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.
Night was falling; the shadows grew darker as the stranger stopped the horse to study the ground again and backtracked at a slow walk. With every step Riley took, her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. Please, dont let me lose Flannigan, she beggedprayer was too gentle of a request. She should have been more vigilant. She should have realized something was amiss when the horse hung back in the corral instead of racing to the barn for his supper. Had she been quicker, this never would have happened. And she wouldnt be fearing the beating to come.
You could just keep on going. The thought came as if whispered in the wind. They were headed away from town and toward the eastern road that would take her straight to Newberry, the neighboring railroad town. She could send word to her friend Lila, who could gather the girls and find a way to unearth her money sock from the loose floorboard in the haymow.
There he is. The stranger wheeled Riley around with a confident efficiency she had never seen before. The huge animal followed his light commands willingly, this gelding who had lost his will to care long ago.
It was impossible to see around the broad line of the mans back. When he unlooped the rope and slip knotted it while he directed Riley with his knees, hope burrowed into her and took root. Maybe catching Flannigan would be quick and painless, if the stranger was as good with a lasso as he was with the horse.
Hold on. Hes bolting.
That was her only warning before he shouted Ha! and pressed Riley into a plunging gallop. Snow battered her from all directions, slapping her face. The horses movements beneath her werent smooth. He was fighting through the uneven snow and she jounced around, gripping the strangers coat tightly.
Can you stay on? He shouted to be heard over the cadence of the horse and the roaring blizzard.
She wanted to but her knees were slipping, her skirt had blown up to expose her red flannel petticoats and long johns and she was about to slide off the downside slope of Rileys rump. No, she called out as she slid farther. A few seconds more and there would be nothing beneath her but cold air and pounding hooves.
Ill be back for you. To her surprise, the stranger twisted around, caught hold of her wrist and swept her safely to the side, away from the dangerous hooves. She landed in the snow on her feet, sinking in a drift past her knees. Horse and rider flew by like a dream, moving as one dark silhouette in the coming night.
Cold eked through her layers and cleaved into her flesh, but she hardly noticed. She stood transfixed by the perfect symmetry between man and horse. With manly grace he slung the lasso, circling it twice overhead before sending it slicing through the white veil. Without realizing it, she was loping through the impossible drifts after them, drawn to follow as if by an invisible rope. Perhaps it the mans skill that astonished her as the noose pulled tight around defiant Flannigans neck. She could not help admiring the strength it took to hold the runaway, or the dance of command and respect as the horse and rider closed the distance. A gloved hand reached out, palm up to the captive gelding. The strangers low mumble seemed to warm the bitter air. Her brother could not have done better.
Our runaway seems tame enough. He emerged out of the shadows, towering over her, leading Flannigan by a short lead. He dismounted, sliding effortlessly to the ground. He got a good run in, so he ought to be in a more agreeable mood for the journey back. Let me give you a foot up.
He was taller than she realized; then again, perhaps it was because her view of him had changed. He was bigger somehow, greater for the kindness he had shown to Flannigan, catching him without a harsh word or a lash from a whip, as Da would have done. She shook her head, skirting him. Ill ride Flannigan in. He ought to be tired enough after his run. Hes not a bad horse.
No, I can see that. Just wanted to escape his bonds for a time.
Yes. That was how she felt, too. Flannigan nickered low in his throat, a warm surrender or a greeting, she didnt know which. She irrationally hated that he had been caught. It was not safe for him to run away, for there were too many dangers that ranged from gopher holes to barbed wire to wolves, but she knew what it felt like to be trapped. When she gazed to the north where the spill and swell of land should be, she saw only the impenetrable white wall of the storm. Although the prairie had disappeared, she longed to take off and go as fast and as far as she could until she was a part of the wind and the sky.
Then up you go. The stranger didnt argue, merely knelt at her feet and cupped his hands together. Im sure a beauty such as you can tame the beast.
Did she imagine a twinkle in his eyes? It was too dark to know for sure. She was airborne and climbing onto Flannigans back before she had time to consider it. By then the stranger had limped away into the downfall, a hazed silhouette and nothing more.
