The next morning Dany woke up, determined to get to work on Altair. She threw on her hunt breeches, knee-high black riding boots, and grabbed her protective hard hat and leather gloves. Stopping in the kitchen, she borrowed a jar of molasses from Martha and headed determinedly out to the stud barn.
Cowboys dressed in blue chambray shirts, dusty, dirty jeans or well-worn chaps looked with mild interest as she walked briskly into dark passages between the boxstalls. Dany halted for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimness. She found Altair in his stall and placed the jump saddle and other riding equipment down beside the ties. She still felt testy and belligerent from her confrontation with Sam yesterday, and she sent a warning glance at one cowboy who started to say something and then, apparently, thought better of it.
Altair whickered gently as she approached. “Just like him, aren’t you?” she whispered. “All sweet talk on the outside and mean on the inside. Come on, it’s time for us to get acquainted.”
The big red stallion stood quietly in the ties in the middle of the aisle as she brushed him down vigorously until his copper coat shone like a newly minted penny. Two ranch hands sitting down at the end of the stable watched her in silence, each chewing on a wad of tobacco lodged in his weather-hardened cheek. Dany was positive that they had never seen someone in English riding clothes, and that irritated her even more. Damn Sam Reese! The breeze was slight, stirring through the barn, as she rummaged around until she located the tack room. In there, she found Altair’s hackamore hanging and a snaffle bit beside it. Fashioning a double bridle composed of the snaffle along with the hackamore, Dany brought out the bridle and opened the jar of thick, sweet molasses, spreading the brown syrup onto the snaffle.
“You’re going to like this,” she muttered. Approaching the curious stallion, Dany placed her right arm between his ears, holding the headstall. With her left hand, she held the snaffle close to the stallion’s mouth. His large nostrils flared as he picked up the sweet scent.
“That’s right,” she crooned, putting the snaffle in the palm of her hand and resting it on his lips. “Easy…easy…” she whispered as he opened his mouth and began licking the molasses off the bit.
Dany gave a sigh of relief as she deftly slid the snaffle into the stallion’s mouth, placing the hackamore over his nose and then sliding the headstall behind his small ears. Altair stood there, chomping in an exaggerated fashion as he mouthed the snaffle. Dany remained near, crooning softly to him and patting him. She followed the same procedures ten more times until Altair docilely accepted the bit. The next stage of the plan would be more dangerous; she would not only have to get used to the horse but also balance control through the hackamore and snaffle. Would he rear or flip over backward on her if she pulled too hard on the reins that were attached to the snaffle? Chances of injury on a horse “sun-fishing” on her were great. It would mean leaping off his back at exactly the right moment or getting crushed under a thousand pounds of flailing horse. She slipped the snaffle bit into Altair’s mouth one more time and the bridle over his large, broad head and snapped the throatlatch closed. She decided to use a strap attached from the cinch to the noseband known as a standing martingale. It would stop Altair from jerking his head up and hitting her.
Taking a riding crop, Dany slipped it over her wrist and drew on the thin riding gloves. She recalled times when the palms of her hands had been cut open by horses who had pulled the leather reins sharply through her grip. Wearing the gloves protected her hands, plus it gave her more grip with the sometimes slippery reins. Fixing the hard hat firmly on her head, she buckled it tightly, the chin strap snug against her jaw. Looking up at Altair, she muttered, “Okay, big boy, let’s find out what you’re made of. If it’s anything like that owner of yours, this ought to be one heck of an experience for both of us.”
Altair brushed her shoulder affectionately, beginning to prance airily as she led him out into the bright afternoon sunshine. He tossed his head, sensing the excitement of his rider. Dany looked around and decided to ride him in a pasture that seemed free of fences at the other end. If she did get in trouble with him, then there was open area to deal with the situation. She placed the toe of her boot in the stirrup, leaping easily upon the stallion’s broad back. Altair sidled, tucking his head and humping his rear playfully. Dany monitored the pressure on the hackamore, forcing him to stop the small, harmless bucks. All cross-country horses were bred hot, and few could stand still for more than one second if they were asked. Altair was no different.
