The color drained from Colt’s face, and sweat dampened his back. He’d had a better reception at Huntsville Prison on his first day. This was Will’s widow and his daughter? In Colt’s opinion, Will was the one who needed sympathy. Whatever happened to defenseless women? If Will died of gangrene in his leg, these two probably offered to cut it off.
The girl called Sammie Jo lowered her rifle and propped it against the side of the porch. A younger girl dressed in jeans and boots slipped through the door and stiffened to about four feet tall. She placed her hands on her hips and scowled.
“I smell him clear over here,” the smallest girl said. “Doesn’t he know what a Saturday night bath is?”
“Hush, Nancy. You mind your manners,” Mrs. Langley said.
What is this? Have I died and gotten what I deserve?
“State your business, sir. I have a ranch to run.” Mrs. Langley crossed her arms over a green plaid shirt. She nodded toward the girls. “Meet me in the horse barn. We’ll talk about your punishment for treating this man shamefully. Right now, you two apologize.”
When the girls hesitated, she repeated her request—a little louder.
“I’m sorry,” the two girls echoed and hurried toward the barns.
Colt dragged his tongue over dry, cracked lips. He’d never done well talking to women. “Your husband, ma’am, was a friend of mine.”
“He’s been gone for five years.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been drifting.”
“In prison, no doubt. What’s your name?”
He started. “Colt Wilson.”
“A friend of Will’s, you say?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Alarm—the strength of a tornado—twisted through him. He best be riding out of there before she questioned his business with her departed husband. If Will had told his wife what he and Colt had done, she most likely would have killed him on the spot.
“Are you wanted?”
“No.”
“What were you in prison for?”
Didn’t your husband tell you? He shifted from one foot to the other. “Bank robbery.”
“Kill anyone?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Ever kill anyone?”
“Only to defend myself.”
“Likely story.” She glared at him. “Need a job? From the horse you’re riding, you must not have stashed away the money.”
The question caught him by surprise. “Why would you give me a job since—?”
“Since you just got out of prison? Because you knew Will and because I just lost two hands.”
Did he want to work for this woman? For that matter, did he want to spend five more minutes with her? Unpredictably, he heard himself saying, “I’d be grateful.”
She pointed to the bunkhouse. “Take your stuff over there and ask for Clancy. He’ll show you where you’ll sleep and what he needs you to do.” She whirled around to follow the girls. “Don’t waste any time. I’m short-handed and have too much work for you to dillydally.”
“I’ll do a fine job for you, Mrs. Langley.”
She stopped in her tracks and turned around. A little cloud of dust spun up from her heels like a miniature dust devil. “Don’t make me regret hiring you, or I’ll be the one squeezing the trigger.”
A lady boss? Why had he taken this job? He came looking for Will’s widow, thinking she might be in a bad way and know a little about her husband’s past dealings. Instead, he’d been waylaid. Sure, she had a pretty face and owned a large ranch, but this was downright degrading. Colt swung a look after her. Mrs. Langley might dress like a man and give orders like a man, but she didn’t walk like a man.
Anne studied her two daughters inside the shadows of the horse barn. Some days she wondered if she’d done the right thing by making them strong and feisty. After seeing their behavior toward Colt Wilson, she realized she’d stepped over the boundaries between strength and inhospitality.
Sammie Jo crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot. Nancy had her familiar stance of planting her chubby hands on her hips.
“I’m ashamed of both of you,” she said. “What have I taught you about manners?”
“I didn’t like the way he looked,” Sammie Jo said.
“And I didn’t like the way he smelled,” Nancy said.
“Hmm. Is that what the Bible teaches?”
“No, ma’am,” they chorused.
“Look around you.” Anne pointed toward the horse stalls. “Do you like what you see and smell?”
“Not really.” Sammie Jo wrinkled her nose. “Needs a good cleaning.”
“And you two are going to do that very thing.” Anne almost laughed at the horrified looks on their faces.
“Mama, that’s too hard a punishment.” Nancy’s eyes widened, mirroring the same shade of blue as her sister’s.
“I’d rather take a whippin’,” added Sammie Jo.
Anne shook her head. “That’s too easy. You can think about good manners and what the good Lord requires of us while you’re cleaning stalls.” She nodded at her precious daughters and headed toward the sunlight filling the doorway. “You can watch the horse-breakin’ before you start your work.”
Giggles broke from behind her, but she dared not turn around or she’d relinquish the stall cleaning. Anne had shoveled them a man-sized job, but she hoped it taught her sassy girls a lesson.
