It was dusk by the time they got back to the herd. Cowboys on horseback walked their mounts slowly around the huge circle of cattle, singing softly to settle them down for the night hours. Somewhere out on the open stretch of the oblong valley floor, the mournful tune of the harmonica brought back nostalgic moments to Dany. She rose in silence beside Sam, content to be close to him, their legs brushing often against the other. Her body remained bathed with the glow of his lovemaking earlier. She could only stare at him like a child who had been given the precious gift of love. The comparison between Jean’s loving and Sam’s was jolting. Sam had loved her as a sharing partner in a beautiful experience. Jean had never shared anything; it had always been take—take and never give. With that knowledge, Dany began to put the pieces of her marriage into perspective. She glanced to the left, realizing that she owed it all to the man who rode at her side. Occasionally Sam would catch her wide-eyed gaze and smile, as if sharing that intimate secret with her.
Juan welcomed them back in a mixture of Spanish and English. Dany sat near the chuck wagon, ravenously consuming her meal as she watched Sam talk to his men about the day’s progress on the drive. Later, as darkness fell, she noticed the horizon seeming to blaze with flashes of light. Juan muttered something in Spanish as he finished washing the rest of the tin plates. Dany got up, handing the plate to him. She tugged at the dish towel stuffed in his back pocket and began drying the stack of dishes for him.
“Is that lightning?” she asked.
“Sí, sí. Not good, señora. These cattle…” And he shook his head, keeping the rest of his thoughts to himself.
“I would think they’re used to lightning,” she commented, placing the dried utensils on one corner of the wagon tailgate.
“Sí, you would think that. But these Herefords will get restless. I think the boss will keep everyone up tonight to ride around the herd and keep them calm.”
Dany noticed that more than one ranch hand was watching the horizon apprehensively where the line of thunderstorms were building. There was an unspoken tenseness building in the camp, and she hurriedly finished the drying chores and sought out Sam. She found him with his head drovers near a stand of pine. He slid his hand around her shoulder, making her feel welcome to the small knot of men.
“Juan said the thunderstorms might scare the herd, Sam.”
“There’s a good possibility of that,” he agreed quietly. He looked up at his men. “Pete, you take five of the boys for night duty and keep those cows content. If they start to spook, send a runner back and we’ll get everyone in the saddle.”
“Right, Boss.”
Sam steered her out of the grove and onto the open plain. The cattle looked like shadowy black shapes moving sluggishly beneath the increasing light of the moon. Dany sensed his concern and turned, looking up into his worried features. “Did you expect storms on the drive?”
“Yes and no,” he muttered, stroking her cheek tenderly. “Sometimes we get bad ones at this time of year, but I was hoping that we would get lucky and miss them.”
“No Irish blood in you for luck,” she teased fondly.
Sam smiled absently. “None,” he agreed, his eyes soft with tenderness as he gazed down at her.
“If it rains, that means that the river in the pass will rise.”
He leaned down kissing her forehead gently. “See, you’re more of a cowgirl than you realized. Yes, if it rises any more, we won’t be able to swim the herd across. But I’m more worried about them spooking and then running across this meadow into the foothills.” He sighed heavily. “God, that will be a mess if that happens. It means spending days recollecting the scattered herd, and we’ll have to destroy those with broken legs.”
* * *
Dany lunged upward, tangled in her sleeping bag. The crash of thunder was deafening. Nearby, she heard the men shouting, the horses whinnying nervously and the cattle bellowing. A bolt of lightning ripped the belly of the sky open and thunder growled savagely. Dany rose shakily to her feet, throwing on her boots. Juan ran around the end of the chuck wagon, his eyes wide.
“Señora! Quick! Get on Altair. The herd is going to break!” he shouted.
Large drops of rain plopped on the dry earth. Dany blinked, running jerkily toward the line of tied horses. Sam had given orders that they remain saddled. All she had to do was slip Altair’s hackamore on him and she could leave. Her heart was pumping strongly now. Sam, where was Sam? She yelled out for him, cupping her hands to her mouth. Again, she called for him. Indecision tore at her, and she grabbed the bridle, soothing Altair. Fingers shaking, she managed to get it over the horse’s head. A cacophony of harsh sounds broke simultaneously around her. She mounted, her leg barely across the stallion’s back when the herd panicked. Altair plunged forward, snorting loudly.
