Six White Horses Page 9

Most of the rodeo cowboys had left the day before, but when Morgan pulled out with his men and the rodeo stock, the arena grounds seemed like a deserted ghost town. Although Patty and her grandfather were kept busy caring for the injured horses, the loneliness crept in. It wasn't the hustle and bustle that she missed so much as it was an indefinable something else.

  Tuesday morning, the day they were to leave, her spirits lightened considerably. She still didn't like the idea of going to Morgan's ranch. Considering the animosity she held toward him, she felt guilty accepting the hospitality of his parents.

  Watching her grandfather load the last horse into the trailer, Patty stood back, trying to understand the conflicting emotions that had her looking forward to the journey and feeling guilty at the same time. The only answer that came to mind was that she was glad to escape the emptiness of the grounds, although being alone and separated from other people had never bothered her when she was growing up on her parents' ranch.

  "All loaded up and ready to go," her grandfather announced as he locked the trailer gate in place.

  "Do you want me to lead the way or follow?" she asked.

  "You'd better follow me for a while until we see for sure how the horses are going to do. When we get to the Oklahoma border, you can take the lead."

  "You go ahead and start out. I'll catch up," Patty said after nodding in agreement.

  "You aren't still mad at me, are you?"

  "I'm not mad at you," she frowned.

  "You've been so quiet all week I thought you were upset because I'd accepted Morgan's offer. I only did what I thought was best."

  "I know that, grandpa," she smiled, letting her dimples come into play. "And I couldn't be holding any grudges or I wouldn't be going along. But you knew that all the time."

  "It makes me feel better to hear you say it," he smiled in return. "Now, we'd better get on the road or we'll be traveling all day."

  After a jaunty salute in her direction, Everett King climbed agilely into the cab of the pickup and started the motor. Waving her own goodbye, Patty set out for her pickup and the travel trailer parked some distance away. Her grandfather was pulling out of the rodeo grounds gate as she neared hers.

  Blinking uncertainly, Patty looked again toward the passenger side of her truck. There was the crown of an ivory Stetson hat level with the window. Someone had evidently decided to hitch a ride. Her mouth smoothed into a firm, angry line as her long legs carried her to the passenger door.

  "Get out of there!" she ordered, and yanked the door open at the same time.

  There was a startled curse of pain as the man who had been leaning against the door nearly fell out, caught himself with a hand on the door, and straightened back into an upright position in the seat.

  "For God's sake, you could be more careful!" Morgan Kincaid growled. "I could have broken my neck when you pulled the door open that way!"

  Patty's mouth opened in surprise as she stared into his blazing blue eyes and the stern, forbidding frown beneath the wayward strands of black hair.

  "What are you doing here?" she demanded when she had recovered her speech.

  "I could ask you the same question," he retorted. "I thought your grandfather always drove the truck pulling the travel trailer."

  "He changed this time so he could keep a closer watch on the horses," she answered instinctively, forgetting for a moment that he had not answered her question.

  He turned in the seat to face her with painstaking slowness. "You could have checked to see who was in here before nearly killing them," he muttered angrily.

  It was only when he had completed the turn that Patty saw his left arm was in a sling. Her anger and surprise evaporated into curiosity and concern.

  "What's happened to your arm?"

  "I dislocated my shoulder. And damned near did it again when you tried to send me sprawling on the ground!" Morgan retorted, "Who did you think was in here, anyway?"

  "I supposed it was a hitchhiker," Patty defended herself. "How was I supposed to know it was you?" Suspicion loomed to the front. "Did grandpa know you were going to be here?"

  "Of course he didn't?" Morgan snapped. "If he had I would have known which truck he was pulling now, wouldn't I?"

  "Then what are you doing here?"

  His mouth moved into a cold, exasperated smile. "I wanted a ride home and I knew that was where you were going." With his good hand, he lifted his slinged arm slightly. "I can't drive very well with this."

  "How did it happen?" Her train of thought reverted back to his injury.

