Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance) Page 4

  “All right,” he agreed. “Tomorrow I’ll take you out to a ranch over the border. We’ll get you a good mount and give you a few days to get used to each other. Then, one week from tomorrow, you and I are gonna go out on the prairie and see who’s right.”

  Abby smiled. “Any stakes?”

  He gave her a sly, heavy-lidded look. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

  Abby awoke to the sound of persistent tapping. She stumbled out of bed and opened the door, leaning against the frame for support and murmuring a drowsy, “Uh- huh?”

  “Just wanted to let you know the bathroom’s free,” Cat said softly. “But you don’t look awake enough to care.”

  “I care,” she countered in a voice husky with sleep. She tilted her head to look at Cat and saw a lazy smile that sent a small shiver through her. Suddenly she was wide awake and answering with a smile of her own. “A cold shower will chase away the fog.”

  “Good,” he said mischievously, “since there’s no hot water left.” He started down the hall to his room, then paused and turned back to her. “And if you don’t snap to, I might not leave you any breakfast, either.”

  As he entered his own room Abby grabbed her towels and the clothes she’d laid out the night before and headed in the opposite direction. While standing under a barely lukewarm shower she wondered about his playful mood, until it occurred to her that he was probably so confident of beating her in the upcoming race that he thought he could afford to be pleasant.

  “I wonder how nice he’ll be next week,” she muttered past the water streaming down on her face, “after I’ve taken him down a peg or two.”

  Fifteen minutes later she was seated opposite him, watching him polish off a mound of scrambled eggs, a ham steak and a stack of wheat cakes generous enough to feed two men.

  Abby and Martha shared a cheese omelet and toast made with the bread left from the previous evening’s meal. Abby was spooning on some preserves when Martha spoke.

  “You ever see anything like it? Eats for two men--does that every day. If I didn’t raise my own hogs and chickens we’d starve. And I don’t know where he puts it. Never did.” Cat leaned back with a boyish grin and reached for his coffee cup. “It’s all muscle. You know that.”

  Martha laughed. “You been sayin’ that since you were fifteen. By now I expect it must be so.”

  Abby reached for her own cup, watching him over the rim and remembering the younger Cat in the painting. At fifteen he would have been long and lean, just beginning to broaden and fill out, with a shy smile and dark serious eyes that drove the girls crazy. She took some eggs and found it difficult to suppress a grin as she added silently, Still does, I’ll bet.

  She pushed her plate away and once more sipped the strong black coffee, remembering how it had felt to be young and totally enamored of some equally young, but devastatingly handsome “hunk,” worshiping from afar along with her friends and, like them, perfectly content with the fantasy. Had she known something then that she ought to pay attention to now--that most fantasies were better left unrealized?

  From across the table Cat watched Abby, free to speculate as she sat absorbed in thought. Her dark hair was still damp and clung to her head like a cap, curling about her ears and falling over her forehead in disarray.

  Her eyes picked up the deep green of her turtleneck sweater and the plaid shirt that she’d wisely added for extra warmth. Her skin glowed with healthy color; she wore no makeup except for something glossy on her lips that he suspected was more for protection than to satisfy her vanity.

  Suddenly she grimaced, arousing his curiosity. Until that moment she’d seemed open and filled with humor. Now he realized that she gave away little of what lay deep inside her, and he wondered about the painful memory that had just passed through her mind.

  When she looked up her odd blue-green eyes were unseeing, as if focused within, and they glistened with tears. Cat looked at his mother with an unspoken question, but she merely shook her head. They watched as Abby rose and absentmindedly began gathering the dishes and taking them to the sink. She opened the door to an under-the-sink cabinet, searched for a moment, then came up with a container of dishwashing liquid.

