Her Lone Cowboy. Patricia Forsythe
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THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WHAT WAS THAT? Caleb Ransom pulled on Cisco’s reins and brought the horse to a stop. He stood in the stirrups and looked across the pasture to where he’d seen something black moving along at a steady clip. Was it a dog? A coyote? One of the barn cats?
Whatever it was, it was heading toward Addie and her new filly.
Caleb’s eyes widened when he identified the little boy he’d seen hanging over the fence the past couple of days—and the boy was moving straight for the most overprotective mare Caleb had ever seen.
Sitting back down, he spurred Cisco into action. They galloped across the field, Caleb leaning forward in the saddle, urging his horse on.
* * *
WHERE WAS HE?
Delaney Reynolds hurried down the front steps of her house and made a frantic sweep of the front yard.
“Sam!” she called, as she had been calling for the past five minutes. Her son was one fast-moving four-year-old. He’d been equally fast at three, two and one. He had walked at nine months and she hadn’t had an easy day since. Her dearest hope was that she would be able to bring his adventurous nature under control and he would live to grow up.
His favorite hangout was the rail fence between her property and the one next door, whose owner kept cattle and horses. Sam was desperate to make friends with those horses. She had warned him away and threatened that he would find himself sitting in the “naughty chair” in the corner of the kitchen for a very long time if he disobeyed, but she had the sick feeling that his enthrallment with the horses had overcome his fear of forced immobility.
Laney climbed the fence and from the top rail, gazed out over the pasture, searching for Sam.
A hundred yards in front of her she finally saw a little black cowboy hat bouncing through the tall brush and grass toward a mare and her baby. Coming from the opposite direction was a horse and rider, heading straight for her son.
“Sam!”
Clamping her hands on the fence rail, she pushed off and ran, arms pumping, feet pounding.
* * *
CALEB KNEW THAT if he didn’t reach the kid before he got to Addie’s foal, there was a good chance the mare would turn aggressive. She hadn’t let Caleb near her foal for the first three days of its life and still watched him nervously, hooves dancing and head tossing when he came close or approached with a less-than-soothing voice. There was no way she would let this pint-size stranger touch her filly.
Caleb’s advance, at right angles from the child’s, would spook Addie, but there was nothing he could do about that. He could only hope that if she spooked, it would be away from the little boy.
As he’d expected, the sound of Cisco’s pounding hooves caught Addie’s attention. She lifted her head and swung it around to see what was going on. Her gaze fixed on Caleb and Cisco, but then, unerringly, her attention focused on the little boy who was closing in fast. She shook her head vigorously, then lowered it, a sure sign she was going to head-butt the child. Snorting, she pawed the ground.
Alarmed, Caleb saw that the boy was oblivious to the danger he was in because he wasn’t stopping or even slowing down. Addie, used and abused by drug smugglers and then abandoned, pregnant, in the desert, was already wary of people. Caleb couldn’t begin to guess how she might react to this kid, but he expected it wouldn’t be good.
Addie moved to stand between her baby and this small, determined human.
Before she could take more than a step toward the boy, though, Caleb was there, reins in his right hand, left arm outstretched, leaning over in the saddle as far as he could. He clamped his right leg against Cisco’s ribs as he bent, hoping that his weakened muscles would hold and not cramp up on him. With a mighty swing, he snagged the little boy by the back of his shirt and swept him up in front of him.
The kid shrieked in alarm as he was swung up and set just behind the saddle horn.
Caleb kept Cisco at a gallop as he wheeled around and away from Addie.
When they were far enough, he pulled his horse up, set the little boy on the ground and dismounted. Cisco, always happy to eat, ripped up a mouthful of grama and began chewing the grass placidly.
Caleb dropped Cisco’s reins, then took off his hat and clapped it against his leg. It wasn’t dusty, but he needed to do something to calm himself. He knew that turning this kid over his knee and paddling his little butt wasn’t an option. His heart was still pounding and alarm prickled along his nerve endings as he thought about what could have happened to the boy.
He placed his hat on his head and took several deep breaths. When he could trust himself to speak he said, “What were you doing?”
To his surprise, the boy took off his own cowboy hat and clapped it against his leg. Then he resettled it on his head just as Caleb had done and took a few deep breaths, too. Caleb would have thought the boy was mocking him if he hadn’t had such a solemn expression on his face.
Finally the kid said, “I wanted to see the pony.”
Caleb didn’t bother to correct the child’s misconception by telling him the difference between a pony and a week-old filly. He had a more important goal in mind.
“You’re trespassing,” he said.
The kid’s big brown eyes grew indignant. “Not trepsassing,” he said then frowned. “What’s trepsassing?”
“Being where you’re not supposed to be.”
“I was visiting.”
“You could have gotten hurt.”
The kid gave Caleb a look that appeared to question Caleb’s sanity. “That little pony couldn’t hurt me.”
“Her mother could and she would have, too, if I hadn’t come along and grabbed you.”
The little boy’s face lit up and he gave a little hop of excitement. “That was fun! Can we do it again?”
“No!”
Stymied, Caleb stared down at the boy. He didn’t seem scared or even intimidated. He thought the whole terrifying episode had been fun!
The boy tilted his head back to look up at him and then stuck out his hand. “My name’s Sam,” he said. “Me and my mom live over yonder.”
Yonder? Who had this kid been talking to? Caleb put out his hand to shake Sam’s but before they made contact the noise of someone crashing through the brush caught his attention. He looked over to see a woman racing toward them. She barely seemed to notice the greasewood and acacia branches that whipped against her legs and plucked at her jeans and shirt as she ran. When she saw that Caleb knew she was there, she slowed to a fast walk, her chest heaving with the effort of fighting for breath. She lifted a hand in acknowledgment.
As she neared, Caleb had the chance to observe her. She was tall, maybe five-eight, and more full-figured than skinny. Her hair was dark brown shot with sorrel red and pulled back into a ponytail that swung as she moved. Her features were strong, with a straight nose and full lips. He would call her good-looking rather than pretty, if he was going to call her anything—which he wasn’t. He could tell right away where her son had gotten his big brown eyes.
Because he found himself admiring her looks, he scowled at her. He didn’t want this kind of complication, didn’t need it and didn’t need this woman and her kid right next door. He’d liked it when the old Reynolds place had been empty and forlorn. It suited his purposes—and his disposition—just fine.
“Thank...thank