The stallion felt good between her tightly clenched thighs, and she carefully moved her calves against his well-sprung barrel, gently putting pressure against him, asking him to move out at a slow trot. A small smile of appreciation smoothed the frown on her features as he moved out in a fluid, unbroken stride. His nostrils flared, drinking in great draughts of wind, as she moved him in large, lazy circles, checking his sense of balance, of motion and flexibility, against the hackamore. He responded beautifully.
For twenty minutes, Dany tested Altair’s weaknesses and strengths, finding him an utter delight to ride. Although tall for a rider, she looked like a miniature jockey astride the giant copper stallion, his flaxen mane and tail flowing like white silk behind him. Dany spotted several oxer jumps a good two miles away. Sitting deeply in the seat of the saddle, she pushed downward with her spine, giving him the signal to gallop. Altair surged forward in an unbroken, pounding rhythm. His length of reach was phenomenal, because his legs were long in proportion to his extreme height. The ground began to blur into a ribbon of green, and the wind created by the thoroughbred’s speed sheared against Dany’s face, causing her eyes to water.
Dany began to pull Altair in, applying just a slight pressure against the snaffle and more against the hackamore as the oxers came up quickly. She reached down, touching his sleek neck and shoulder, checking for sweat; there was none. She was pleased that he was in such good condition and began to croon to the stallion, asking him to slow his pace even more. Raising up off the saddle, knees pushed inward against the small patch of leather, Dany leaned forward on his withers to check his speed even more, her face inches from his arched neck. A small puddle of water appeared over the next small rise, and Altair was suddenly airborne, popping over the puddle as if it were a jump. Dany’s neck snapped back and she felt her body being pulled back by the mighty thrust of power from the unexpected leap. Her thighs tightened like a steel trap against the saddle. Altair landed heavily, startled by the sudden shift of his rider’s weight. She slammed forward, her face smacking into the crest of the stallion’s neck. For a moment, blackness threatened to engulf her, but she hung on, gripping his mane.
“Whoa,” she croaked, sitting up and pulling him to a stop. Her nose ached abominably, and she shook her head, trying to escape the pain that radiated outward from it. She reached up with her gloved hand. “Oh, damn,” she muttered, staring at the blood on her fingers.
“Problems?” a cool voice inquired.
Dany jerked around in the saddle, startled.
Sam’s eyes narrowed and he lost that infuriating smile when he saw the blood. He kicked the gelding forward, coming abreast of her and grabbing Altair’s reins. She blushed angrily, pinching her nose shut to try and halt the bleeding, and jerked the reins out of his hand. “I told you to leave me alone!” she said.
“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice losing its coolness and reflecting genuine care.
“Well it won’t be the first or last time.”
Sam swore softly, glaring at her. “You’re a hellion just like that horse when you want to be. Why don’t you climb down off there and let me see how badly hurt—”
Keeping her hand over her nose, Dany kneed Altair, and the stallion made a quick turn. “No thanks! Just stay out of my way. Do you understand me?”
He sat there on his black gelding, his gray eyes sparks of fury. “You two deserve each other,” was all he growled, and yanked his horse around, galloping back toward the group of cows and men waiting for him about a mile away.
Tears ran down her cheeks, and she spit out the distasteful metallic taste of blood from her mouth. That would serve her right: She should have checked over the terrain first. It was clear that she would have to begin work in earnest with Altair on all sorts of water situations. She gave him a pat. “Come on, big boy, get me home so I can get a cold cloth on this nose. I hope it’s not broken. God, it hurts.”
She had managed to remove the bit from Altair’s mouth and was trying to unsaddle him when Sam appeared out of nowhere. He lifted the saddle off in one smooth motion and gripped her arm firmly with the other. Dany muffled her protest as he dragged her down the aisle toward the house.
“You might as well quit struggling,” he declared grimly, handing the saddle to one of his hands. He stopped long enough to say, “Jake, cool Altair down and then put him back in his paddock.”
Dany tried to pull away. Blood was still trickling from her nose, and she put her other hand up to try and halt it. “Let me go!” she cried.
“Stop it,” he ordered, pulling her along.
They passed Martha, whose eyes widened with surprise as he guided her through the kitchen. Sam took her to his suite, forcing her to sit down on a stool in the huge bathroom. He threw his hat down and took a washrag, running it under a faucet. Dany sat there, tears streaming down her face, infuriated and embarrassed.