  "Snowball went through the fence. I was, unfortunately, on the other side," Morgan replied tautly.

  Snowball, Patty knew, was one of the rodeo bulls, renowned for his complete lack of respect for the height or thickness of any fence if he chose to be on the opposite side. He was a Brahman cross, but an extremely mild-tempered beast unless he got a notion in his mind to wander.

  "What happened to Snowball?"

  There was a suggestion of amusement in Morgan's blue eyes. "He's a good draw for the cowboys and always gives them a good score when they ride him. So I sold him to the Jim Byers' outfit. I figured they could borrow trouble for a while."

  "How did you get here?"

  "Bob Andrews' wife had a baby, a boy, and he gave me a lift as far as here."

  "But what about the rodeo stock?" Patty questioned.

  "Listen, if you keep asking all these questions, your grandfather is going to be thirty miles down the road. Don't you think we ought to be going?"

  "Oh, yes, we should," she agreed, brought back suddenly from her curiosity to the business at hand.

  Morgan slammed his door shut while Patty walked around to the driver's side. Not until she was out on the highway did she take the time to repeat her question.

  "Who's in charge of the stock while you're gone?"

  "My brother Alex and his wife drove down on Sunday. He's taking over while I give my shoulder a couple of weeks to heal."

  "A couple of weeks?" Patty repeated uncertainly.

  The sideways glance she gave him was met with a mocking gaze. "What's the matter, Skinny? Are you trying to be certain how long you're going to have to put up with me around?" Morgan taunted. "I don't know about you, but I was just beginning to enjoy the peace and quiet."

  "So was I," Patty was stung to retort, refusing to admit that she had found it empty.

  "Well, never fear," said Morgan, settling down in the seat and tipping his hat forward to cover his face. "You won't have to suffer my company any longer than is necessary. That should relieve your mind." He cradled the sling in his good arm. "Now, if you don't object, I'm going to take a nap. And please, drive carefully. I'm in enough pain as it is without getting my teeth jolted out of my head."

  "I always drive carefully!" she snapped. "And don't take it out on me just because you're hurt!"

  At that particular moment, a railroad crossing loomed in front of them. Patty's concentration had been more on her passenger than on the road and she was unable to slow up in time before they bumped across it, drawing a muffled exclamation of pain from Morgan.

  "If that's an example of careful driving—" he began savagely.

  "Oh, shut up!" And she reached over and switched on the radio to drown out the rest of his jeering remark. "Don't talk to me again until your disposition improves."

  Morgan reached over and turned the radio down. "Your disposition doesn't exactly rate a gold star," he responded dryly, and resumed his former position, the brim of his hat concealing his angry look.

  "My disposition? You've been yelling at me from the beginning!" Patty answered.

  "Talking loudly," he corrected. "Now be quiet so I can get some sleep."

  Pressing her lips tightly together in mutinous silence, Patty concentrated on the highway in front of her. Several miles farther on, she caught sight of the horse van her grandfather was pulling and began gaining ground until she was a hundred feet or more behind him.

  Morgan too was
silent, presumably asleep if the even rise and fall of his chest was anything to go by. His presence grated her nerves, never allowing her to totally relax and become oblivious to him. Forgetting how pallid the peace of last week had seemed, she found herself wishing for it.

  After an hour's drive, the horse trailer in front of her flashed its turning signal and pulled off the highway into a rest area. Patty eased her foot off the accelerator and followed, resisting the impulse to apply sudden brake pressure and rudely awaken Morgan. But the change in speed did not go unnoticed as the hat brim was pushed back and bright blue eyes looked around at the new surroundings.

  "Is he having any problems up ahead?" he asked when Patty stopped the pickup and travel trailer parallel with her grandfather.

  "He didn't signal that he was," she answered shortly.

  The question was repeated to Everett King the instant he stepped from the cab of his truck. The genuine surprise on her grandfather's face at the sight of Morgan removed the last remaining doubt Patty had that this coincidence might have been arranged.