  As she silently and almost automatically proceeded to fill the sink with sudsy water and wash the dishes, Martha and Cat cleared the table, adding the remaining dishes to the stack that was already soaking. Abby never spoke, but worked as if in a trance. Finally she seemed to throw off whatever had disturbed her. Her shoulders lifted and relaxed as she gave a deep sigh. She rubbed a sleeve across her eyes and, as if the previous three or four minutes had not taken place, turned and asked, “Do all the houses have indoor plumbing?”

  “Most do,” Cat answered, relieved that the moment had passed and that he did not have to examine the unwelcome inner stirring aroused by her obvious unhappiness.

  “I’m surprised.”

  “My father’s doing. When he was carrying out geological surveys for the government he discovered water deep beneath the surface. The last thing he did before he left his job to come and live here was to get a unit of the Corps of Engineers to sink a series of wells, tapping the aquifer and bringing up water for us. Then he and the men laid in a system of pipes and sewage lines and connected them up for anyone who wanted them. As we rebuild the houses we hook each one into the existing system. By the time the construction is completed, everyone will have running water and outhouses will be obsolete.”

  “That’s quite an accomplishment.”

  Cat laughed bitterly. “One of the few really positive things we ever got from the white man!”

  “Hssst!” Martha glared at her son. “Enough!”

  Cat ran his fingers through his hair, looking at Abby and then at his mother. He took down a jacket from its peg and opened the door. “I’ll bring the jeep around. Come out when you’re ready.”

  After he’d gone, Abby turned to Martha. “I’m sorry.”

  The older woman shrugged and took the dish towel from her hand. “Go on, now. You have a long drive ahead of you.”

  Abby slipped into her own wool-lined jacket and kissed Martha on the cheek, saying, “See you tonight.”

  Once in the jeep, they were silent for a long time. Cat kept his eyes on the road, and Abby watched what she could see of the passing countryside as light gradually filtered up from the horizon. She picked out landmarks for later reference: a rock formation just ahead; a gully to the east; a range of hills to the west.

  She tried to avoid thinking about the painful scene she’d just witnessed. She didn’t know Cat well enough to make judgments, she decided silently. His attitude was hurting his mother, and she didn’t like that. But it wasn’t her place to interfere, a strong inner voice warned.

  “You’re just aching to say something, aren’t you? I can feel it.”

  She looked at Cat’s profile. “About what?”

  He snorted derisively. “About what happened back there with my mother.”

  “It isn’t my place to judge, Cat.”

  “Maybe not, but that won’t keep you from thinking... what you’re thinking.”

  She chuckled. “That’s true.”

  “So spit it out.”

  “Okay. You have the right to feel any way you wish about us. Whites, I mean. Without even trying I could come up with a dozen obvious reasons for your hatred and resentment, and I’m sure you have three dozen more that haven’t occurred to me.

  “But I’ve heard that your father was a pretty remarkable person. And if you took the trouble to get to know me, you might find that I’m not so bad, either. So I resent your dumping people like us in the same sack with the rotten apples. That’s no more fair than calling all Indians drunkards and thieves because of the behavior of some. And I think that’s what makes your mother angry and gives her so much pain. She knows that your father was a fine man--something you refuse to acknowledge.”

  Cat seemed to be waiting for Abby to continue, but when she remained silent he a
sked, “Is that it?”

  “For now.”

  He shook his head. “You surprise me. I expected you to really jump on me.”

  Abby shifted in her seat in order to see him more clearly. “Let’s just say I owed you one.”

  “For what?”

  “For going easy on me at the school board meeting.”

  He smiled. “Well, I guess that makes us even.”

  “I’d rather think it makes us friends.”

  His smile faded. “I don’t have any white friends.”

  “I see.” Abby sighed. “Then how about being friendly enemies?”

  He thought for a moment, decided that the concession was too minor to constitute a threat and smiled. “Okay. Friendly enemies--I can live with that.”

  The sun was up and the sky bright as they drove through the front gate of the H-M-R, a small cattle ranch just across the border in North Dakota. The jeep ground to a halt in front of a low rambling wood house, which seemed more like a series of separate but interconnected buildings than a single structure.

