CHAPTER 11
Denny clung tightly to the saddle horn with her right hand while groping for the reins with her left. Finally, she got hold of them, but it didn’t do any good. She sawed at the bit in Rocket’s mouth, but he ignored the discomfort and continued his headlong plunge toward the butte. It was almost like he intended to punish her for daring to ride him by crashing both of them into the rock.
She knew it wasn’t possible for the mustang to be thinking that way. Animals didn’t have the capacity for such a spiteful attitude. But even if Rocket was just acting on some crazed instinct, that didn’t make the runaway any less dangerous.
Denny had forgotten about the race. At that point, she was just trying to bring Rocket under control again and save both of their lives. The mustang ignored all her efforts and charged toward the butte at dizzying speed.
The rough gray rock, so like the hide of an elephant, loomed in front of them. Denny bit back the scream that tried to well up her throat. She couldn’t stop herself from lifting her right arm in front of her face, as if that would offer any real protection.
At the last moment, with the nimbleness of a true mustang, Rocket changed direction, twisting and darting to the right. For a second, Denny’s left stirrup brushed against the rock. Then Rocket lit out into the area with the gullies slashing through it.
“Rocket, no!” she cried, but he paid no more attention to that than he did to her efforts to haul back on the reins. The first of the gullies was just a few strides away. She felt Rocket gathering himself underneath her.
Then, with a powerful kick, Rocket leaped into the air and soared over the slash in the earth. Denny couldn’t hold back the scream as she clamped her legs to the mustang’s sides and held tight to the saddle horn.
Rocket cleared the gully easily and landed with nimble grace. Denny hoped he would stop, but he didn’t. He pounded on at full speed toward the next gulch, wider than the first, clearly intending to jump over it, as well. Denny wasn’t sure he could make it.
She jerked on the reins, trying futilely to get Rocket to stop. Curses that would have made her mother blanch and gasp in horror spilled out of her mouth. The gully was only about twenty yards away and the brink came closer with each racing stride of the mustang.
Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, Denny saw another rider moving up alongside her on the right. She looked over frantically. Steve Markham was there on his buckskin. Sweat foamed and streamed off the horse’s hide as he was obviously running his heart out.
Markham leaned toward her and held his left arm out. “Come on!” he shouted over the thundering hoofbeats. “You gotta get off of there!”
Denny didn’t want to. She didn’t want to give up on bringing Rocket under her control again, and she didn’t want her life being saved by Steve Markham. But that was what it was quickly coming down to—life or death—so she didn’t really have any choice. She kicked her feet free of the stirrups and leaned toward him. His arm went around her and closed tightly on her torso. As the buckskin veered away, Markham lifted Denny off the saddle and held her against him.
He slowed the buckskin as he turned away from the gully. Denny writhed loose and dropped to the ground, stumbling when she landed. She tried to catch her balance but failed. She wound up sprawling on the ground. From where she lay, she saw Rocket come to an immediate skidding halt ten feet from the gully. He turned and gave her a disdainful look.
Denny scrambled up and charged at the mustang. She yanked her hat off and started swatting at him as she yelled, “You loco crazyman! Were you trying to kill both of us?”
Rocket shied away from the blows, snorted angrily, and reared up. His front hooves pawed at the air. An arm went around Denny again, this time from behind, and jerked her away from the rearing horse.
“Looks like you’re the one who’s tryin’ to get killed,” Markham said as he held on to her. “Quit swattin’ that dang horse!” He had dismounted and run up behind her. His arm was clamped around her torso at the bottom of her breasts, and even though she had bound them before donning the shirt she wore, he could probably feel the sort of bulges he wouldn’t expect to find on a cowboy’s chest.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, her hair had come loose when she yanked her hat off and was swirling around her shoulders as she struggled. Given all that, if he hadn’t figured out that she was a girl, he had to be pretty damned stupid, she thought. She writhed and twisted and jerked free of his grip, stumbling again as she pulled away from him, but she didn’t fall.
