Dog Wood Bride Read online

  "Do you mean the horse?"

  "No. You." He may as well say it. "You and I aren't so different in that respect. You grew up with horses, too."

  "Oh, so you asked about me, did you?"

  "Your brother had a few choice things to say about you when he did a check on my references for you. I know your grandfather breeds Arabians."

  "I spent too much of my childhood in the stables." She gave a dainty bob of her head as they rode through a deep copse of trees, where the branches overhung the road, reaching up to block all starlight, all view of the sky.

  "I did that, too," he confessed. "I got the book learning I needed. I had to be dragged to the schoolhouse, at least that's the way it felt. I did well once I was there, but all I wanted to be was in the paddock working horses on the longe line, putting them through their paces, or riding off into the fields with my best friend, my horse."

  "I had to watch on the sidelines, but I learned a lot from my grandfather, especially. He was the born horseman of the family. He and my father gave me Orville and showed me how to train him up."

  "So, horses run in your blood, too."

  "And there's nothing that can compare to having a horse for your best friend. I'm lucky that way. I rode in the train's horse car with Orville all the way here to Dog Wood."

  "Huck and I rode the rails together too, for part of our journey. But we spent a lot of time of the road."

  "Huck, huh? Well, handsome boy, it's nice to meet you."

  The black gelding answered, blowing out a raspberry. The delight of her soft, lilting chuckle was flawless. Just perfect.

  I'm not enchanted by her, I'm not. And maybe if he said that often enough he would believe it and make it true. She already had too much power over him.

  "So, you broke and trained Orville yourself?"

  "Oh, I didn't have to do a thing. Orville is a gentle soul and he was a dream from the moment he locked eyes with me."

  "So, you've been his lifelong friend, huh?"

  "Yeah, lucky me. No matter how many more horses I get, he will always be number one in my heart."

  "Good. So, you're building your own stables, then?"

  "Trying to." She brought her stallion to a halt outside the shadowed barn, the power of her dream and her love in her voice.

  She dismounted, so did he.

  "I've trained countless horses, even breaking a couple of green broke horses that should never have been handled the way they were." He left Huck standing to haul open the barn door.

  It was well oiled and pushed open on quiet hinges. Another good sign.

  "I don't believe in breaking horses," he said. "I train them. I would never break their spirits."

  "No wonder you came recommended so highly." She swished past him, bringing in both horses by the reins. "The lantern is to your right on the wall, there."

  "Found it." Just enough starlight spilled over his shoulder to give the shadowed view of the lantern hanging on a nail.

  He struck the match, letting silence settle in while he lit the wick.

  Every inch of him felt aware of her moving quietly in the dark, likely moving by memory, the skirt of her riding outfit rustling faintly with every soft whisper of a step.

  He didn't point out that few people could lead Huck anywhere, but the loyal, high-end, well-bred horse obediently stood in the aisle as if he belonged there.

  He planted his hands on his hips and took a look around. He was comfortable here, in her presence.

  He hadn't felt that way in a long time.

  "You didn't have to see me home, you know." She unbuckled the cinch and eased the saddle and blanket off her stallion's back. "Now I owe you for that."

  "I'm not keeping track." He stood there, limned by the star shine falling darkly through the door, looming over him at his full six feet.

  Her heart thumped, but it wasn't due to fear. Oh, no, that would be preferable than the truth. She was attracted to him. She's be smart to do a better job of not noticing the hard line of his shoulders and the rock-hard span of his chest or the way muscles rippled in his arms beneath the fabric of his black shirt.

  Impressive, she thought, but wished she hadn't noticed his impressiveness. At all.

  She was not interested, nope, not one bit. It was a fib, but she wanted it to be the truth. "I could have been in a little trouble with that Judson man if you hadn't stepped in or been riding beside me. I saw him back on the road behind us."

  "A little trouble? You could have been in something bigger than that. I'm glad there was no problem."