Martha came on the run, panting as she waddled around the bedroom door to the bathroom. “Sam, what’s happened to her?”
His fingers slid along Dany’s jaw, and she tried to jerk away. “If you don’t sit still,” he threatened softly, the moistness of his breath fanning across her face, “I’m going to take you over my knee.”
Martha crowded in, her keen brown eyes assessing Dany’s nose. “I’ll go call Dr. Hart right away.”
“No!” Dany protested, acutely aware of his strong fingers against her chin and jaw.
“Yes!” Sam thundered to the departing Martha. He glared back down at her. “You’re certainly hardheaded.” She winced as he gently placed the cloth against her nose. “You may have broken it,” he growled, carefully blotting away the blood.
“Oh, shut up!” she mumbled, grabbing the cloth out of his hands. She stood up, examining her nose in the mirror. It was swelling on one side, and she touched it tentatively.
“Why don’t you sit down before you fall down and get a damn concussion,” he ordered tightly, his eyes broadcasting his concern.
She wasn’t going to do one blasted thing he ordered. She might have to live here for a month or two, but that was all! Stubbornly, she remained on her feet, the pain increasing and making her eyes narrow. The cold cloth against her hot skin felt good, and she rinsed out the cloth and put it back against her nose. “You might as well be talking to a wall,” she muttered, glaring up at him. “I’m not doing a thing you tell me!”
He leaned forward, his face a mask of tightly controlled fury. “I don’t need my rider fainting on me and striking her head against the tile floor of this bathroom. Now sit down before you fall down!”
She wanted to stick her tongue out at him in sheer frustration. He was treating her like a twelve-year-old child. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said haughtily. “I’m not going to faint! I’ve been hurt a lot worse than this and had to take care of myself without anybody’s help. So just let me be!”
“That’s part of your trouble. You’re so self-sufficient that you don’t know how to handle someone’s offer to help. You’ve got to be part Irish with stubbornness like that.”
His verbal tirade sounded hollow, the words seeming to blur together, and Dany blinked, dropping the cloth from her hands. Lights danced in front of her eyes, and she felt waves of pain shooting up into her forehead. She moaned, and her knees suddenly buckled beneath her.
“Dany,” Sam whispered, barely catching her as she collapsed into his strong arms. The last thing she remembered was his arms encircling her and the warmth of his sun-hardened body pressed against hers.
* * *
Dany awoke, groggy, immediately aware of a heavy adhesive bandage across her nose. It was dark except for a small light on the nightstand beside her bed. She sensed movement rather than heard it and gasped as a bulky shadow moved from the darkness to the light.
“It’s just me,” Sam growled, coming over and standing above her.
Dany let out a sigh of relief, her fingers resting at the base of her throat. She felt the bed sag beneath his weight. Her eyes flew open, and she stared up at his harshly lined face. Assorted impressions hit her at once. Someone had dressed her in her black silk nightgown, and she was comfortably ensconced in her own bed. Dark smudges hovered around Sam’s eyes, fatigue showing in their darkened depths. Guilt at her outburst earlier caused her to be contrite.
“How long have I been out?”
“About four hours. You went from a faint into sleep. Doc Hart said you were exhausted. He just called me about an hour ago and said you’re also anemic. So that means you cool your heels for a while and take it easy and rest.”
“Wonderful,” she retorted, her voice thick.
“How do you feel?” he asked, managing to soften his tone.
“I’m hungry.”
A slow grin appeared on his generous mouth. “Hungry?”
She glared over at him, pulling up the blanket across her breasts. “Yes, hungry. Is it a crime to be hungry after getting punched in the nose?”
His hand came forward and caressed her cheek. “Okay, okay, don’t get excited. I’ll go see what Martha saved from tonight’s meal.”
“No, I’ll go down and eat. I can get up and walk.”
His hand rested firmly on her naked shoulder, his fingers a burning brand to her flesh. She was all too aware of the thin spaghetti strap that held the nightgown up over her body. A blush rushed across her face, and she gave in, just to get him to leave. “Okay, I’ll eat here,” she muttered.
Sam smiled benignly. “That’s better. You know, lady, you’re worse than a flighty two-year-old filly that needs breaking.” He slid his hand upward, lightly caressing her arm.