Rocket had settled down and stood a few yards away looking amused. He was sweaty from the hard run, too, although his sides weren’t heaving the way Markham’s buckskin was.
“Leave me alone!” Denny cried, not bothering to disguise her voice anymore.
“If I’d done that, you’d likely be dead now,” Markham responded.
Denny waved a hand toward Rocket and said, “He wasn’t going to try to make that jump.”
“Maybe not, but if you’d still been on him when he stopped short like that, you’d have gone flyin’ off and fallen into that gully, more than likely. That horse is a killer.”
“No, he’s not!” Denny cried. “He’s just . . . high-spirited.” That sounded ridiculous even to her.
Rocket might make a good horse someday, but as Rafael had said, that day wasn’t there yet and might not ever come.
“Well, because of him, we’ve done lost the race, no doubt about that,” said Markham. “And ol’ Buck”—he turned toward his horse—“poor ol’ Buck may not ever be the same. I hope I didn’t run the heart plumb out of him.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Denny called after him as he started striding toward the buckskin. “I hope he’s all right.”
Markham rubbed the horse’s nose and patted his shoulder as the buckskin continued breathing hard.
Denny followed him and asked, “Is there anything I can do?”
“Reckon you’ve done enough, ma’am,” Markham replied without looking around at her.
“I’m not a ma’am,” Denny said out of habit.
“Who are you, then?”
“Denise Nicole Jensen.”
That was enough to make him look around. “Jensen,” he repeated. “Any relation to Smoke Jensen?”
“He’s my father,” Denny said tautly.
Markham stared at her for a moment, then let out a bray of laughter and slapped his thigh. “And here I was, goin’ on about how he was an outlaw! Reckon I’m lucky you didn’t kick me in the shins.”
“I felt more like punching you in the face.”
“Then I really am lucky,” he said as he turned back to the buckskin. “I think maybe ol’ Buck here is gonna be all right.”
“I hope so,” Denny said. “I mean that.”
Markham nodded. “I know you do.”
Both of them looked around at the sound of approaching hoofbeats. A couple of riders were headed toward them. Denny recognized Cal and Pearlie. The Sugarloaf’s foreman and former foreman reined in and stared at her.
“Dadgum, Miss Denny,” exclaimed Pearlie, “when some of the fellas in the race said a couple of riders looked like they was in trouble, I didn’t figure one of ’em would be you!”
“Are you all right?” Cal asked.
“I’m fine,” Denny assured them.
Pearlie’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Rocket. “I’m guessin’ that dang mustang had something to do with the trouble.”
“He ran away with Miss Jensen,” Markham said. “Luckily, I was able to lend a hand before they both piled up in one of these gullies.”
“Who are you, mister?” Cal wanted to know.
“Name’s Markham. Steve Markham. I was ridin’ in the race.” He gave a rueful laugh. “Reckon I can forget about winnin’ it, though. By now most of the other fellas are probably back at the finish line.”
“Yeah, the race is just about over. I’m glad you came along and saved the lady’s life, though.”
“Wait just a doggone minute,” Denny objected. “I never said he saved my life. I would have gotten Rocket under control again.”
Markham cocked his head to the side. “That ain’t quite the way it looked to me.”
“Well . . . well . . . you don’t know what might have happened!”
“Neither do we,” Cal said, “but you’re alive and that’s all that matters. What in the world were you doing riding in this race, though, Miss Denny? Do Smoke and Miss Sally know about this?”
Pearlie rested his hands on his saddle horn, leaned forward, and grinned as he said, “I’d bet a brand-new hat that they don’t.”
“That’s not important,” Denny said with a wave of her hand. “I guess we’d better get back. People may be starting to worry.”
“Yeah, I reckon,” said Pearlie. “I’ll catch that mustang and lead him back, Cal. Miss Denny can ride double with you.”
“Or with me,” Steve Markham suggested.
Denny just snorted at that idea and reached up to grasp the hand that Cal extended to her. He took his foot out of the stirrup and she used it to help her swing up behind him. They rode back toward the ranch headquarters with Markham coming along slowly behind them, leading the buckskin.