  "What are you doing for supper? Maybe I can repay you that way, by feeding you."

  "You're not going to reward me with anything. No thanks necessary. No favor granted. Not going to happen." He retreated a step. "I just wanted you to be safe. And now you are."

  "You make it impossible to even the score, Mr. Mosley."

  "That's the idea." His baritone rumbled, warmed with humor.

  She went up on tiptoe to lift the leather bridle over Orville's ears, fearing that if she didn't, Brennan would do it for her.

  When he circled around to the horse's other side, the hair on her arms and on the back of her neck prickled, standing up on end.

  That is a perfectly normal reaction, she told herself. Absolutely normal. It meant nothing, nothing at all, and it was nice of him to take charge of the bridle and slip the bit out of Orville's mouth.

  She was impressed by his gentle hands, his gentle horseman's touch. "Thank you."

  "My pleasure." He ambled away into the dark shadows out of reach of the single lantern. "You've passed the first part of the interview."

  "I have?"

  "Sure." He padded back into sight. "I have a lot to consider, but you have some happy horses here. Is the rest of the barn empty?"

  "Yes, although you already know that, don't you?"

  "It echoes. You don't have much of a need for a horseman if you only have a few horses."

  "I would like to change that." She stared down at the toes of her shoes instead of looking at him.

  She didn't want to see the look on his face or have him see how his opinion of her would hurt and steal the brightness from his eyes.

  "You look like you should be spending your days in town shopping or in the parlor sewing or reading." Humor layered his words, tempting her to look up.

  She did not want to do that or admit he was a fine men, and that might made her want to be friends.

  Liking him that much could only spell trouble.

  "I can't deny loving to shop." She gave him a little smile, just a small one.

  But his chuckle, so warm and wonderfully rich, filled the stillness between them and chased away the shadows from the dark, leaving the feeling of light even when he stepped out of sight to slip a halter over Orville's muzzle.

  The stallion lowered his head, pressing his cheek against the man's wide chest, and she watched kindness soften the hard granite of his face, making him more handsome to her.

  Their gazes locked and she felt a tug on her heart, a tug of closeness.

  Like finding like.

  In that one brief moment, connection beat between them.

  Then he stepped back, led the horse away and left her behind in the aisle.

  5

  Huck blew his breath out in a raspberry and nibbled on the lace trim of her dress collar.

  "Hey, good-looking boy." She stroked his nose until he let go of the trim, ears pricked and gentle mischief sparkling in his happy brown eyes.

  "I guess I know all I need to about the man anyway," she whispered to him. "Although you really are the icing on the cake. Look at you, you big sweetheart."

  Huck bobbed his head, rubbing his cheek against her skirt and offering his ears to be rubbed. How could she disappoint him?

  She ran her fingertips over the velvet warmth of his ears, not surprised by the returning pad of Brennan's boots.

  "You must win hearts wherever you go. I can't leave you alone with a gentle
man for five seconds and you have a male type doting on you. First at the saloon and now here. No wonder you have man trouble."

  "Man trouble? Mostly, I have spinster trouble, which is a lack of men's attention. Appropriate and proper attention," she corrected, not disappointed when he chuckled, nodding in agreement.

  He laid one hand on Huck's neck. "I'm not talking about that kind of interest. The world is a lot tougher than you think, Skye."

  "I won't argue with you about that. I know that. I have a brother, an uncle, cousins and parents who remind me of that every chance they get. But I've been having to learn how to make my way in this world alone, because that's what I am. Alone. And I can't change that."

  The pain behind those words was something she felt determined to hide. What did he think of her for her honesty?

  Did he think she was just a desperate, lonely woman? Or just an unfortunate one, or did he see something else Unworthiness, perhaps? Her chest ached. When that old pain clutched her heart, she pushed it back down.

  But she did manage to smile as she fumbled with Huck's reins. "Here, you probably need to get back to town. You came all this way and no job. I would have hired you."

