To Tame a Cowboy (Colorado Cowboys #3)(8)
Even if she wasn’t within the safe confines of the Double L, she’d learned how to rebuff interest when it came on too earnestly. She was a full-grown woman of nineteen and no longer a na?ve southern belle.
Besides, she doubted a little attention from a handsome cowboy like Brody would amount to anything. She’d come to the high country to untwist the knots she’d made of her life, not ravel them tighter with more complications.
She gave the mustang a final pat before she pushed to her feet. Brody was at her side in an instant, wrapping his hand around her arm and helping her up. His touch was firm and polite, and he released her as soon as she was standing.
“Thank you kindly, Brody.” She smiled at him as she slung her satchel over her shoulder so that it hung diagonally.
Brody nodded and then rubbed a hand down his scruffy jaw.
“And thank you, too, Flynn.” As she turned to speak to him, she caught him watching Brody’s interaction with undisguised interest. As he appraised her again, she understood that Flynn McQuaid wasn’t convinced of her veterinary skills. He’d hired her because of Brody.
She admired Flynn for caring so deeply about his brother. But she wasn’t getting caught up in a matchmaking scheme if that’s what he had in mind. She’d have to make that clear to him as soon as possible.
CHAPTER
4
“You’re good with horses.” Savannah glanced behind Brody to the wounded mustang trailing after his chestnut horse. At seventeen hands high, Brody’s gelding rippled with muscle and power—like its master.
Brody gave a curt nod in response, a move that was apparently his normal mode of communication. He hadn’t strung more than a couple of sentences together the entire ride to the ranch. She guessed his temperament tended toward silence and solitude but that whatever had hurt him made him even more reserved.
She hadn’t minded the quietness. She’d learned over the years that wounded creatures often required more time and patience before being willing to trust. And she sensed Brody needed an extra dose of time and patience.
Besides, she was enjoying the stillness of the night, with only the occasional call of a fox in the distance. The silence was a reminder of the higher altitude of South Park, where some animals had yet to come out of hibernation since the temperature dropped below freezing after sunset.
She was cold and her fingers stiff, but she wasn’t ready for the ride to end, even though the outline of buildings ahead told her they’d reached their destination.
A half-moon pushed out from behind clouds to reveal a simple two-story house made of clapboards. A large barn and several other outbuildings a short distance from the house attested to the prosperity and magnitude of the cattle operation of Healing Springs Ranch.
Of course, her daddy’s ranch was bigger and finer than any other ranch in all the West, and Daddy was known as the Cattle King of the territory. But it was clear the McQuaids were doing a fine job. No doubt with the abundance of wild grasses to fatten their cattle, they didn’t have to resort to hand-feeding or sheltering their livestock except during the severest parts of winter.
She guessed operations here were similar to those at the Double L, where they could let their cattle roam at will on the prairies, only mustering, counting, and branding a time or two a year. In the autumn, they separated out the three-and four-year-old cattle to sell to dealers who transported them to Chicago for slaughter and tinning.
The ranchers up in South Park had an additional market among the mining districts, turning a profit from the miners who were willing to pay a pretty penny for beef.
As she and Brody rode into the ranch yard, the lights glowing in the windows of the house beckoned with warmth. But Brody rode directly toward the barn with adjacent well-built paddocks.
Savannah stifled a yawn, the past two days of traveling taking their toll. Although she wanted to remain strong and introduce herself to the ranch hands as the new veterinarian, she barely had the energy to stay on her mount, much less start working.
Outside the barn, Brody reined to a stop, and she followed his lead. He dismounted, and before she could swing her leg around, he was beside Molasses, reaching up to aid her down. He assisted her just like Chandler always did, and even though she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, she allowed it, knowing he was doing his best to respect her.
He released her right away, as he’d done in town. But this time, she swayed, exhaustion and hunger making her weak. She groped for Molasses, but Brody was there first, taking hold of her arm and bracing her.
“Thank you, Brody.” She closed her eyes and fought back a dizzying wave. “I’ll be alright in a second.”
He held her steady, and everything about his touch radiated patience and gentleness.
As she opened her eyes, she caught him studying her face, his brows drawn together. She offered him a smile. “There. Better.” She stretched after Molasses’s lead line. From the soft snort and bent head, her Morgan was as tired and hungry as she was, if not more so.
Brody swiped up the rope, adding it to the two he already held. “I’ll take care of her tonight.”
She tugged it. “No, I don’t want to make more work for you. I can do it.”
“Reckon you can.” He moved the rope out of her reach. “But I want to.”
From the stubborn edge to his voice, she knew there was no point in arguing with him.