Three blinding, brilliant bolts hit the valley floor simultaneously. A tree exploded, the sound rupturing like an artillery shell. As a dark, willful mass, the herd veered and broke blindly into the blackness and sudden downpour. A scream lodged at the back of her throat as Dany saw a wall of Herefords bearing down directly on where she stood on the frightened, rearing stallion. She froze for only a second, leaning far forward on Altair, asking him to leap into the unknown darkness beyond the wagon. She saw Juan on another horse, swallowed up almost immediately by the engulfing inkiness.
Rain fell like slashing, cutting knives. Dany threw her hand across her eyes, totally disoriented. She heard the roar of the herd behind her, the shouts of the cowboys and the earth-shaking tremors caused by the lightning, thunder and the hoofs of the crazed cattle. The earth quickly changed into mud, and Altair lengthened his giant stride, flying through the pandemonium. Dany tried to gather her scattered, shocked senses. She had to get out from in front of the stampede! If she fell—the thought of being trampled made her stomach tighten, and desperately she tried to recall the layout of the valley. Guiding Altair to the right on a slight angle, she would cut diagonally in front of the herd, and keep the distance between them!
The entire experience was foreign to her. Diving headlong into darkness and rain at full speed was sheer stupidity. It invited disaster, but she had no choice. Where was Sam? Was he safe? And Altair. Oh, God, she couldn’t allow Altair to be injured. Dany increased the angle of the turn, hoping desperately to meet the safety of the tree line. She was soaked to the skin, her shirt clinging to her, water running in rivulets across her drawn face. The charging herd was much closer. Gripping the rain-slick reins tightly, Dany called out to the horse, asking him for a final effort. The stallion lunged strongly, his nostrils wide, drinking in great draughts of wind to sustain his effort.
Suddenly, they were surrounded by trees. Dany pulled Altair to a skidding stop, pine branches whipping back and cutting at her unprotected body. Her breath came in great ragged sobs as she leaned weakly against the stallion’s wet mane. Herefords careened so close that she guided Altair further into the tree line for protection. As she sat huddled in the saddle, the temperature began dropping and the wind picked up in gusts. Dany shivered, her hair in long ropes about her face and shoulders. Finally, the lightning eased and the thick, inky blackness descended once more. The bulk of the herd had passed, and the shouts of the men and the bawling of cattle seemed like a distant nightmare.
* * *
The dawn crawled cautiously onto the horizon, forcing the night back inches at a time from its tenacious hold on the earth. Dany had remained mounted throughout the long night, searching for Sam. It was an impossible task. Part of the herd had been gathered at the far end of the valley, and she saw both cattle and riders wearily coming back in this direction. Dany saw Juan’s dejected features brighten as she came within shouting distance. He seemed relieved, and animatedly gestured, running out to meet her.
“Señora! Señora, pronto!” he shouted.
Dany swallowed hard, kicking Altair into a gallop. She finally slid him to a stop, shakily dismounting. “What is it?” she demanded breathlessly.
“The boss, he’s over on the eastern edge of the meadow. He’s worried about you.”
Dany touched her breast, closing her eyes. “Thank God he’s safe!” she whispered fiercely.
Juan grinned broadly. “Sí, he’s tough. He said as soon as I saw you to get you over to him.”
Remounting, she tossed the cook a broad smile. “Thanks, Juan.”
Some of her initial joy faded as she rode along the edge of the flatland. Cowboys were putting animals who had broken their legs during the night out of their misery. Seeing Sam made her heartbeat rise. He caught sight of her, pulling Bomarc away from the herd and meeting her halfway. Dany pulled Altair to a stop, reaching out and touching his extended hand.
“You all right?” he asked, gripping her hand tightly.
“Yes. A little tired, that’s all,” she answered breathlessly. “And you?” She searched his worn face, the exhaustion from the search for the herd evident on his features.
A crooked smile crossed his mouth. “I’ll live now that I know you’re safe. Look, you go back and help Juan get some breakfast on. We’re going to be waylaid here a day just getting the herd back together and repairing the chuck wagon.”
Dany nodded, reluctant to break the touch of their fingers. “Be careful,” she whispered.
Sam grinned carelessly. “Now that I got someone who cares whether or not I break my neck, I will,” he responded, turning Bomarc away and heading back to the main herd.
* * *
They arrived back at the Cross Bar-U on the ninth day, tired, dirty and worn. There wasn’t a horse whose head wasn’t hanging from exhaustion or a cowpoke whose face didn’t speak of the trouble on the trail. Dany slid off Altair, resting her head against the horse for a moment. Sam came up, sliding his arm around her shoulders.