  As Abby stood looking, Cat came and stood beside her. “It started as a one-room cabin back around the turn of the century. They kept adding rooms as the family grew. Now it’s mostly empty, with everyone dead or gone except Hank and his kid, Penny.” He climbed the first step. “C’mon, I want you to meet them.”

  He opened the door, stuck his head in and called out, “Anyone home?”

  A voice sounded from off to the left. “Si. Un momento.”

  A smile of pleasure lit Cat’s face as he turned to Abby. “You’re about to meet the best cook who ever came north from Mexico.”

  She teased, “That appetite of yours makes you the perfect judge.”

  Just then a dark-haired, dark-skinned woman with patrician features entered the room. Her face mirrored Cat’s pleasure when she saw him there, and Abby noticed a brief flicker of curiosity in her eyes.

  Cat caught the woman in his arms and lifted her off her feet in a warm embrace. “Ah, mamacita, I’ve missed you.”

  “Then why do you stay away, Cristoforo?”

  Cat looked embarrassed as he lowered her gently to the ground. “Oh, Cinta, you know how it is.”

  She shook her head sadly. “I know all too well, and you are a foolish boy.” She turned to look at Abby. “But if you tell me that this lovely girl is su amor, then I will know there is hope for you at last.”

  “I have no sweetheart but you, mi vida.”

  She touched his cheek. “You only love my cooking. Now introduce me.”

  “Jacinta Menendez, light of my life, meet our new schoolteacher, Abby Colton.”

  “Bueno. You have picked a smart one this time.”

  “I didn’t pick her. The school board did.”

  “Then why are you here, if not to show me you are finally getting some brains yourself?”

  “Abby needs a horse. Hank’s got the best.”

  Jacinta turned to Abby. “You know anything about horses?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Do not let these boys play any tenderfoot jokes on you.”

  Abby smiled. “I’ll try to stay alert.”

  The woman patted Abby’s shoulder. ”Muy bueno.” Turning to Cat, she said, “Enrique should be in the barn.” Just then a door slammed and footsteps came toward them. A deep voice thundered, “Who’s the company, Cinta?”

  As Jacinta was about to respond, a man entered and stopped just inside the doorway, filling the opening with his massive frame and stooping to avoid the upper crossbar. He was even taller than Cat, and more muscular through the shoulders and chest; his size was almost frightening. Abby thought she saw a resemblance between the two, something in the eyes and in their broad smiles.

  He came forward, his hand extended to Cat, and Abby felt as if she were standing in the shadow of a giant California redwood. His voice, however, was gentle, and as warm as his smile when Cat took his hand.

  “Man, it’s been too long between visits. How the hell are you?”

  “Good, Hank, real good.”

  “And Aunt Martha and the girls?”

  “They’re fine, too. Mother sends her love.” Cat turned to Abby. “This is my cousin, Hank Matthews. Hank, meet Abby Colton. She’ll be teaching at the Buttes.”

  The man turned his smile on her, and Abby looked at the lights dancing in his blue-gray eyes and felt the warmth of his hands on hers. What a pair they make, she thought dryly, so alike and yet so different.

  “Welcome to H-M-R, Miss Colton.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Matthews.” She looked at the two men. “I can see a family resemblance, I think.”

  He laughed. “Call me Hank. Our fathers were brothers. Mine came out before his, was settled in here really tight by the time his dad got out here. Because of his height, Uncle Chris was given the name ‘Tall-Man-Walking’ when he was adopted into the tribe by Aunt Martha’s people. Over time, it was simplified to Tallman.”

  “If he was anything like you two, the name fit.”

  “He was and it did. Right, Cat?”

  Cat nodded silently.

  “What’re you two doing here?”

  “Looking for a horse for Abby.”

  “I see.” He turned to her. “How experienced a rider are you?”

  “Very.”

  “Ever break a horse?”

  “I’ve trained a few, but never broken one. Why?”

