Branded Hearts. Diana Hall

longing threatened to weaken Garret’s will. He fought down the hot licks of passion and ordered, “Tomorrow, you and your brother ride brush.”

      A full day of riding in the hot sun through thorns and dry brush for longhorns would finish off her stubborn streak. By this time tomorrow, Kit would be long gone. Just a bad memory. One he wasn’t likely to forget.

      “We’ll leave at first light.” She spoke with quiet authority then went back to sweeping ashes into the bucket.

      Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and slowness dogged her steps. A thick blanket of guilt nearly smothered him. She was wearing down. Finally. He should be exhilarated. He wasn’t. A snake with two bellies couldn’t crawl as low as he felt.

      The urge to explain himself, to make her understand his predicament forced Garret to make a stab at conversation. “Kit, there’s this contract with the army coming up.”

      She puffed back a strand of loose hair and kept working. “That’s a lucrative proposition.”

      “One I aim to make come true.” He paused, wet his lips, considering how to be tactful but truthful. “There are powerful people in Colorado that feel Indians and cavalry don’t mix. ‘Specially Cheyenne.”

      The wire file stopped in midstroke. Straightening, she lifted her chin and gave him a glacial stare. “If you plan on firing me, then I’m taking the black. I rode him. I broke him. I’ll own him.”

      A wagonload of nitro on a bumpy road couldn’t be as ignitable as that woman. “Now wait just a minute.” The hairs on Garret’s neck bristled with her high-handed attitude. “I give the orders around here.”

      “Really? Sounds to me like the ‘powerful people’ run the Rockin’ G.”

      “Sam Benton can make a helluva enemy.”

      Her fingers clenched the wire brush until they turned white. A flicker of indignation and pain flashed across her face. Garret wasn’t surprised. Benton had an intense dislike of the Cheyenne. He had men combing the reservations, drumming up reasons to search their homes and stirring up trouble.

      The depths of Kit’s eyes heated to the color of an inner flame. “Perhaps I should just wait for Sam Benton to give me my work on the Rockin’ G.”

      Every blade of grass on his ranch, every drop of water in the stream, every cool mountain breeze laced with the scent of pines were a part of Garret. A swell of ownership and pride swept over him.

      Poking himself in the chest, he laid down the law. “This is Blaine land and no one else’s. I give the orders around here.” The declaration lifted a weight from his heart and his conscience.

      A secretive smile played on her full lips. “I see. Then, Mr. Blaine, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.” She headed for the door.

      Frustration made him mutter, “I oughta save myself the headache and run you and your brother off.”

      Her whole body stilled. She lowered the bucket and pivoted to face him. “So why don’t you? You could have us gone if you really wanted it.”

      “When a Blaine makes a promise, it’ll be kept.” The angry steam boiled out of him, and he dropped the huffiness from his voice. “And I’ve gotten more work out of Cade in the week you’ve been here than the whole time he’s been on the ranch. I’m willing to put up with anything that can draw my brother away from the poker table long enough for him to see his future lies here, on the Rockin’ G, and not in some saloon.”

      The thunder left her stormy eyes. A half smile curved her lips. “Even when it comes between you and the army contract.”

      “I stand by my word and my brother.”

      Her tone softened. “Mr. Blaine, I think there’s hope for you yet.” Picking up the bucket, she left, leaving Garret exactly where he started. Stuck with her and her brother.

      “Cap’n.” Davidson burst through the bunkhouse door and skidded to a stop, nearly tripping over his overgrown feet. “There’s a fancy buggy headin’ this way. Cracker’s thinkin’ it’s yore Miss Abigail.”

      “Argh.” Garret ran his fingers through his hair, wishing he could rake the trouble from his life as easily. Abigail didn’t venture far from the comforts of Colorado Springs without a good reason. Traynor must have spread the word in town about Kit and Hawk. Thank goodness the cowhand had ridden out before discovering the Indian youth was in reality a woman. Abigail was a sensitive woman. She couldn’t handle too many surprises at a time.

      Garret slammed his hat on and threw open the door. He spotted Kit heading toward the barn, ready to tackle his latest chore. How could two women be so different? Abigail’s delicate form would collapse under the weight of the heavy feed. And if he didn’t handle the next few minutes just right, his relationship with her would collapse just as quickly.

      

      Dust from the hay and barn chafed Kit’s neck. After only a few minutes of work in the stuffy loft, her clothes hung heavy on her body and sweat drenched her skin. A breeze traveled through the window, cooling her but stirring the dirt and her irritation. The whole barn could ignite from one spark of her anger.

      Garret Blaine had her perplexed. He seemed a man tearing himself in two. On the one hand, he was so like her father. Ambitious, thirsty for power, trying to control his family.

      On the other, Garret labored from sunup to sundown to build this ranch. And he carried out a promise no matter the consequences. A soft lump rose in her throat. That she could take to heart. Fulfilling a promise was the center of Hawk’s and her world. The reason she was willing to endure the herculean labors.

      Honest, stubborn, strong, money-hungry, dependable, trustworthy. Garret Blaine was a strange mixture of all the traits she abhorred and admired. With each confrontation, her panic decreased and new emotions grew. He fired her temper and a strange hunger in the pit of her stomach.

      The smothering heat intensified. Kit pulled her shirttails free and fanned herself, but the warmth that traipsed through her blood didn’t lessen. Moving to the window, she dangled a leg over the ledge, opened the collar of her shirt and prayed for a chilling breeze.

      The creak of wagon wheels drew her attention. A fancy surrey rolled into the yard, its red tassels swaying from the canopy. Two dapple mares trotted in front, their heads forced into a fashionable arch with a tight martingale.

      A short, stocky man kept a heavy hand on the reins. His high top hat shaded little of his face. Sun exposure reddened his ample cheeks. On his spotless white shirt, rows of ruffles hid his chin.

      Next to him sat a young woman whose blond hair was caught up in an impractical hat the size of a currycomb. Pastel flowers bloomed across the top and anchored a swath of black netting across her face. Her frock coat covered her gown from neck to ankle, protecting her dress and the velvet cushion seat from trail dust.

      Kit chewed on a hay straw and watched the driver halt the buggy in front of the lodgepole cabin. “Blaine, I want a word with you,” he commanded.

      Her gaze shifted to Garret. Rotating his shoulders, he took his time crossing the yard. Curls at the nape of his neck coiled in several directions. A too long lock of hair draped over his eyes, giving him a roguish look.

      Kit let her fingers slip through the loose hay on the loft floor. A remote attempt to brush back Garret’s wayward strands. Surprised at her response, she pinned her fingers under crossed arms. A fluttering sensation swept across her chest and nestled just below her heart.

      Touching his finger to his hat, Garret nodded toward the woman. “Miss Abigail.” He didn’t look at the driver as he added, “Fredrick.”

      Abigail Benton! Kit grabbed the pulley rope and leaned out the window. So this was what her cousin looked like. When Garret had mentioned he was courting her, Kit’s stomach had flip-flopped. She had made some discreet inquiries about Abigail and her father, Eli, hoping to gain their help in her search. Both turned out to be self-centered