“Honey, you get inside and take a long, hot bath,” he ordered.
Dany met his gaze, forcing a small smile. “It sounds like heaven,” she agreed.
“I’ll see you at dinner tonight. Get some rest.”
Martha welcomed her back with open arms, giving her a long hug. Shooing her upstairs, the old woman insisted upon drawing the bath water herself, clucking sympathetically over the events of the drive as Dany related them.
“Missy, you just lay there and soak,” she said sternly, shaking her finger at her. “I’ll bring you up a healthy lunch in about an hour.”
She dozed off in the bath much to her own surprise. Martha had slipped in and out of the suite without awakening her, depositing a tray with thick beef sandwiches, potato chips and a tall, cool glass of iced lemonade on it. Still in her robe, Dany hungrily consumed the food and didn’t fight the need to simply fall on the bed and sleep.
It was dark when she awoke. The warm late-spring breeze stirred in the room as Dany slowly sat up, pushing her dark hair off her face. Looking at her watch on the dresser, she saw that it was nearly eight o’clock. With a groan, she pushed off the bed and slowly dressed in a pair of burgundy slacks and a pale pink blouse.
There was a reassuring familiarity to the ranch house as she padded downstairs. She heard Sam’s voice in the kitchen and walked into the well-lit room. Martha had just finished dishes and clucked at her sympathetically.
“Miss Dany, you look positively exhausted!”
Dany shrugged, peering over her shoulder at the food to be placed into the refrigerator. “I feel a lot better,” she murmured.
“Come and sit down,” Sam said. “Martha can get that.”
Martha’s mouth thinned stubbornly. “You hear Sam? Go sit down before I take a wooden paddle to you.”
Dany smiled, exchanging a warm glance with Sam as she sat opposite him. He looked at her carefully, missing nothing. “You do look better,” he agreed, sipping his coffee.
“I don’t think my rear is ever going to be the same. Do you realize I’ve got saddle sores?” she said, laughing good-naturedly.
“You earned them,” Sam said, suppressing a grin.
“Humph, is that all I get for my trouble?”
“Yup. That and the knowledge that you can do a hell of a good job at ranch work.”
Martha placed the fragrant meal before her. “You children enjoy yourselves. I’m going to bed. This has been too much of a busy day for my eighty-year-old body.”
Sam murmured good-night to her, and the silence settled like a warm cloak over the kitchen. Dany ate the barbecued chicken with relish, polishing off the mashed potatoes, corn and a salad. Sam leaned back, a pleased expression in his eyes.
“At least you’re eating,” he murmured. “Looks like the Sierras are good for you after all.”
She wanted to say, “you’re good for me,” but didn’t. Instead, a blush stained her cheeks in response. Even in her sleep she had dreamed of Sam loving her. Each magical touch of his fingers upon her body lingered in her mind. She stared at his work-roughened hands, amazed at the innate gentleness in them when he had loved her.
“Tomorrow morning, Dany, I’m going to have a small jump course set up for you and Altair. We’ve got about two weeks before the Santa Barbara show, and we might as well start building your confidence.”
Her head snapped up and she met his gaze. “I suppose you’re right,” she whispered. Getting up, she washed off the plate and silverware, placing them in the dishwasher. Dany leaned against the draining board, her arms across her chest in a defensive gesture.
“Scared?” he inquired gently.
“Very.”
“I’ll be with you every step of the way, Dany.”
“I know. But…”
Sam tilted his head. “What?”
She gave a shrug of defeat. “No matter how much you want to help me, Sam, in the end, I have to do it myself.”
“I know that, honey. I don’t expect you to win at Santa Barbara, Dany. You know that, don’t you?”
“But if I do it, I’m planning on placing,” she said.
Sam shook his head. “It’s too soon to be that competitive, although you certainly have that quality in you. No, the main thing is to get you to feel comfortable about riding in major shows again.”
Dany took a long, uneven breath. “God, I don’t know, Sam. Jean is going to be there and—”
Sam walked over, standing above her. “One step at a time, Dany. I’ll make damn sure he isn’t around to try to wreck your confidence before you ride.”
* * *
Dany waited until Sam came up to join her at the beginning of the small jump course he had erected earlier. It was nearly ten o’clock and already she could feel the coolness of the morning evaporating.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.