  “Just so I know which ones to avoid.” He started for the front door. “C’mon, the herd’s in the upper pasture. It’s only a short walk.”

  The one-mile hike took them through grassland already turning green, and sparkling in the early-morning sun. Abby walked between the two men, listening to them catching up on news of family and friends.

  Finally they reached the top of a rise, and Cat pointed down into the canyon below. A medium-size herd of horses was grazing peacefully, as yet unaware of the presence of humans.

  “How do you keep them from running away?”

  “Stockades at both ends that you can’t see from this angle,” Hank answered. “See anything you like?”

  Abby looked down at the animals. “I can’t tell much from this distance. Can we get closer?”

  “On foot?”

  “Why not? I’m not afraid.”

  “You should be. We’re not looking at refined, riding- stable animals here. They could turn on us.”

  “Just a little closer. Please?”

  Hank sighed. “Okay. There’s a shelf about ten feet down. We’ll go that far.” He looked at her pointedly. “But no farther.”

  Abby merely smiled.

  They moved quietly to avoid disturbing the animals, who had not yet picked up their scent. When they reached the narrow ledge Abby hunkered down and let her eyes move slowly from one horse to another. As she did, details began to register: a swayback on one; poor conformation in another; breathing problems in a third. Most of the horses were strong and healthy, however, and she saw several that would do if she wanted an ordinary mount. But she wanted something more, something special, and a horse like that didn’t appear to be part of this herd.

  Suddenly an animal whinnied and the horses moved apart, as if making way for another to join them. From beneath the overhang emerged a magnificent gray, bred for speed and endurance. Her eyes traveled from his sturdy neck along his short, straight back to his compact but powerful hindquarters and strong legs. His coat was pale, shimmering like silver in the bright sunlight; he tossed his head, and his mane rippled like threads of dark silk.

  As if he knew Abby was watching him, he turned and looked up at her, the clear white around his pupils adding a savage glitter to his animal gaze. Nostrils flaring, he tossed his head once more, and another call rumbled up from his massive belly. He stood and waited.

  “I want him,” Abby said quietly. “The gray.”

  Hank shook his head. “He’s not for you, miss.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s too much horse for y
ou. I’m sorry,” the big man said gently, “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. He’s broke, but he’s never been rode. You’ll never tame him down.”

  Abby’s voice was quietly determined. “How do I get down there?”

  When Hank failed to answer, she looked around, walked to the right, then the left, and found a footpath. Before either man could stop her, she scrambled down to the canyon floor below. Fearlessly, she made her way through the herd and stood head to head with the animal of her choice. He never moved, simply waited, alert, obviously curious. Hank moved to join her, but Cat held him back with a hand on his arm.

  They could hear Abby below, murmuring to the animal, sounds without human meaning. The gray seemed to understand, however, and whickered softly in response. Slowly Abby brought up a hand and caressed his thick neck with long, easy strokes. She brought her face close to his, touching his muzzle with her forehead, then laying her cheek along the side of his head and wrapping her left arm around his neck as she continued to stroke with her right hand.

  The men watched in amazement as the animal patiently submitted to Abby’s caresses, nuzzling her in return, a shiver of pleasure coursing through his powerful body. Finally she withdrew, backing away slowly, still talking to him in that strange language of sound. He stood in place as if waiting for her next move as she turned and took two or three steps away, then stopped. The horse stepped forward, then halted in his tracks. Abby repeated her movements, and the big gray followed. Then she walked the length of the small canyon floor and stopped, her back still to the horse. After a moment or two he followed, stopping only when his muzzle touched the back of her neck. He nudged her gently once, then again, as if to remind her of his presence and to coax her into further contact.

  Smiling, she turned back to him, offering two cubes of sugar in her right palm. He whinnied softly once more and gently took the treat with his soft, moist lips as she moved close and spoke into his ear. His muscles quivered as she passed her hand down his side and over his flank, but he stood still when she did, and walked beside her when she retraced her steps.