Armed with scissors, Victoria was in her portico gathering some fresh flowers for the dining table. Her rose bushes were lush and she lovingly caressed the fresh petals, bending to inhale deeply the cherished perfume. She chose the white roses, her favorite, and carefully searched for the ones with a wide-open corolla, sparing the delicate rosebud and their secret, undisclosed beauty. As she set herself upright to go back inside, the fresh cut flowers in her arms, she saw McNally lead Misty Girl toward the stables. He looked in her direction and nodded in salutation. She raised her hand and waved her greeting back at him, suddenly feeling like bursting into flames. What is happening to you, Victoria? You're blushing like a schoolgirl Confused by her own reaction but determined to follow a sudden impulse, she laid the flowers on the nearby table and rushed down the portico steps.
Arriving at the door of the stables, she hesitated. This is your last chance to behave properly, Victoria. Turn on your heels and go back to the house, her inner voice insisted. But, before she could change her mind, Victoria pushed with force and the door flung open.
McNally raised up his head and froze for a moment seeing who was coming. He was down on one knee checking Misty Girl's legs.
"Is she alright?" Victoria asked, taking two steps inside.
"I… Good afternoon, Mrs. Barkley. I'm just checking to be sure you'll be safe next time you go riding," the foreman said quickly.
"That's very thoughtful of you, McNally," she said gratefully, walking across the straw-strewn floor to reach him.
"Her rear left leg is swollen," he informed.
"Oh, let me see," Victoria said, kneeling and sitting back on her heels beside him, trembling inside from his closeness.
"Here," McNally said taking her hand, guiding it to touch the mare's leg. His hand was warm and strong. Victoria's heart rejoiced at such a simple thing, at the touch of his hand wrapped around her own.
"Yes, I… I can feel it. Is it serious?" She asked worriedly.
"No, I think it's just some swelling due to lack of exercise, since you've been resting after… McNally's voice trailed off. "My poultice works wonders," he added reassuringly.
Misty Girl rumbled in protest for the prolonged touch and made a step backwards. They both laughed slightly and pulled back, but he didn't let go of her hand and she didn't try to break the contact. "Thank you," she just said, staring into the eyes she had so longed to see again. There they were, still the same, just like she remembered, kind, honest clear azure eyes.
An unspoken message, like pure energy, passed between them. He gently pulled her toward him. What in the name of God are you doing? Victoria's inner voice asked, alarmed. But it was too late. Before she could answer, they were kissing. And it was sweet, consoling, and felt so right. It was like coming home.
"McNally!" Nick's booming voice called from outside, startling them and breaking the spell. Victoria was on her feet and to the door in no time, just a moment before Nick opened it.
"Mother! What are you doing here?"
"I was checking on Misty Girl, Nick. She has a swollen leg," she explained hoping her son didn't notice the flush of embarrassment on her fevered cheeks and her glossy eyes. Behind her, McNally was gathering a handful of straws from the floor.
"Is my mother's horse alright?" Nick enquired, addressing his foreman.
"I think it's just an edema, Nick," McNally offered, pouring some water from a wooden bucket on the straws he had gathered and pressing the wet straws between his hands. He then affixed the poultice on the mare's leg.
"She'll be alright, Mother, McNally's poultice works wonders," Nick said, using the same exact words his foreman had used a little time before and provoking his mother's hilarity. "What are you laughing at?" he asked, frowning.
"Nothing!" Victoria said, biting her lower lip. "Women." Nick shook his head. "McNally, Thomson is spending the night in the line shack on the east section. You and I will catch up with him tomorrow morning and see if we can track down that damn cougar. Uh, Sorry Mother."
"Alright Nick, I'll see you tomorrow. Good evening, Mrs. Barkley," McNally said.
"Good evening, McNally, and thank you," Victoria replied as her son took her by the elbow guiding her outside.
"I hope we're having chicken creole for dinner. I'm starving," McNally heard him say and chuckled to himself.
Heath chuckled visualizing his first encounter with Audra Barkley and the way she had assaulted him on Tom Barkley's grave with her riding whip.
Crouched by Tom Barkley's grave, Heath was so engrossed in his thoughts about the man he had never known that he didn't even hear the sound of approaching hooves.