  "Too bad. I don't work for a woman." Dark glints in his eyes shone like a midnight sky without stars. The soft light of kindness stirred there. And tenderness. "But then, I was told you were an exceptional female. And that ordinary doesn't begin to describe you."

  "Don't you start with the compliments, or I shall be forced to like you, and I can't allow that." She couldn't help liking the man. She handed over Huck's reins. "Something tells me that you will be riding off into that rising moon, because the sun has already set and you can't ride off into it, and I'll never see you again. But I won't forget you."

  "You're one of a kind, Skye Weatherby." His fingers, male-hot, brushed hers as he took the reins.

  Little tingles shot up her arm.

  "I hope you find what you're looking for." He towered over her, mountain tough, before mounting up without another word.

  He knuckled back his hat, whirled his gelding away from her and disappeared into the night, into the moonlight, leaving her unable to breathe.

  * * *

  Brennan took his time getting back to town, making sure the man called Judson hadn't gotten it into his head to trail gorgeous and financially well-off Skye Weatherby home.

  When he pushed into the saloon, leaving the door to slam shut behind him, driven by a cold wind, he paused. Froze. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the dim, smokey room, looking for danger.

  Not much had changed since he'd been here last, except it was noisier and more crowded.

  A different piano player tickled the ivories and a jaunty tune rang above the din of conversation. He scanned each crowded table, where gamblers were in the heat of their games.

  But no Judson or the gunslinger who'd watched over him during the earlier tussle.

  Too bad they weren't here. If they were elbows deep in a game, he would know that at least they weren't out riding the dark roads or fields near vulnerable, beautiful Skye's barn.

  Now what? Brennan's jaw tightened. He'd kept careful watch of the fields and roadways on the ride back to town. Not to mention the boardwalks as he'd guided Huck through the dark.

  A lot of men would move on. Tell her brother that no, it was a headache of a deal. He'd get himself shot or shot at, and a man would lose his mind over the woman even in the best of circumstances. A crazy, greedy man would be lethal.

  And it wasn't as if he, himself, wasn't attracted to the woman. He'd bed her on the spot. So it didn't make sense just to let it go. That bad feeling sitting like a rock in his gut said something was off. He bit back a curse.

  And he didn't like those two empty chairs at one of the prime tables. Who had been in them? And who had just left? Judson and buddy came to mind.

  "I'm using your back exist," he barked at the saloon owner when he stormed by the bar. He noticed the barman's tremble of fear and without permission stalked straight into the dark hallway.

  That bad feeling doubled. Troubled, Brennan opened the door and burst into the alley. The cool evening air fanned over him.

  At least he was alone. Nothing moved, no one was nearby and only a dog's lone bark rang out from down the alley. He eyed the black-as-night, unlit buildings surrounding him and kept silent.

  Now what? He knelt in the shadows, using the light falling through the doorway behind him to read the tracks in the powder-dry dirt.

  Sure enough, there was the type of boot heel he was expecting.

  The footprints trekked out of sight in the dark, heading straight into the alley, due east.

  Maybe there was still time. They were nice and fresh. Brennan took off at a run, not knowing how far he had to go.

  Fear for Skye burned a hole of worry beneath his sternum, so he made up his mind right there to keep working. On the job, he was troubled by Judson's questionable behavior. Now, I just have to catch him in the act.

  And that would mean he would earned back all he once lost, and Skye would be safe. Clearly, she was fine quality all the way, in manners and behavior and all things kind and good. Who wouldn't want her? He did.

  Her gentle demeanor stuck with him, and he was glad he'd made her meet him in the saloon. It had been revealing, and it was one of the only establishments he could spend time in without upsetting normal people.

  One look at him and strangers figured him to be an outlaw. They were wrong, but he did have a history he liked to keep hidden. And if anyone recognized him, it would cause him a world of hurt. And he didn't want that to interfere with the good work he intended to do here.