  "No problems that I know of," her grandfather responded to the question. "Just taking a breather for the horses. What are you doing here?"

  While Morgan repeated his explanation, Patty walked to the horse trailers, using her own key to unlock the access door. They had lined the van's stalls with extra padding for the journey to insure that the horses didn't accidentally do further injury to themselves. Before she could actually begin the individual inspections, her grandfather was entering the van.

  "I'll check the horses," he said. "Why don't you get some cups from the trailer and pour us all some coffee? Bring a sack of cookies, too."

  Breathing in deeply, Patty checked the impulse to suggest that they not stop for a break but continue on. The rest was for the horses, not themselves.

  "Okay," she sighed in agreement, and walked back through the door, hopping to the ground before Morgan could take the few steps necessary to offer her a hand.

  With only a freezing glance in his direction, she walked around the horse van, rummaging again through the pocket of her tight Levi's for the key to the trailer door. She was just taking the cups out of the cupboard when Morgan stepped in.

  "Would you like some help?" he offered.

  After the angry exchange not an hour before, Patty resented the easy way he was slipping into casual friendliness. She couldn't pretend so readily that their argument hadn't occurred.

  "Aren't you afraid you'll hurt your good arm?" she asked caustically.

  "I see you're still nursing your temper," Morgan commented dryly.

  "What was I supposed to do? Ignore the way you yelled and swore at me earlier? You were the one who was a grouchy old bear," Patty accused, as she searched impatiently through the shelves for the sack of cookies.

  "I was, wasn't I?" His voice came from only a few feet away, paralyzing Patty for an instant because she hadn't heard his footsteps. "I owe you an apology. I suppose it was a lack of sleep, this shoulder and your less than cordial welcome. But I am sorry."

  "I'm surprised you're capable of admitting that" Although her reply came out bitterly acid, there was a sudden flow of warmth through her system. "I didn't realize you could be wrong in anything."

  "You still want to fight, don't you? Are you holding onto your grudge against me because your grandfather accepted the invitation to my home?" he asked quietly. "I know you probably regard it as some sort of punishment to be endured, but I assure you my parents are very warm, friendly people."

  "It's a pity you don't take after them." The sack of cookies was in her hand as she turned from the cupboard, keeping her gaze averted from his face.

  "You've never bothered to get to know me well enough to know whether I do or not," Morgan pointed out, his tall frame blocking the path to the door. "Let me carry that."

  "You only have the use of one arm." Patty ignored his outstretched hand, setting the sack on the counter to slip the cup handles on her fingers.

  "I'm hardly an invalid."

  To prove his point, fingers closed over her wrist, biting in sharply to draw her to him, the cups clanging against each other at the sudden movement. Her free hand came up to push him away and encountered the sling. To apply force against his injured shoulder would secure her release, but Patty couldn't hurt him deliberately.

  The virile masculine face was only inches from her own, the tantalizing firmness of his mouth within easy reach. His grip had twisted her arm behind her back, molding her against his length and quickening her pulse at the hard imprint of his male outline.

  "Are you going to accept my apology or keep throwing my ill temper in my face for the rest of the trip?" Morgan asked softly.

  "I accept it." Although grudgingly issued, there was a breathy catch to her voice that Patty couldn't control.

  "And forgive me?" he prompted.

  She darted an angry glare into his mocking blue eyes. "Yes."

  Lightly he brushed his lips against hers, playing with them for a provocative second before drawing away. There was a funny ache in the pit of her stomach that wouldn't go away even when Morgan released her entirely and picked up the sack of cookies. Now that he no longer held her, Patty wanted to lash out at him in anger. A warning light must have flashed in her eyes.

  "Cheer up, kid," he laughed softly. "I'll only be around for a couple of weeks. You've endured my company for a lot longer time and managed to survive."

  "I am not a child!" Patty retorted.

  "No, you're a stubborn baby goat. Some day you're going to get tired of butting your head against me," he agreed with a complacent nod of his head. "Now quit dawdling and get those cups out to your grandfather. He's probably waiting for his coffee."

