. Snow-frosted raven curls framed a perfect heart-shaped face. The woman had a look of sheer perfection with sculpted high cheekbones, a dainty nose and the softest mouth hed ever seen. If she were to smile, he reckoned she could stop the snow from falling.
He took in her riotous black curls and the red gingham dress ruffle peeking from beneath her somber gray coat. Shock filled him. You are Fiona ORourke?
Yes, and just who is the baboon who has chased off my das horse and will likely cost me my supper? She lifted her chin, setting it so that it did not look delicate at all but stubborn and porcelain steel. She looked angry, aye, but there was something compelling about Miss ORourke and it wasnt her unexpected beauty. Never in his life had he seen such immense sadness.
Chapter Two
Who was this strange man towering over her and what was he doing in her familys fields? Fiona swiped her eyes, trying to see the intruder more clearly. The storm enfolded him, blurring the impressive width of his powerful shoulders and casting his face in silhouette. The high, wide brim of his hat added mystery; he was surely no one she had seen on the country roads or anywhere in town. He did not seem to have a single notion of what he had just done, scaring off Flannigan again, when shed almost had his halter in a firm grip.
What possessed you to trespass into our fields? She was working up a good bit of mad. Time had to be running out. She had not been watching the road well, but Das sled might come down the road at any moment. She had no time to waste. Why are you here?
I heard your singing.
What? And you felt you had to join in the caroling? Men. She had little use for them. Aside from her brother, she did not know a single one without some selfish plan. Go sing somewhere else. I have a horse to catch.
Then hop up. He held out his hand, wide palmed, the leather of his expensive driving gloves worn and thin in spots.
Hop up? You mean ride with you? Was the man delusional? She took a step back. Angel County was a safe, family place, but trouble wandered through every now and then on the back of a horse. The ruffian in front of her certainly looked like trouble with his quality hat, polished boots and wash-worn denims. And his horse, there was something familiar about the big bay who was reaching out toward her coat pockets as if seeking a treat.
Riley? Her chin dropped in shock, and she knew her mouth had to be hanging open unattractively. She could hear her parents voices in her head. Close your mouth, Fiona. With your sorry looks you dont want to make anything worse, for then well never be rid of ya.
She snapped her jaw shut, her teeth clacking. What are you doing on our horse?
I know your father was all he said.
My da was driving Riley. Does that mean he is back home so soon?
Aye. His brogue was a trace, but it sent shivers down her spine. Something familiar teased at the edges of her mind, but it wasnt stronger than the panic.
My father is home, she repeated woodenly. Then he must know the other workhorse has gone missing.
Afraid so. We had a good view of you racing after the horse from the crest of the road. His hand remained outstretched. Do you want me to catch him for you, or do you want to come?
She withered inside. It was too late, then. She would be punished even if she brought the horse back, and if not, then who knew what would happen? This strange mans eyes were kind, shadowed as they were. Yet all she could see was a long punishment stretching out ahead of her. After the strap, she would be sent to her tiny attic room, where she would spend her time when she was not doing her share of the work. And that was if she brought the horse back.
If she lost Flannigan, she could not let herself imagine what her parents would do. This man had no stake in finding the horse. She did not understand why he was helping her, but her hand shot out. The storm was worsening. There wasnt a lot of time. Take me with you.
All right, then. He clasped her with surprising strength and swept her into the air. Her skirts billowed, the heel of her high barn boot lightly brushed Rileys flank and she landed breathlessly behind the man, her hand still in his.
Who are you? The storm fell like twilight, draining the gray daylight from the sky and deepening the shadows beneath the brim of his hat. She couldnt make out more than the strong cut of a square jaw, rough with a days dark growth.
There will be time enough for that later. Hold on tight. He drew her hand to his waist. He could have been carved marble beneath his fine wool coat. With a get up! Riley shot out into an abrupt trot, the bouncing gait knocking her back on the horses rump. She slid in teeth-rattling jolts, each bump knocking her farther backward. Her skirt, indecorously around her knees, slid with her.
A leather-gloved hand reached around to grip her elbow and hold her steady. Never ridden astride before?
Not without a saddle. The words flew out before she could stop them. If her parents knew she had ever ridden in such an unladylike fashion, they would tan her hide for sure. But the stranger, whoever he was, did not seem shocked by her behavior.
Just hold on tight to me and grip the horses sides with your knees.
Did she ask for his advice? No. Her face blushed. She might not have been bashful riding this way with her brother watching, but this man was a different matter. She fell silent, bouncing along, staring hard at the strangers wide back. Rileys gait smoothed as he reached out into a slow canter, and she raised her face into the wind, letting the icy snow bathe her overheated skin.
Lord, please dont make me regret this. Yes, she was second-guessing her impulsive decision to ride with this man, this stranger. Maybe he was the new neighbor down the way. The Wilsons farm had sold last month. Or maybe this was the new deputy come to town. Either way, she needed to find the horse.
Hold up. The stranger had a resonant voice, pleasantly masculine. He leaned to the side, studying the ground. The accumulation rapidly erased Flannigans hoofprints. I think hes turned northwest. Theres a chance we wont lose him yet.
We cant lose him. Terror struck her harder than any blizzard.
Ill do my best, miss. Are you sure you dont want me to turn around and take you back to your warm house?
You dont understand. I cant go back unless I have the horse. She shivered and not from the cold. No one understoodno one but her best friends, that washow severe her life was. She had learned a long time ago to do her best with the hand God had dealt her. She would be eighteen and on her own soon enough. Then she would never have to be dominated by anyone. She would never have to be hurt again. Please. We have to keep going.
You sound desperate. That horse sure must mean something to you. Gruffly spoken, those words, although it was hard to tell with the winds howl filling her ears. He pressed Riley back to a canter. The storm beat at them from the side now, brutally tearing through layers of clothes. Her hands hurt from the cold.