Montana Red. Genell Dellin

she’d thought.

      But the main thing was aloneness. She just wasn’t ready yet to drive off and be by herself the rest of the day and all night, moving her stuff and her horse into yet another strange place that she’d try to make look like a home.

      She didn’t know another soul for fifteen-hundred miles in any direction.

       You don’t know this guy, either, Clea. Or the two old ones, friendly as they may seem. This is real life, remember?

      Clea Mathison stayed right beside him like they were joined at the hip while they walked into the barn and down the hard-packed dirt aisle between the two rows of stalls. She strolled along in those three-inch—or more—heels as easily as if she wore boots or sneakers, with that air of hers as if she owned the place, adding a wisp of flowery-lemon scent and a dab of shine to the old barn.

      And something in him kept his eyes on her in spite of himself. He could feel the tug of curiosity but there was something else underneath it. Probably just that she reminded him of Tori. Same kind of woman.

       Which means you better run, not walk, the other way, Jake ol’ boy.

      What was she doing? He damn sure hadn’t invited her in.

      He hadn’t invited the old guys, either, and they were still here.

       Get a grip, Hawthorne. This ain’t about you. She’s not moving in here, and she’s moving out of your house. She’s not staying all day. She just wants to see the baby. All women like babies.

      “The foal’s in there,” he said, pointing out the stall.

      “Great,” she said, turning to flash him a smile that nearly blinded him. “Thanks. I don’t want to hinder your work.”

      He felt more like he’d been dismissed than like he made an escape as he headed for the tack room to get his saddle. This whole deal gave him a bad feeling. Clea Mathison seemed way too comfortable, whether she was in his house or in his barn. And that was Buck’s and Teddy’s fault, being so helpful offering to move her and all. Those two oughtta get a life.

      He went to find the saddle for Sugar, a filly who was anything but sweet. She was one of a string of ten three-year-olds that belonged to a ranch over on the other side of the mountain, young horses he’d been hired to green break for ranch work. Getting some outside colts like that was adding a healthy amount of money to his Natural Bands salary and bringing him closer every month to paying off his place. His own place. He still couldn’t get used to the fact that he had one.

      At first when he came out of the tack room, he felt a little shock because he thought she was gone. But then he saw that Clea was in the little orphan’s stall with the door closed behind her as if she knew what she was doing instead of standing outside and looking in, as he’d expected. How irritating could one woman be?

      They’d already gone to a lot of trouble to save the foal’s life. It was high-strung at best and nervous from being closed up in a stall, although it was getting used to people. But the last thing he and the old guys needed was for Clea to get the filly all agitated right before feeding time.

      “It’s not good to overhandle a motherless young one,” she said.

      Like he’d asked her. Who did she think she was, anyhow?

      “So what are you doing in there?”

      She didn’t answer.

      He walked up to the door and looked into the stall. The foal wasn’t running around all over, looking to jump over the wall the way she sometimes did or trying to hide in the corner. She was getting to trust people enough to be curious about them. First thing, Buck and Teddy had put a little halter with a sawed-off rope on it so they could catch her.

      “I hope y’all are being as firm with her as her mama would be,” Clea said, holding out her hand to be sniffed as the foal approached her. “It’ll ruin her if you treat her like a puppy dog and let her be disrespectful. Even now. As little as she is.”

      “What’re you talking about? Are you a veterinarian or something?”

      Of course not. Her type of woman wasn’t tough enough to get through veterinary school.

      The baby snuffed up Clea’s scent, then turned away. With the next breath, she slapped her ears flat against her head, whirled like a rocket and kicked out behind. Clea was quick but not quick enough and the filly hit her a glancing blow with both feet.

      Clea squealed and lunged like a maniac for that little scrap of rope. She grabbed it in one hand and proceeded to hold the little thing while she spanked the tar out of her with the other hand.

      The foal tried to get away but Clea wouldn’t let her. She spanked her all over the butt and sides.

      “Hey, now, wait a minute here,” Jake said, diving for the door to stop the fight before blood flew. “What’s the matter with you? Good God, woman, this filly’s barely alive and—”

      “And you’d better…get a companion…for her before she grows into a…little monster,” Clea said, between slaps.

      Jake jerked the latch open and stepped in, reaching for the rope.

      “You can leave now,” he said. “I’m sorry she kicked you. Are you hurt?”

      Clea stopped spanking but she held on to the rope. The filly looked at her and Clea returned the look, both of them breathing hard.

      “You’ve probably…been spending…too much time with her,” she said. “Handling her too much.”

      “Well, then, we can thank our lucky stars that you’ve come to set us straight,” he said.

      Sarcasm didn’t faze her.

      “Have y’all been trying to pet her and play with her? She’s got to learn that people have to be the boss.”

      Her calm, superior tone made his blood boil. “You some kind of expert?” he asked.

      “You know all about orphan foals? Wild-horse orphan foals?”

      “Horses are horses,” she said. “The wildness is in her bones and, if you think about it, it’s in the domesticated ones, too. They’re all born knowing that they’re prey, so we have to earn their trust.”

      “And so you do it by slapping her around?”

      “And their respect,” she said. “Her mother or any other horse would’ve been a lot rougher on her. She has to learn her manners.

      “Come on,” Clea said and marched out of the stall, motioning for him to follow.

      That surprised him. And irritated him even more. But he went, so the filly could think about her lesson.

      And so he wouldn’t be trapped in there for Clea to stand in the hall blocking the door while she gave him more lectures on the nature of horses.

      He walked past her and went into Sugar’s stall, which was next to the foal’s, and started saddling.

      Clea said, “You were shocked at what I did, but you would’ve done the same to a bigger horse.”

      “You said it yourself—a bigger horse,” he snapped. “I’m not one to beat up on something smaller than me.”

      “Her mother would’ve bitten a chunk out of her. You all can halterbreak this baby, teach her to lead, maybe brush on her a little, but after that let her alone.”

      This woman made him so mad he could hardly see straight.

      “Get another foal in here for her to grow up with,” she said. “More than one if you can. It’ll make all the difference for her for the rest of her life, because then she’ll know how to fit in.”

      He’d planned to ignore her until she gave up and went away. He’d decided not to argue with her. But he couldn’t