Lone Star Bride. Jolene Navarro

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ heard his stallion Dughall give a low rumbling whistle. Jackson had been invited to stay in the hacienda, but he preferred to stay close to his horse.

      The old tack room was better than some of the places he had slept the last couple of years. Hopefully that would change if the negotiations with Señor De Zavala produced the business deal he wanted.

      The sound of a hinge opening, followed by another soft whistle from Dughall, brought his attention back to the stalls. Someone was messing with his stallion. Again.

      There had been attempts to steal the horse in Galveston and San Antonio. His jaw locked. Anger turned his gut. He was sick and tired of people taking from him.

      Jackson slipped on his shirt, pulling it over his shoulders. He didn’t waste time with the buttons or tucking it into his pants. Not bothering with his boots, he picked up his Colt, checking to make sure the chambers were loaded as he headed out of the tack room.

      Slipping through the door, he scanned the area. The wide corridor was better lit than his windowless room. He stayed close to the wall. At the opposite end, he saw Dughall’s door open. The great stallion tossed his head as he stepped out.

      To Jackson’s shock, a boy sat on the brute’s back. It’s just a kid.

      At best, the stallion tolerated strangers around him. The boy looked to be about twelve years old, maybe thirteen. He didn’t recall seeing him on the ranch earlier today. The boy leaned over the black’s neck. His small hand patted the quivering muscles ready to run. The kid had no idea how much power waited under him.

      “Stop right there.” Jackson kept his voice low and firm.

      The horse and boy swung their heads toward him. Wide eyes stared at him from under the rim of the oversize battered hat. The boy wore quality clothes, but they were worn and ill fitted. The scuffed boots looked to be a size too big, going all the way up to his knees.

      “Where do you think you’re going?” He lowered the gun, but scanned the stables to make sure the boy was alone.

      No answer.

      He took a couple of steps closer and switched to Spanish, asking the boy what he was doing. “¿Qué estás haciendo?”

      The boy’s eyes went wider, obviously surprised he spoke the native language. The kid’s lips remained shut tight.

      “¿Qué estás haciendo?” he asked him again.

      “El caballo quiere correr.” The voice was so low it was hard for Jackson to hear.

      Was the kid trying to be funny? Jackson replied again in Spanish. “The horse told you he wanted to go for a run? Kid, that’s still stealing. I should turn you over to the sheriff.”

      “No.” The boy’s hands fisted in the dark mane. He kept his head down, cleared his throat and coughed. “My... Señor De Zavala wouldn’t mind.”

      “That’s my horse. If Señor De Zavala gave his permission, why are you—” Jackson searched for the word he needed “—sneaking around in the dark?” Approaching the horse, Jackson slipped the gun into his waistband. “Should we go get your boss?” A quick jerk of the boy’s head confirmed what Jackson already guessed. “Kid, do you even belong on the ranch?”

      “I belong.” Chin up, he looked so small on the big stallion. Patting the horse’s neck, the boy relaxed his shoulders and turned away.

      Jackson reached for the leather reins. “This stallion could have killed you. Don’t think your ma would appreciate losing you over a ride.”

      “My mother is dead, señor.” The youth tried to pull the reins from Jackson.

      His hands looked too smooth to have ever done any real work. Jackson growled in frustration. The poor kid was an orphan doing what he had to do to survive. He continued in Spanish. “So who’s waiting for you?”

      “Nadie.”

      Nobody. Such a simple word to describe a devastating existence for a child.

      “Right.” Jackson fought down the urge to offer the kid a safe place. He didn’t have the time or resources to take on a lost boy.

      Helping people never worked out anyway. His hand felt huge circling the boy’s upper arm as he pulled him off the horse. The warmth coming through the cloth surprised Jackson.

      Once on the ground, the kid barely reached Jackson’s chest. The youth’s wide-eyed stare stayed glued on the front of his shirt he had left open. Turning red, the boy jerked his head down, then tried to yank his arm free. The underdeveloped muscles weren’t much of a contest to Jackson’s strength.

      “When was the last time you ate?” For more times than he could count, Jackson was glad he had learned his grandmother’s native tongue. She had been proud of her homeland of Spain.

      “I am not your concern, señor.” He tried to jerk his arm back again. “Release me.”

      The boy’s Spanish sounded educated. “So you can steal something else?” With his hands wrapped around the small arm, Jackson pulled the boy closer. Just because he wasn’t turning the youngster over to the law, didn’t mean he couldn’t scare him. “What’s your name?”

      The boy glared up at him with his lips pulled tight into a thin line. He had a fresh scrape across the left side of his face.

      Jackson gave him a slight shake. The kid was going to end up in a bad way if he wasn’t careful. “You want to dangle from a rope? They hang horse thieves. They won’t care about your age. What’s your name?”

      The small jaw locked down and the muscle flexed, stubbornness written all over the soft face.

      “Fine. You can tell the sheriff.” He started pulling the boy toward the old tack room. Jackson hoped the kid didn’t call his bluff.

      “Santiago! My name’s Santiago.” His voice cracked. The boy started coughing as he fought Jackson’s grip.

      Jackson stopped and stared down with one eyebrow raised, waiting for the rest of the name.

      The kid shuffled his feet, looking at the ground. The narrow shoulders slumped. “Smith.” The single mumbled word disappeared into the floor.

      “Really? Smith?” The kid either didn’t know his last name, or he lied. Knowing how harsh the world could be, Jackson figured it might be a bit of both.

      “Listen kid, why don’t we talk to the boss and see about getting you a job?”

      Santiago’s head shot up, his dark eyes large. With a short growl, the boy swung his leg back and kicked Jackson hard in the shin. Caught by surprise, he loosened his grip. The ragtag boy took the opportunity to run.

      Straight to Dughall. The stallion still stood in the middle of the barn, ground tied when one of the reins dropped in a coil on the dirt-packed floor.

      As if he did it all the time, the small body flew onto the bareback of the horse as he grasped the leather reins. With a kick the stallion bolted out the large barn door, past the corrals and into the moonlit pasture with the kid.

      Jackson СКАЧАТЬ