Her lips parted and she stared at him, his touch communicating much more than words possibly could. His fingers came to rest on her shoulder, his eyes a dark, turbulent gray. Her heart hammered at the base of her throat as she read the intent of his gaze. His fingers tightening against her shoulder, Sam leaned down. “Women and horses ought to be broken with love,” he whispered, his breath warm against her face. “All you need is a gentle hand, Dany.”
His mouth grazed her lips lightly. A deep, keening ache began within her body, and she tilted her head up hungry for further contact with his teasing, tantalizing male mouth. The fresh scent of pine intermingled with horses filled her flared nostrils. To her, it was one of the most natural scents in the world, and she relaxed as he cradled her face between his work-roughened hands. His mouth moved insistently against her lips, tasting them with delicious slowness. Instinctively she curved her arm around his neck, desiring more of what he offered.
A low groan emitted from him. “God, Dany, I need you,” he murmured thickly against her ear.
She pulled away from him, reluctant to end the contact. “You’re right,” she admitted unsteadily. “A gentle hand and a kind word are all anyone needs.” She had not meant for it to sound bitter, but it came out that way.
Sam slowly rose, an unreadable expression dropping over his face. “You need it, too, Dany,” he reminded her darkly.
Desperate at the turn of the conversation, Dany cast about for anything to break the last of the heady spell. “Who put me in my nightgown?” she demanded peevishly.
He studied her for long seconds before answering. “Don’t look so worried. Martha shooed us out of the room. She said it wouldn’t be proper to have a bunch of gaping fools around when she dressed you. I’ll be back in a few minutes with your dinner.”
Dany scrunched down between the covers, groaning to herself. She shut her eyes tightly, embarrassed by the entire incident. Unconsciously, she touched her lips, aware that the strength of Sam’s mouth had acted like a brand upon her. It shouldn’t have happened. Not now. Unable to vent her fear and anxiety at Sam, she turned it upon Altair. “Damn you,” she breathed softly. It was going to be the last time the stallion injured her, she promised. Tomorrow morning, Altair was going to start to like water…or else.
* * *
She ate ravenously, occasionally flinging a distrustful look in Sam’s direction as he sat opposite her on a chair in the corner of the room. He got up, pouring himself more coffee and refilling her china cup.
“You know, you need fresh air, sunshine and some good ranch food in that body of yours to help get you back on your feet. I want you to take a week off and just rest, Dany. I can ride Altair enough to keep him in condition. I need you at your best. Not your worst.”
She put the cup down, her eyes narrowing with frustration. “I run my own life, Sam Reese. How many times do I have to repeat that sentence? Tomorrow morning I’m going to begin to retrain Altair.”
“You will not. Doctor Hart said you’re this close to folding.” He held up two fingers that were barely a quarter of an inch apart. “Quit pushing yourself. You have a roof over your head, money coming in and a job.”
“Yes, and a tyrant for a boss. No thanks. I’ll fulfill my bargain and leave your wonderful services as soon as possible.”
He shook his head, sipping the coffee slowly. “Your compliments aren’t going to get you anywhere, so quit throwing the barbs. I’ve been stung by a lot worse, believe me. You’re exhausted, very close to a broken nose and you need to relax.”
Dany bowed her head, her black hair providing a curtain between them. Deep inside she knew that he was right. There was no way that she could ride for at least a week; the jarring effect would do nothing but aggravate her nose. “You’re right,” she admitted quietly.
She heard him rise and looked up in his direction. His face showed his own tiredness and worry as he leaned over, taking the tray from her lap. “You got some sense after all,” he murmured. “I’ll look in on you tomorrow sometime. Take one of those pills the doctor left for you before you go to sleep.”
She frowned, watching him walk slowly toward the door. “Don’t do me any favors, Sam. You don’t have to keep a check on me each day. I won’t run away.”
His eyes flared briefly with anger. “If I want to see how you’re feeling tomorrow, I’ll come. It has nothing to do with our business agreement. Understand?”
Dany opened her mouth and then shut it, glaring at him until he closed the door after him. Taking the glass of water, she placed the pill in her mouth. Shutting off the lamp, she snuggled back into bed. If it was a sleeping pill, it wasn’t working. She lay there in darkness staring up at the ceiling, thinking of Sam and how he affected her.