Miss Murray On The Cattle Trail. Lynna Banning

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СКАЧАТЬ the boiling point. He told himself he was just tired, worried about getting a thousand head of prime beef to market, concerned about Cassidy and his over-interest in Dusty and just plain disgusted about nursemaiding a city girl who had no business on his cattle drive. He’d taken to watching her struggle to keep up with the herd as it lumbered along. Kinda enjoyed it, if he was honest about it.

      She was green as grass on a horse, stiff in the saddle and inconsistent with the reins. Often the poor animal couldn’t read her contradictory signals and stopped dead in the middle of a meadow. Dusty had assured him she knew how to ride, but when he watched her, he sure doubted it. She probably rode on tame, city park bridle paths, ambling along with some poor dude she’d roped into an outing.

      This afternoon was no different. There she was, trotting parallel to the herd through a meadow dotted with dandelions and patches of bright yellow mustard, pulling so hard on the reins he winced at what the bit was doing to the poor horse’s mouth. He spurred Dancer away and came up on the other side of the herd so he wouldn’t have to watch it.

      Juan and Jase were riding flank, working hard because the herd seemed restless today. Probably the weather—part sun, part clouds and lots of wind. Juan tipped his hat. Jase started to say something, then broke off to chase a wandering steer.

      Zach reined up and waited for the herd to pass, planning to relieve Curly, who was riding drag. The last animal lumbered past, and through the haze of dust behind them he glimpsed Dusty’s roan standing stock-still in the middle of a patch of grass. Riderless.

      Guess the horse had had enough.

      He trotted closer and sure enough, there was Dusty, in a heap on the ground. “You okay?” he shouted as he rode up.

      “Yes, I think so. I fell off my horse.”

      Zach snorted. Got bucked off, more likely. He dismounted and stood beside her. “Want a hand?”

      “Yes, thank—” She started to reach up and gave a yelp of pain. “My arm hurts! And my shoulder.”

      He knelt at her elbow. “Probably bruised it. Let me see.” He rolled back her shirt-sleeve to see if her arm was broken.

      “Just sprained.” But when he touched her shoulder she cried out again.

      “That hurt?”

      “It most certainly does hurt,” she said through clenched teeth. “And I can’t move my arm.”

      Oh, hell.

      “Okay, let’s get you back on your horse.”

      She sucked in a breath. “I—I don’t think I can ride. I’m right-handed and I won’t be able to hold the reins.”

      “Gotta get you on your feet,” he said in a resigned tone. “You hold on to your hurt arm with your left hand.” He slid his hands around her waist and lifted her upright. “Ouch!” she cried. “That hurts!”

      He walked the roan over and lifted her into the saddle as carefully as he could while she grabbed her injured arm and gave little groans of distress. Then he had to pry her left hand away from her right arm, which she was clutching, and lay the reins in her hand.

      “Wait! I told you I’m right-handed, so how—”

      “Any good cowhand can ride with the reins in either hand. So do it. And don’t jerk on the lines. Tossing you out of the saddle is the horse’s way of telling you that you’re not doing it right.”

      “Oh.” Her voice sounded funny. “All right, I’ll try.”

      Good girl. She might be green, but she had guts.

      She urged the horse forward, and after the animal took a few halting steps, Zach strode over to where he’d left Dancer and hauled himself into the saddle. It was going to be a long, achy day for her. Part of him felt okay about that. Might teach her a lesson. The rest of him felt halfway sorry for her. He’d bruised a few shoulders in his time. Hurt like hell.

      Hours later they came upon the chuck wagon and Cherry’s remuda on a rise overlooking a long valley. The herd plodded to a halt and the hands began turning their horses over to Cherry and washing up for supper. Almost against his will, Zach kept his eye on Dusty.

      Curly lifted her out of the saddle, and she moved very slowly toward the wash bucket. Roberto stopped her.

      “Señorita Alex, let me fix your arm.”

      She followed him to the chuck wagon, where he pulled a clean dishtowel from one of his drawers and expertly fashioned it into a sling. Then he pressed the bottle of liniment into her hand.

      “Tonight you must use this again. Make better.”

      “Thank you, Roberto. I’m sorry I won’t be able to help you wash up the plates tonight.”

      “No problema, señorita. I get José to help.” He spooned a big dollop of beans onto a tin plate and added a chunk of corn bread, then folded her left hand around the edge.

      Zach watched her thank the old man again and settle herself on a log by the fire pit. The hands dug into their suppers, and Zach took his plate and a fork and went to stand outside the circle of firelight.

      But Dusty just sat there, staring down at her plate.

      Roberto noticed. “What is wrong, Señorita Alex? No hungry for my chili beans?”

      “I...I can’t eat with my left hand. I can’t control the fork.”

      The cook frowned. “I give you a spoon, okay?”

      But after she dribbled beans down the front of her shirt it was clear she couldn’t manage the spoon, either.

      Suddenly Zach couldn’t stand it one more minute. “Move over,” he ordered, settling himself next to her. He grabbed her spoon and loaded it up with beans. “You’re a lot of trouble, you know that? Open your mouth.”

      Obediently she did so, and he shoveled some beans past her lips. She swallowed them down and looked up at him.

      “Thank you, Zach.”

      He gritted his teeth, broke off a bit of the corn bread and motioned for her to open her mouth again.

      “Just like feeding a baby bird,” he muttered when the corn bread disappeared. Then he wished he hadn’t said it because her cheeks got pink, and when she glanced up there was real pain in her eyes.

      Blue eyes, he noted again. Dark blue, like the morning glories Alice grew on the Rocking K porch trellis.

      He bit his lip and loaded up her spoon again.

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