Swish! She hit him from behind, from up above her horse.
Swish! The whip swished and hit him again. He tried to shield himself with his arms the best he could but there was no escape. Swish! Swish! Swish! Ten times in a row, unrelentingly.
After the initial surprise and confusion, Heath was surprised to discover a young blonde girl was the cause of all of it. She hit him with no pity, an expression of stubborn determination displayed on her face.
He took his chance and grabbed her by her waist, dragged her out of the saddle and to the ground.
They wrestled, entangled in one another, rolling in the dirt. She was still holding her horsewhip and wouldn't let go.
Finally, Heath pinned her to the ground, both hands holding her wrists. "For the love of…" He began, slightly amused, trying to hold her still.
"Get off of me," she ordered.
"A cat. A blond-haired, blue-eyed..."
"I'll feed you to the wolves. I'll cream you!" she threated. Heath couldn't help but laugh as the pretty blonde fury fought for her freedom. "You're hurting," she protested, still stubbornly holding the whip.
"Drop it," he demanded.
When the girl finally obeyed, Heath took the whip and threw it away.
"I planted those flowers," she informed with disdain.
"So?"
"You were tramping on them. I saw you," she accused. "Who are you?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing," he countered.
"I don't have to tell you that," she said indignantly. She stood and went to retrieve her whip.
"No, ma'am, I guess you don't," Heath acknowledged.
"Audra Barkley," she declared proudly.
Of course, how had he missed it? She resembled him so closely… She was his sister.
You've gone soft, Heath Thomson, he said to himself, a slight smile still lingering on his lips.
The truth was the Barkleys, all of them, were good, loyal and proud people and rightly so. He was of a different cloth. He hadn't had the guidance of the strong hand of his father in the troubled years of his youth. He had had nothing at all. Tom Barkley wasn't there when, still a boy, he had come very close to stealing when he couldn't eat mud anymore. Tom Barkley hadn't been there when, not yet a man, he had joined the army, to serve in a war he couldn't understand.. That had been the end of his innocence.
Tomorrow he would go looking for Turk. The man used to appreciate Heath's ability with horses when they had worked together. I can take Lloyd's place, Turk will be happy to have me, he reasoned. Turk never stayed in the same place very long. He kept moving. Just what Heath needed.
Why is it so hard? He didn't know, he just knew, for some mysterious reason, this time it was.
Sharon.
The name echoed in his mind as if someone had whispered it in his ear. That name was almost all he knew about her. They had met on occasion of a barn ball where he didn't want to go. But the boys had insisted and the whole Barkley family had attended too. So, he had reluctantly gone. They had just looked at each other for a long time, until she had smiled that small shy smile he still dreamed of. So he had found the courage and asked her to dance. They had danced together for the rest of the night, her tiny body flying around in his arms like a graceful bird. She had told him his uncle and his people had arrived earlier that same year and had settled on a land about seventy miles south of the ranch. For some reason, since then Sharon and her tiny shy smile were dwellers of his heart and wouldn't leave.
You knew from the beginning it couldn't last.
Yes, but I didn't know them, yet.
Heath's smile died on his lips. He needed to get rid of those feelings.. He needed to get rid of any feelings toward the Barkleys, the girl, and anything connected with his staying at the ranch. It was a sad, but necessary evil, before Sabrina did something irreparable to the fragile yet precious ties he had been able to create with the Barkleys. Once he was gone, they would remember the ranch hand Heath Thomson, a hard worker and a good man.
With those thoughts in mind, Heath Thomson, Tom Barkley's bastard son, finally fell asleep.
That night, Sabrina waited for everyone else in the house to be fast asleep. The fear and the excitement about what she was going to do was making her head spin.
She silently put her boots on under her nightgown, stepped downstairs and snuck out of the house. The night smelled of wildness and it was pleasantly cold against her barely covered, fevered, burning skin.
She would ride up to the line shack where she had heard Heath would spend the night. She pulled her gown up to her flanks and climbed up on Jingo, sitting astride the animal's back, her own back upright, her thighs tightly pressed against the horse's flanks, savoring the feeling of anticipation of what was ahead.
That cowboy would learn a thing or two, that night.