  It was important. He didn't want to think what a man like Judson could do if he found out quiet, sweet Skye Weatherby's net worth. She was a kind, defenseless female. Bile soured his gut as he stopped between the buildings at the dark end of block.

  Bitter, low voices sailed on the cool stream of a breeze, coming from around the corner. Curious, he padded forward.

  The faint light of the moon danced over two men, throwing their shadows against the brick wall of the hardware store in elongated relief.

  "All I know is that she smelled like money, and she can handle that stallion. I want her to tell me the secret so I can take him." Judson mounted up, sawing on the reins to send his gelding back five paces. "If that big bad stallion behaves gentle for her, then why not for me?"

  "She spoils him, that why. Plus, she smelled like more than money," the gunslinger mounted up and whatever he said next was lost as the wind snatched his words and carried them in a different direction.

  With barely a sound, the two men trotted away, becoming one with the night, and even the shadows seemed to darken as they came their way.

  * * *

  "Skye!" Younger sister, Samantha, set the tea tray onto the table. Her concerned blue eyes searched Skye's face. "What is wrong with you? I've been attempting to get your attention for the past five minutes."

  "Uh, what?" Skye shook her head and blinked, but her mind stayed on the man like it was glued there. "What did you say?"

  "Well, you haven't had an apoplexy and you aren't dead." Samantha's eyebrow arched and she shook her head with disapproval. "I might think you were being rude, but I happened to see you through the window riding home with a handsome man at your side, and I watched him ride away on his own without you."

  "You did? You saw that?"

  "And I haven't said one word. I've been waiting for you to explain yourself."

  "There isn't anyway to begin to explain."

  "You could start with the basics. Who was he?"

  "No one."

  "Clearly, you are being secretive for a reason. You must not want Ma and Pa to know what you are up to. Nothing unusual there." Samantha reached to pour two cups of steeping tea.

  Skye's mind drifted. She couldn't help it, considering the topic of her thoughts. Brennan Mosley was a handsome, dashing man, if a woman liked outlaw types. W
yoming Territory could be a dangerous place to be out riding alone at night.

  Well, he sure looked as if he could take care of himself. She'd noticed that he'd been carrying his few possessions in saddlebags and rolled on the back of his saddle seat. Everything he owned, likely, he had on him. But he remained a mystery.

  What kind of man was he, really? She remembered how his shadowed eyes had stayed guarded, not letting her in. Her heart sighed remembering how strong he'd been, how stalwart. Intriguing. He'd been interviewing her, he'd said.

  Not the other way around. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  "Not secretive," she admitted. "He was the man I'd gone to see about the job."

  "That man? He's younger than I would have thought, although it was too dark to really tell. I figured anyone our brother said would be okay to hire wouldn't be our age, but older."

  "I'd think so too, but it can't work out. Mr. Mosley said he's not going to take orders from a woman."

  "Then why did he come here to meet you?"

  "I don't know. I didn't hide the fact that I was a woman. I wasn't exactly comfortable when I walked in to meet him, but he came over and put me at ease. Not to mention scared off a very unfriendly man."

  "Really? Well, it figures. That speaks well of him, doesn't it?" Samantha slid the full, steaming teacup across the small round oak table. The sound echoed in the kitchen's little lamplight nook.

  "It's hard not to think the best of Mr. Brennan Mosley." She plucked the lid off the china sugar bowl, trying to hide the fact her stomach had fisted up remembering.

  Her bruised wrist still hurt pretty bad. She was trying to be tough and not let Samantha know.

  Or she might change her travel plans to head back home on the train to their parents.

  After all, she had a busy life there waiting for her. There was no need to change any travel plans.

  Likely the bruise would be better by morning.

  "It's too bad you couldn't hire him." Samantha sighed, leaning back in her chair and cradling her cup with both hands. She took a thoughtful sip. "How long is Claude going to stay on?"