The Women of Primrose Creek (Omnibus) by Linda Lael Miller

Author:Linda Lael Miller [Miller, Linda Lael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter

4

The livery stable was dark, and the bay stallion wasn’t in the corral.

Skye, clad for skulking in trousers, one of Trace’s hats, and a dark coat, dragged a bale of hay over to a window and climbed onto it to peer inside. She had no real experience as a horse thief, since the worst thing she’d ever done was borrow her daddy’s favorite gelding without asking. She’d been thrown and gotten a broken arm for her trouble, along with a blistering lecture from her furious grandfather, delivered when she’d had some time to mend and to reflect upon the error of her ways.

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she spotted the bay in a nearby stall. Someone had put a feedbag on him, and, in that innocent stance, he looked as if he might have spent the day pulling a buggy or trotting smartly through a big-city park with a well-dressed rider on his back.

She blew out a sigh and reminded herself that she had every right to ride the bay if she wanted; he was really hers, after all. She had been the one to track the critter, and in her heart she had laid claim to him long before Jake Vigil came along and all but grabbed him out from under her. Of course, the law—namely Zachary—definitely would not see the matter the same way.

She’d brought along her own bridle, and she tossed it through the window first, to keep herself from turning coward at the last second. Then she climbed over the sill, one leg at a time, and jumped to the straw-covered floor, hardly making a sound in the process. Although several of the horses snuffled and whinnied, she didn’t hear what she had dreaded most: a human voice issuing a challenge to a trespasser. She stood very still for a few moments nonetheless, waiting for her heart to slide down out of her throat and the blood-thunder to subside from her ears. She stooped to pick up the bridle. Then, moving slowly, murmuring nonsensically in what she hoped was a reassuring tone, she approached the bay.

The animal snorted and shifted nervously between the high rails of his stall, and Skye held her breath. Orville Hayes, the old reprobate who lived in a back room and kept watch over the stock at night to earn his keep, was busy swilling spirits at the Golden Garter, as usual. Skye had paused outside the saloon on her way to the livery and dared to look over the swinging doors, just to make sure. Mr. Hayes had been at the bar, all right, bending his elbow and thereby neglecting his duties at the stable.

“Easy,” she whispered to the horse. “Take it easy.”

Miraculously, the stallion settled down a little.

Skye had no idea whether or not anyone had managed to ride him since his capture the morning before, but it didn’t seem likely. It took days, sometimes weeks, to break a horse to the saddle, and occasionally the task proved downright impossible.

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