Winning Over the Wrangler. Linda Ford

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      Sybil’s plans to go immediately to the corrals next morning were cut short when Linette said, “Can you show me how to finish the edges on the baby shawl?”

      “Of course.” As soon as breakfast was over and the kitchen cleaned, they went to the big room overlooking the ranch.

      An hour passed before Sybil could slip away. Mercy had disappeared to some unknown destination, so she was forced to go alone.

      Not that she was alone. There were cowboys everywhere. Eddie had said they were adequate chaperones anywhere on the ranch.

      When she’d first looked out the windows, only two cowboys had been watching Brand work, but now several more gathered round the pen, and another jogged over in a rolling, awkward gait that said riding a horse was more his style.

      Sybil found a place along the fence next to a cowboy whose name she couldn’t recall. “Is he as good as everyone says?”

      “A couple of years ago, I worked on a ranch down in Montana.” The man barely glanced at Sybil as he talked, his attention fixed on the activities in the corral. “I heard stories about a dark, nameless man who could break the rankest animal to be found. I wondered at the time if it was a tall tale. One of those stories told around the campfire for entertainment. But I’m beginning to think the story held a lot of truth.”

      A campfire legend. Sybil liked that and would certainly include it in her story.

      Already she chose words to describe it to the readers.

      A man with no name, but a reputation from which legends are born. A man whose strength of character made one instinctively trust him. Whose arms—

      No. She would not say that his arms made one feel safe and secure. She wouldn’t even let herself believe it. This man spelled danger to her fragile heart.

      But he wasn’t staying around, so she didn’t have to be concerned. All she had to do was write the story.

      She glanced about. Strange that all the hands seemed to have gathered at the corrals this morning. Or perhaps not. Brand would finish up before long and no doubt they all wanted one last glimpse of this legend.

      “That’s his last horse,” one of the men murmured.

      “Or so he thinks,” replied another, with a soft chuckle accompanying his words.

      Sybil’s attention kicked into full alert. “What does that mean?” she asked the second man.

      He gave a wicked grin. “We found another unbroken horse.”

      Several of the men snickered and nudged each other.

      Something about the way they acted warned her they were up to no good. Her nerves twitched with a mixture of anticipation and concern.

      Brand rode the horse he was on to a standstill, then spent several minutes riding the animal around the pen, teaching it to obey the reins and the instructions signaled by the rider’s legs.

      “That does it.” He swung from the saddle and hung a rope over the nearest post. His eyes touched her, making her forget momentarily that they were surrounded by a horde of cowboys.

      He shifted his gaze around the circle.

      “Where can I find Eddie?” he asked.

      Sybil glanced at the assembled crew. Odd that Eddie wasn’t with them. Nor the foreman or any of the other cowboys she was familiar with.

      Cal answered Brand. “Boss got called away to tend a bull.”

      “When he returns, tell him he can find me at my campsite.” Brand headed for the gate.

      “Hang on. There’s one more horse to go.”

      Sybil felt the tension radiating from the cowboys. It trickled up her spine, caused her to curl her fingers until the nails bit into her palm.

      Brand stopped, studied the circle of cowboys. “There wasn’t another this morning.”

      Cal chortled. “We found this one ’specially for you.”

      Only because she watched so carefully did Sybil see the way Brand’s shoulders tensed and his breathing paused for a second. Then he emptied his lungs in a slow sigh.

      “Special for me, you say? Let me guess. This horse is meaner than a twister, ain’t never been rode, and has been known to bite, kick and generally let people know he don’t intend to be.”

      Cal’s laugh seemed a little strained despite his obvious glee. “Let’s see if you can live up to your reputation. Or are ya scared to get on this horse?”

      Brand tipped his hat back and slowly shifted his gaze from cowboy to cowboy. Several of them squirmed.

      Then his gaze fell on her. His eyes—the color of warm chocolate—filled with resignation and a loneliness he would no doubt deny, but she felt it clear through to the bottom of her heart. “You don’t have to do this,” she whispered.

      Acknowledgment flickered through his eyes, though he couldn’t have heard her. Something shifted in his demeanor. It was as if her inaudible words encouraged him, let him know that not everyone shared Cal’s wish to see him tossed into the dust.

      “Bring him on.” Brand jerked his hat down low, widened his stance and waited.

      Three men pulled on ropes to drag in a black horse with white-rimmed eyes. The animal snorted and kicked.

      Sybil held her breath.

      Again, she whispered, “You don’t have to do this.”

      But Brand never noticed.

      Every eye was on that wild stallion. Every man held his breath.

      “Throw on a saddle if you can.” Brand’s voice dared them to fail.

      It took an additional two men to get a saddle blanket on the horse and then the saddle. One of them came away limping after a kick from the angry animal.

      “Hold him while I get seated.” Brand spoke calmly, as if the only uncertainty was the ability of the struggling cowboys to do so.

      Sybil’s chest hurt from holding her breath as she watched him gingerly arrange himself in the saddle.

      “Let him go.”

      The cowboys released their ropes and raced away, throwing themselves over the fence, then scrambling around to watch the show.

      Sybil could not tear her gaze from the big man on the horse. He sat poised and ready. At first the horse simply stood quivering, then it erupted into frenzied movement. It seemed to jerk every which way at the same time. She’d watched Brand buck out a number of horses over the past two days, but nothing like this. Hooves flying toward the sky. Back twisting two different directions at the same time. Head down. Snorting. Blowing. But Brand clung to the gyrating animal.

      “He’s good,” said the cowboy on Sybil’s СКАЧАТЬ