  "When we start back out, you can ride with him." The taut declaration was drawn through clenched teeth.

  "And deprive myself of your friendly company? I don't think so." A satisfied smile deepened the grooves around his mouth and nose as he walked out the trailer door ahead of Patty.

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  Chapter Seven

  CLAY RED SOIL churned in the water, changing the colorless liquid to a murky red shade. The same red soil lined the banks of the river and surfaced to form tiny island bars in the river itself. The Red River, part of the borderline between Texas and Oklahoma.

  "Welcome to Oklahoma, the Sooner State," Morgan said as the pickup traversed the bridge over the Red River and onto the highway stretching northward.

  "Why the Sooner State?" Patty asked with a wry curve to her mouth. "The sooner you get here, the sooner you can leave?"

  "Have I ever spoken disparagingly of your home state?" he asked with a hint of reproving sharpness.

  "I don't know. Have you?" she countered.

  Her sliding gaze encountered his uncompromising profile. There was a slight grimace of pain as Morgan shifted his position in the seat. Patty guessed that his shoulder had to be bothering him, although he had not once referred to it in the last hour's drive.

  "I am curious," she said, leaving the sarcasm out of her words. "Why is it called the Sooner State?"

  There was an instant of silence and she felt his measured look studying her face. There was a slight vibration of her nerve ends in response to the almost physical touch of his eyes.

  "The word dates back to the land rush days. In the beginning it had an uncomplimentary connotation. The settlers who were referred to as 'Sooners' earned it by being accused of jumping the gun, you might say, and staking their claims for homestead land before it was actually open for homesteading. Often it was wrongly applied to those people who obtained choice pieces of land by others who had settled on nearly worthless ground. Poor losers, I guess," Morgan explained. "That meaning has been pushed to the background and a 'Sooner' is now simply a nickname for an Oklahoman."

  "How much farther to your ranch?"

  "Not far now," he answered, his gaze turning out the side window of the pickup. "We're north and west of Ardmore,
near the foot of the Arbuckle Mountains. This river peninsula we're on right now used to be a refuge for outlaws. Some of them are buried here near Thackerville. Have you been in Oklahoma before?"

  "I've been through it," Patty answered noncommittally.

  "Maybe you'll have a chance to see some of it while you're here." But Patty noticed he didn't offer his services as a guide. "The pine forests of the Ouachita to the east are very beautiful, especially the drive through the Winding Stair Mountains. And Turner Falls in the Arbuckle Mountains. Have you been to the National Cowboy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City?"

  "No."

  "You and your grandfather will have to make a point to go there."

  "Yes," she agreed, stifling a disappointed sigh that had come from nowhere. "Yes, I suppose so."

  A half an hour later they were turning west of Ardmore onto a state road. After another quarter of an hour's drive or more, Morgan pointed out the ranch road, marked simply by a sign on a post carved with the name Kincaid. Slowing the pickup down, Patty eased it over the open rails of the cattle guard and followed the graveled clay road into the rolling hills, trailed by her grandfather with the horse van.

  They traveled several miles into the open country before Patty sighted the main building of the ranch protected by a small hill rising on the northwest from the cold blast of winter storms. The tall, rambling brick house with its clay red brick and cream white trim was off to the side. The white stables and barns were to the northeast of the house, accented by interlacing corrals and a small rodeo arena complete with bucking chutes and a judging stand.

  As she followed the lane that made a wide circle to encompass both the house and the ranch buildings, Patty saw a tall man striding effortlessly from the nearest white barn to meet them. His height made him appear deceptively lean and well muscled, but Patty wasn't taken in. The resemblance of the man to Morgan was too strong for her not to guess that it must be his father.

  When the distance lessened and his features became more discernible, Patty knew she was right. His face was strong, perhaps not nearly so unrelenting as Morgan's, and lines crinkled the corners of his eyes in a friendly way. The sideburns were snow white, but the rest of his hair was ebony black with an occasional strand of white.