“I suppose. First, let’s count the strides between jumps.”
Sam remained silent as she walked the distance between each jump, mentally calculating how many strides it would take. At a certain point, the jumper had to lift off in order to make it a clean leap and not touch the rails. It was a timed event. Whoever had the least amount of faults and finished with the fastest time would be the winner. If a horse touched the jump, then he accumulated faults against his final score.
Dany was familiar with the odd names given the different and various jumps. There was the oxer, the brush and the in-and-out. Each posed a different problem for the horse and rider. The in-and-out asked the horse to be collected and well in hand because a half-stride too much would throw both the horse and rider into the second jump. The brush consisted of still bristles at the top of it, and no horse wanted it to brush its sensitive back legs. On the Grand Prix circuit, Dany had to count strides along the two or three mile course and keep those figures in her head. One stride too many could result in disaster, and Dany was all too aware of the possibility. Because of her burgeoning feelings toward Sam and her love of the scarred red stallion, she didn’t want to disappoint them. Chewing on her lip, she finished pacing the course, giving Sam a curt nod.
With Sam’s help, she mounted the frisky Altair. The sorrel pawed eagerly at the ground, wanting to be released. Dany carefully wove the reins of the hackamore and snaffle between her leather-gloved fingers. Sam’s hand rested reassuringly on her thigh as he looked up at her.
“Are you going to try and work with the snaffle more today?”
“A little. Right now all I want to do is remember the count,” she answered, her voice taut and more brisk than she meant it to be.
“You’ll do fine, honey,” he soothed, stepping away.
Hard hat in place, Dany compressed her lips, then squeezed Altair. The stallion moved out easily, making large, lazy circles while she warmed him up. No hot-blooded horse, particularly an animal in peak physical condition, was ever asked to jump without properly warming up. More than one horse had been injured and pulled a ligament because he was “cold.” After fifteen minutes of figure eights, circles and some light dressage movements, Dany felt the stallion become more supple and responsive.
There were eight jumps facing her when she brought Altair around and out of a final circle. Sam stood off to the right, a stopwatch in his hand. Nudging him into a controlled gallop, she mentally counted each stride to the first oxer, which was two and a half feet high. On cue from her leg, Altair lifted his front legs, his mighty hindquarters coiling like a spring and thrusting them up and over the small jump.
Each jump became a small victory for her. Finally after sailing over the eighth one without a fault she broke into a grin. Leaning down, she patted Altair enthusiastically, praising the stallion. She trotted him back to where Sam stood.
“Well?” she gasped, pulling him to a stop and dismounting.
Sam smiled. “Not a bad time and no faults. You did damn well. Both of you,” he said, placing his arm around her and drawing her against his body.
Dany laughed freely, automatically slipping her arms around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder. It seemed so natural until the importance of the gesture dawned upon her. She extricated herself from his arms, and he gave her a questioning glance, but said nothing.
“Let’s do it again,” Sam suggested. “Each time it will get easier. How did Altair handle for you?”
“Great. He’s a doll about cuing for takeoffs, and when I wanted him to slow slightly, I used the snaffle and he responded right away.”
Sam took off his hat, pushing his hair back with his fingers as he eyed the stallion. “I wonder if it would be wise to show him in just the snaffle if he continues to progress at Santa Barbara.”
“Don’t throw too many new things my way, Sam. He’s used to the pressure of the hackamore, and I think he’s going to be a handful at a show. I’ll probably use the hackamore on the cross-country and the snaffle for the dressage test.”
“Keeping the snaffle in his mouth for the cross-country would be a wise idea.”
“Yes. Tell me, how does he behave at a show?”
Sam grinned mischievously. “He talks to all the ladies.”
Dany laughed. “This horse is so much like you it isn’t even funny,” she commented wryly.
“Oh? In what way?”
“You’re all male and you’re both incredibly confident. A gentle hand and a soft voice will get more out of you than a crop or spurs.”
His eyes darkened. “Maybe I am a little like the stallion,” he agreed. “But not just any woman’s touch would do,” he murmured huskily. “Just yours.” He reached over, patting Altair. “See? He’s responding beautifully to your voice and hands. You’re an unbeatable combination.”
Dany colored beneath his loving gaze and gathered up the reins, remounting. She got positively weak in the knees every time he spoke to her in that tone of voice. Sam Reese could get to be an intoxicating habit.
