back, thinking the horse was about to kick.
“Relax,” Travis told her around noon, leading them into a small clearing.
“Right,” she said, trying not to look too grateful to Travis for finally stopping so she could rest.
He swung off his horse, surveyed the area, declared it was time for lunch, then walked the horses two at a time to the river’s edge to drink before she and Mr. Merriweather had even removed their gloves.
Travis returned to the shady knoll. “You’re a pretty good rider, Merriweather.”
“I spent a lot of time in foxhunts with my father.” The older man clutched at his back, then limped away toward the river, leading two horses. “I’ll water these two.”
Grass swished beneath Travis’s big boots as he approached her. He didn’t look directly at Jessica, but took the reins of her horse. Still, she felt the sting of embarrassment at his soft words. She watched the tiny creases at his eyes move while he spoke. They gave him distinction, a weathered, attractive look of matured experience.
“Don’t fight her so much. She doesn’t like when you sit rigid. If you spread your arms to your sides, you can lean in tighter and she’ll adjust to your weight. Pat her neck once in a while. Maintain the contact. She’s going to be your friend for seven days.”
Then his gaze was direct and she felt her head swim.
Squinting up at him in the patch of sunlight, Jessica nodded and slid her cowboy hat to her back. Her temples were drenched with perspiration, and her legs felt like rubber trying to hold her upright.
“Let your body flow with the rhythm of the mare.”
Jessica lowered her lashes. “I’ll try.”
“We’ll rest here for two hours. Soon as the heat of the day subsides, we’ll head out again.”
He took care of the horses first, removing saddles and hitching the animals to a lush grassy spot where they could graze. Then he tended to her and her butler. Jessica felt awkward, more of an observer than assistant, knowing she was making Travis work harder on account of her and Mr. Merriweather’s presence.
Finally, as Travis was preparing the horses to leave, she jumped up from her spot by the boulders where they’d eaten their smoked beef and coffee, and met him on the other side of his beautiful bay. The horse he’d avoided looking at yesterday.
“What’s her name?” she asked.
Jessica’s voice startled him. He’d been deep in concentration, sliding on his work gloves. He stared at the mare for a length of time before tackling its gear. The other horses were ready; he’d left this one for last.
“They’ve got names, don’t they?” Jessica repeated.
“My broodmares do. But the Mountie workhorses, the ones we’re riding, don’t. There’s too many to name.” He yanked on his large left glove, opening and closing his fingers. He seemed so slow with this horse compared to how he’d been with the others. And his face was flushed. “The one you’re leading, the roan,” he said, nodding behind her shoulder, “is called Seagrass. My Clydesdale goes by Coal Dust.”
“Ah, because of her black color. And this one?”
She noticed a drop of sweat rolling down his forehead. “…Independence.”
“Independence.” Jessica stood in awe at the size of her. “May I help you with her?”
His expression changed. His white sleeves rustled in the wind, outlining the muscles beneath. “She’s got a burr in her mane. If you put on your gloves, you could comb through it with your fingers and then I wouldn’t have to…. Much obliged.”
“I…I don’t mean to sit idle.” She tugged on her brown-leather gloves. “It’s just that I’m unsure how to help.”
He nodded and heaved a saddle blanket on top of Independence.
She grabbed the other side. They worked tranquilly together. She was making headway with him, Jessica thought, and wondered if and when she should tell him some of her allegations against Dr. Finch.
“What happened to the perfume you always used to wear?”
Her responding smile came gently.
His mouth tugged upward in kind.
That wasn’t so hard, she thought, was it? He looked much better in a smile than a scowl.
“I didn’t think the horses would appreciate it.”
“That showed good judgment.”
“Go ahead and say it. It’s the only good judgment I’ve used today.”
He inclined his dark head. The brim of his hat concealed his eyes. “Not the only. Your choice of shoes was good. Unlike your friend over there.” He motioned to Mr. Merriweather, who was massaging his sock feet. “Will he be all right?”
“Sure.”
“What about his back?”
“He’s…he’s not used to riding. It uses a lot of muscles you forget you have.”
“I’ve seen him pull out those binoculars a few times. What’s he looking at?”
With his mouth open in amazement, the butler had his collapsible binoculars aimed above the fir trees.
“A rusty-colored hawk,” she answered. “See it circling? It’s got a wingspan of four-and-a-half feet. The largest hawk in North America, they tell me.”
“They?”
She turned back to Travis. “He’s the president of the Birdwatchers Society.”
Travis grumbled. “I suppose that’s harmless enough. But it better not get in the way of anything I’m doing.”
Spoken like the controlling man he was.
Jessica reached out and timidly patted Independence’s shoulder. The mare stirred and took a step backward.
“Easy,” Travis said to her. “She senses your fear.”
“Sorry. I’m trying to maintain contact.” Summoning her courage, she plunged forward and grabbed the horse’s mane where she saw the cluster of burs.
The horse startled at the jab.
“Whoa,” Travis warned her.
Jessica gulped. “Just this one last burr.” When she yanked on the hairs, the horse lifted its hind leg.
“Be careful,” said Travis, looking somewhat overwhelmed. He gripped the bridle and the mare settled.
“But she seems so mild mannered.”
He peered down at her, eyebrows drawn together, facial muscles tensed. “You still need to be careful.”
His mood shifted to one of stormy anger. What on earth had she done to cause it?
“You need to be gentle on her.” His eyes sparked with a stab of emotion. Whatever was bothering him, it seemed to suddenly deepen. “She’s in foal. The mare’s…pregnant?”
“How far along?” she whispered.
The mare didn’t look pregnant. With a shiny coat, she had just enough fat on her so her ribs were slightly visible.
His voice rumbled as he turned away, she swore to hide his face. “About two months.”
“How do you know when it’s not visible on the mare?”
“A good breeder keeps track of dates when his mares are bred. And I also did a thorough manual examination.”
He nodded, lowering his eyes to the saddle.
Her hand fell to rest on the horse’s neck. With a moan of empathy,