You could take Flannigan and go. It was her sense of self-preservation whispering at her to flee. It felt foolish to give in to the notion of running away, right now at least; it felt even more foolish to lead the horse home. Da had fallen into an especially dark mood these last few months since he had lost much of the harvest. Thinking of the small, dark sitting room where Da would be waiting drained the strength from her limbs. She dug her fingers into Flannigans coarse mane, letting the blizzard rage at her.
Ill lead you. His voice came out of the thickening darkness. There was no light now, no shades of grayness or shadows to demark him. So there will be no more running away.
Her pulse lurched to a stop. He couldnt know, she told herself. He might be able to lasso a horse, but he could not read minds. That was impossible. Still, her skin prickled as Flannigan stepped forward, presumably drawn by the rope. His gait rolled through her, and she felt boneless with hopelessness. The wind seemed to call to her as it whipped past, speeding away to places unknown and far from here, far from her fathers strap.
This was December. She had to stick it out until May. Only six months more. Then she would have graduated, the first person in her family to do so. That meant something to her, an accomplishment that her parents would never understand, but her closest friends did. An education was something no one could take from her. It was something she could earn, although she did not have fine things the way Lilas family did, or attend an East Coast finishing school as Meredith was doing. An education was something she could take with her when she left; her love of books and learning would serve her well wherever she went and whatever job she found.
It will be worth staying, she insisted, swiping snow from her eyes. Although her heart and her spirit ached for her freedom and the dream of a better, gentler life, she stayed on Flannigans broad back. His lumbering gait felt sad and defeated, and she bowed her head, fighting her own sorrow.
I know how you feel, big guy. Going home to a place that wasnt really a home. She patted one mostly numb hand against his neck and leaned close until his mane tickled her cheek. I almost have enough money saved up. When I leave, I can keep some of it behind for payment and take you. How would you like to ride in a boxcar? Lets just think of what it will be like to ride the rails west.
Flannigan nickered low in his throat, a comforting sound, as if he understood far more than an animal should. She stretched out and wrapped her arms around his neck as far as they could reach and held on. Come what may, at least Flannigan would not be punished. She would see to that. She would take full responsibility for his escape.
And what about the stranger? She couldnt see any sign of him except for the tug of the rope leading Flannigan inexorably forward. There was no hint of the strangers form in the gloom until they passed through the corral gate and she caught the faintest outline of him ambling through the snow to secure the latch. Flannigan blew out a breath, perhaps a protest at being home again. She drew her leg over the horses withers and straightened her skirt.
Ill help you. His baritone surprised her and he caught her just as she started to slide. Against her will, she noticed the strength in his arms as she was eased to the ground. She sank deep and unevenly into a drift. His helpfulness didnt stop. Can you find your way to the house, or should I take you there?
I have to see to the horses.
No, thats what I plan to do. Let me get them sheltered in the barn and then Ill be seeing you safely in. Stubbornness rang like a note in his rumbling voice.
She had a stubborn streak, too. Im hardly used to taking orders from a stranger. These are not your horses, and what are you doing on this land?
Your da invited me.
A drinking buddy, no doubt. It must be poker night already. She shook her head, plowing through the uncertain drifts and trailing her mittens along Flannigans neck until she felt the icy rope. She curled her fingers around it, holding on tight. I dont allow intoxicated strangers to handle my horses.
Intoxicated? He chuckled at that. Missy, Im parched. I wont deny, though, I could use a drink when Im through.
Was that a hint of humor she heard in his lilting brogue? Was he teasing her? He had a gentle hand when it came to horses, but he could be the worst sort of man; any friend of her fathers would be. Birds of a feather. She saw nothing funny about men like her da. She pushed past him, knocking against the iron plane of his chest with her shoulder.
Go up to the house, then, and you can wet your whistle, as my da would say. Why was she so disappointed? It wasnt as if she cared anything about this man. She didnt even know his name. It just went to show that men could not be trusted, even if they were prone to good deeds.
Thats it? I help you bring in your horse and now you are banishing me from your barn?