By noon they halted. Sam helped her cool out Altair and then wash him in the shower at the end of the barn. It was sharing the little things with Sam that made her heart sing with newfound joy. It brought back painful memories of times when Jean would idly sit back while she worked, talking about his latest win or who he was going to be competing against at the next show. He never offered to help bathe her charges, walk them out or wrap their slender, valuable legs after a grueling training session.
They stood in the stall, both of them kneeling down by Altair’s front legs. Sam passed her the thick cotton matting beneath Altair’s belly, and Dany carefully wrapped Altair’s foreleg. Sam covered her fingers, and she gently disengaged them while he held the cotton in place. Picking up the elastic bandage, Dany expertly wrapped it around the cotton. She caught Sam watching her with a tender flame of interest in his gray eyes.
“You make everything fun,” she admitted, beginning to wrap the second leg.
“Must be the company I’ve been keeping lately.”
She laughed softly. “I feel like I’ve got an unbeatable team working beside me and I can do nothing but win.”
He captured her fingers for a moment against the horse’s leg. “You’re already a winner, Dany. You just don’t realize it yet.”
She moved to Altair’s hind legs, unable to meet his gaze, swallowing the tears lodged in her throat. Sam got up and leaned against the boxstall as she began wrapping the fourth leg.
“You have any family, Dany?” he asked softly.
Altair snorted, pulling a mouthful of hay from the net suspended in the corner of the stall. Dany changed position and completed the wrap. She got to her feet, dusting the fresh straw off from her breeches. “Yes, my mother.”
“She lives back East?”
“Yes.” Dany brushed strands of hair away from her temple, gathering up the accessories and placing them into a small tack box.
“What about your father?”
Dany remained silent, and she nervously moved from the stall, letting him slide the door shut. He finally cornered her in the tack room. Grasping her arm, he forced her to turn and face him. “I’m stepping on a sore spot with you, Dany. Tell me it’s none of my business and I won’t ask you any more questions,” he murmured.
His closeness always brought out the strength that she needed to break through yet another old barrier. “No, Sam, I’ll tell you.” She tossed the cloth down on the saddle that she was going to clean. “My mother really doesn’t care for the occupation I’m in, to tell you the truth. My dad—well, he was an alcoholic and left us to fend for ourselves when I was eleven years old.” She gave a small shrug. “Actually, we were both glad to see him go. He used to beat up on Mom…”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No. Not physically.”
“Just emotionally and mentally,” Sam growled.
“A lot of people have had it rougher than me,” she reminded him. She picked up the saddle soap, turning it slowly in her hands. “Maybe that’s why I didn’t marry until I was twenty-four, Sam. I didn’t want the unhappiness I saw in my mother’s marriage. She always said she got married too young and I should wait…. Well, I did and I still made a lousy choice.”
“Not really,” Sam answered softly, catching her unhappy gaze. “You didn’t marry an alcoholic. A lot of children coming out of a family situation like that usually end up the same way. You didn’t.”
She got up, tossing the soap back upon the cloth. “I don’t know why I’m still punishing myself for having made a mistake in marrying Jean. When I was a child I swore I’d never marry the wrong man like my mom did.” Her voice took on a wistful note and she faced Sam. “I had it all figured out. My husband would be loving, giving and sharing. The exact opposite of my dad. Instead I fell for a guy that was interested in using me as a stepping stone to get to the top and I lay right down and let him do it.” Her voice quivered. “I’m so angry at myself!”
Sam got up and came over, pulling her into his arms. She didn’t resist, resting her head against his chin. “You have a lot of stored-up anger to release, honey. And until you do that, you’ll never be free of him or forgive yourself for the mistakes you made.” He gave her a small shake. “Dany, don’t berate yourself for making errors. The trick is never to repeat the same one twice.” He held her at arm’s length and offered her a smile. “Just make new ones.”
Tears swelled in her eyes and she gave a little laugh. “You’re crazy, Sam Reese!”
He leaned down, brushing her lips in a feather-light kiss. “Maybe,” he agreed throatily. He raised his head, a lambent gray flame deep in the recesses of his eyes as he studied her for several heart-rending seconds. “You’re a very special woman, Dany,” he whispered, “and I want the chance to know more about you…your past, your present and what you dream for the future. Just keep trusting me and let’s keep talking and both our dreams might get answered if we work at it, honey. Come on, we’ve got to make some plans for transporting Altair to Santa Barbara.” He grinned and pulled her close, giving her a quick hug.