Colt Wilson. She searched the cobwebs of her mind for the name. Nothing tore through the many memories of Will and their countless hours together. Near the end he’d told her many things, but a wayward man by the name of Colt Wilson wasn’t one of them. Maybe he followed the law back then. Given time, she’d find out the truth. If she’d learned anything over the past five years, it was how life dealt every man and woman a bushel basket of mountains and valleys. How people handled those happenings made them who they were today. She’d hardened through it…maybe too hard.
Anne shuddered. Where were her brains in subjecting Sammie Jo and Nancy to an outlaw—or rather a past outlaw? And what about the good hands who worked for her? Some men never shook off the habits that had thrown them behind bars. Still, a nudging at her heart had told her to offer him a job. And she sure hoped it was the Lord and not stupidity.
“Mrs. Langley, are you riding?” Thatcher Lee asked.
She surfaced from her reverie and waved at the young man standing with the other three hands. She laughed at the seriousness on his face—barely eighteen years old and her self-proclaimed protector. Or maybe he had his eye on Sammie Jo in a few years. That thought curdled her stomach.
“Ah, yes, I am. In fact, I want that bronc you’re afraid of.”
“The sorrel stallion?” Thatcher Lee asked.
“You bet. I see you have him ready. About time I showed you men how to ride.”
Clancy strode up to the corral with Colt beside him. “Anne, that horse is mean. You could hurt yourself real bad. Why not let me sell him?”
“Are you kidding? How many times in the past few years have you seen me back down from a good fight?” She laughed again.
“When he tosses you on the ground I’m not helping you up.” Standing with his back against the sun, Clancy’s shoulder-length silver hair glistened, his Apache heritage evident from every inch of him.
She opened the gate and headed toward the stallion, which snorted and pranced. Clancy might be right. Thatcher Lee held the reins and tried to settle the horse. Oh, this one would cause her to taste dirt more than once.
“Be careful, Mama,” Nancy called. Sammie Jo knew better than to object.
Fearfulness ruined Anne’s concentration.
Lord, I have a foolish streak, and I know it. Seems like I always have to prove something. She grabbed the reins, stepped into the stirrup and swung onto the saddle. As if stung by a swarm of bees, the horse reared. Anne dug her knees into his sides and held on. Her heart raced, pumping excitement through her veins. That quickly, his head touched the ground, and his rear legs aimed for the sky. If she hadn’t watched the stallion’s habits, she’d be lying in a heap of bruised flesh looking up at the sun—and listening to Clancy scold with an “I told you so.” It could happen yet.
About the time that thought emptied her head, she lost balance and hit the hard ground. Thatcher Lee headed her way, but she waved him off and spit out a mouthful of dirt. The young man grabbed the stallion’s reins, and she mounted the horse again.
With a twist of powerful muscles, the horse jerked and twisted in midair. She heard nothing, saw nothing, and concentrated on the massive animal beneath her in an attempt to sense its every move. After several minutes, the stallion began to slow. Good thing, for she was ready to give the job to the nearest ranch hand.
Some days she didn’t have a lick of sense.
Finally, the stallion ceased its rearing and snorting and allowed her to walk him around the corral. The others shouted her on. She tossed them a smile. This is the last time I’m doing this.
When she finally dismounted and handed the reins to Thatcher Lee, she thought her legs had turned to matchsticks.
“You all right?” Thatcher Lee whispered.
“Yeah,” she said. “If I mention doing this again, remind me I have two daughters to raise.”
From beneath his hat he nodded and grinned.
Anne glanced at Clancy, who narrowed his eyes. No doubt he had his lecture all worked out. She deserved it. Her gaze swept to Colt. Curiosity rested in his dark eyes. Usually admiration greeted her from the ranch hands.
Pride goeth before destruction. That’s why she wasn’t breaking any more horses.
Anne glanced at her girls standing on either side of Clancy. Nancy’s face had turned ashen. She’d apologize to her baby girl. Shame had made its point. She walked over to her girls.
“Good job, Mama.” Sammie Jo lifted her chin.
Anne nodded and cupped Nancy’s quivering chin in her hand. “I won’t be breaking any more horses, darlin’.”
The little girl swallowed hard and swiped at a single tear rolling over her cheek. “Thank you.”
She caught Colt Wilson’s gaze again. This time he offered a thin-lipped smile.
“Young’uns have a way of setting us right,” he said.
Fire burned her cheeks. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your remarks to yourself.”
“Just making an observation, ma’am.”
“I can take care of my girls just fine.”
“I reckon so.”
His words were like kindling on a crackling fire, but she dare not lose her temper in front of the girls or Clancy. What made matters worse was that he’d spoken rightly. To prove herself equal to a man, she’d risked her life, but she didn’t need him pointing out the truth. And that’s what made her even angrier.