Yes. Why was he sounding so amused? A decent man ought to have some semblance of shame. Likely as not, my Da already has the whiskey poured and waiting for you.
Then hell be a mite disappointed. The stranger grasped the rope she held, taking charge of Flannigan. Come along. The barn is not far, if I remember, although I cannot see a foot in front of me.
Just follow the fence line. She was tugged along when she ought to stand her ground. There was something intriguing about this stranger. It was not like one of Das fellows to choose barn work over cheap whiskey.
This is better. She heard his words as if from a great distance, but that was the distortion of the wind and the effort as he heaved open the barn door. She realized she was the only one gripping Flannigans rope and held him tightly, leading him into the dark shelter of the main aisle.
Where is the lantern? His boots padded behind her, leading Riley into the barn.
I was just getting to that. Really. As if she expected them all to stand around in the dark. She wrestled off her mittens, ice tinkling to the hard-packed dirt at her feet, and felt with numb fingertips for the match tin.
Need any help?
No. Her hands were not cooperating. She balled them up and blew on them, but her warm breath was not enough to create any thaw. She must be colder than she thought. Boots padded in her direction, sure and steady in spite of the inky blackness. Although she could not see him, she could sense him. The scent of soap and clean male skin and melting snow. The rustle of denim and wool. His masculine presence radiating through the bitter air.
The shock of his touch jolted through her. She stumbled backward, but he held her hands, warming them with his. The act was so unexpected and intimate, shock muted her. Her mouth opened, but not a single sound emerged. He was as if a part of the darkness but his touch was warm as life and somehow not threateningwhen it should be.
Were alone, she realized, her pulse quickening. Alone in the dark, in the storm and with a strange man. She felt every inch of the yawning emptiness around her, but not fear. Her hands began to warm, tucked safely within his. She wanted to pull away and put proper distance between them, but her feet forgot how to move. She forgot how to breathe.
There. You are more than a wee bit chilly. You need better mittens. He broke the hold first, his voice smooth and friendly, as if unaffected by their closeness. Now that my eyes are used to the dark, I can almost see what Im doing.
Her hearing registered the scrape of the metal match tin against the wooden shelf on the post, the strike of the match and Flannigans heavy step as he nosed in behind her. Light flared to life, a sudden shock in the blackness, and the caress of it illuminated a rock-solid jawline and distinctive planes of a mans chiseled, rugged face.
A young mans face. Five oclock shadow hugged his jaw and a faint smile softened the hard line of his sculpted mouth. He had to be twenty at the oldest. As he touched the flame to the lantern wick, the light brightened and highlighted the dependable line of his shoulders and the power of his muscled arms. A man used to hard work. Not one of Das friends, then, or at least not one she had seen before.
How do you know my father? Her voice scraped along the inside of her throat, sounding as raw as it felt.
I dont. He shrugged his magnificent shoulders simply, an honest gesture. He shook out the match and stowed it carefully in the bottom drawer of the lanterns base. I never met him until this day, although I grew up hearing tales about him and my father. And I know who you are, Fiona ORourke.
A terrible roaring filled her ears, louder than the blizzards wail, louder than any sound she had ever known. The force of it trembled through her, and she felt as if a lasso were tightening around her neck. Her dreams cracked apart like breaking ice. Y-you know me?
Aye. Gently came that single word.
But how? Unless you are Her tongue froze, her mind rolled around uselessly because she knew exactly who he was. For she had grown up hearing those same tales of her da and another man, the man whose son now towered before her. No, it cant be.
Ian McPherson. Your betrothed. Since the lantern was lit, he seized a cane that she now noticed leaning against the post. He leaned on it, walking with a limp to snare Flannigans lead rope. Come, big fellow. Ill get you rubbed down. Thats a fine coat of lather you have there.
Ian McPherson. Here? The ground beneath her boots swayed, and she gripped a nearby stall door. For as long as she could remember, Ma and Da would talk of better times when they were young and of their friends the McPhersons. Sometimes they would mention the old promise between older friends that their children would one day marry. But that was merely an expectation, a once-made wish and nothing more. Whatever her parents might think, she was certainly not betrothed and certainly not to a stranger.