The Ties That Bind. Ginna Gray

of neatsfoot oil and a soft chamois from the tack room and started applying the lubricant to her saddle.

      “I just oiled that saddle two days ago,” Pete growled, never taking his gaze from his work. “It don’t need it again.” Pete had gotten too old to ride and he refused to retire, so Seamus had put him in charge of the tack room, and he guarded his domain with the fierceness of a stock dog with his herd.

      “It looked a little dry,” Willa said defiantly, and continued to rub the leather.

      Pete stood and hung the bridle on a nail. He crossed the barn to Willa’s side, took oil and cloth from her and set them aside, then cupped her elbow with his gnarled hand. “C’mon, Willie,” he said gently, steering her toward the door. “You can’t avoid them folks forever, so you might as well go on inside. Maria’s bound to have dinner ready by now. An’ from the smells coming from the cookhouse, Cookie’s got the men’s grub ready, too.”

      Willa sighed, knowing that Pete was right. “All right, I’m going. I’m going,” she mumbled.

      Outside twilight had fallen. She murmured good-night to Pete and headed toward the house on leaden feet. She’d rather take a whipping than sit down to a meal with those people.