The Best Little Joeville. Anne Eames

busied himself buckling straps, averting his eyes, trying to ignore the quickening of his pulse as she walked toward him. But soon the sweet smell of warm hay and dung were replaced with the scent of a woman who made him too nervous for his own good. The chestnut gelding he was saddling for her had a different reaction. He whinnied and put his muzzle forward for her to rub, possibly remembering her from before or simply interested in the butter-mint she held in her open palm. He took it greedily and she stroked his neck.

      “How you doing, boy. You remember me? Hmm?”

      Shane watched and admired her ease. For a city slicker, she did well with horses. If she was afraid of them, they would know. For a second he wondered if she sensed how uncomfortable he was with her. With more poise than he felt he said, “Ready to go?”

      She tilted her hooded face to him, mischief dancing in her dark brown eyes. “Don’t I look ready?”

      He could see puffs of her breath in the air between them, reminding him that everything wasn’t as warm as the layer of skin beneath his flannel shirt and down-filled jacket. He handed her the reins of her gelding, then walked two stalls over to his own quarter horse.

      Once outside the stable, they mounted and he braved a look at her. “You sure you’re up to this?”

      She stared at his face, no hint of a smile left on her lips or eyes. Then she said, “I don’t know. Time will tell, I guess.”

      There was little doubt in his mind that she was no longer referring to their ride. With a quick look up the road, he dug in his heels and led the way.

      

      Jenny rode past the corral and up the gentle incline, following the diagonal tracks in the otherwise pristine patch of new snow, a little surprised that their horses had left the groomed trail for a more difficult terrain. She stopped alongside Shane at the crest of the first hill and, after catching her breath, relaxed in the saddle and took in the endless horizon. The gelding lowered its head and pawed at the pillows of white beneath his feet, then sniffed so hard that it let out a loud sneeze, which made Jenny laugh.

      “That’s better,” Shane said, and she glanced over at him, pretending not to understand, but the meaning wasn’t lost on her. She’d been combative with him ever since he had met her plane. And for what reason? To keep him at arm’s length? There had to be an easier way. It was a beautiful day and it would be a shame not to enjoy it. Besides, how much trouble could they get into out here, bundled up like a couple of Eskimos?

      She stroked the horse’s mane and smiled, looking out at the valley and miles of butte and snowdrifted ridges, which almost blinded her with its whiteness. She squinted at the biggest blue sky she’d ever seen and remembered why she had loved this place so. The vastness of it all reduced her problems to less than a speck of dust on a freshly painted wall. At home her loneliness seemed to consume her, yet out here, where she could see the mountains meet the sky a hundred miles away, she felt at peace, one with her surroundings. Even if Shane had stayed behind this morning, she knew she would not have felt lonely here.

      Shane reined in his horse and turned around, moving face-to-face beside her. “Warm enough?” His breath burst from his lips as he eyed her.

      If she’d been cold before, the temperature inside her quilted parka rose by degrees with the feel of his breath on her cheeks. She watched his sure fingers untie the wool scarf at her neck. “What are you doing?”

      His eyes met hers and lingered there before glancing down at her lips. She licked them involuntarily, then kicked herself mentally for doing so.

      “Your skin’s not as weathered as mine. Frostbite’s nothing to fool with out here.” He started to turn the scarf around and knot it behind her head, but then he lowered it and gazed deep into her eyes, in that haunting way of his that left her feeling naked and without secrets. “Do you think we could call a truce while you’re here?” he asked finally.

      “I didn’t know we were at war,” she snapped, seeing the disappointment in his eyes. He started to turn away but she grabbed his jacket and met his eyes evenly this time. “Okay. Truce?”

      A slow smile reached his eyes and she felt a trickle of sweat trail down from between her breasts.

      “Want to see Josh’s farmhouse? It’s about a fifteen-minute ride if we cut over the ridge.” He pointed east and she saw nothing but foothills and snow-laden pines.

      “I’d love to,” she said. He moved closer and reached for her scarf, his eyes hesitating again on her lips. He shifted in his saddle and inched closer. Those slow hands she had always admired circled her and Jenny closed her eyes. Then she felt the tug of the knot at the back of her head and a moment later, his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath through the wool, he hesitated, then raised the scarf over her nose.

      “There. That ought to do the trick.” There was a hint in his smile that said he knew what she was thinking, yet he didn’t give voice to his thoughts, but simply turned his horse and loped toward the ridge.

      So much fur the kiss, she thought, and smiled hehind the cover of the scarf. He thought he was so clever. Huh! She’d seen it in his eyes. There was little doubt what was on his mind. And there was little doubt something would happen before long.

      Jenny nudged her horse and followed Shane’s tracks, marveling at the beauty around her. Millions of tiny diamondlike flakes winked at the brilliant sun, keeping her company till she reached her destination. Once there, evergreens cast long ink-blot shadows, conjuring all sorts of images. She caught up to Shane and looked down at the stream below. A slow trickle was making its way over fallen timbers and shiny rocks of all sizes. She looked up and saw a puff of smoke coming from a fieldstone chimney a couple of miles away. It rose above an old farmhouse with a large covered front porch. A stake truck, parked alongside, was covered with a large gray tarp, a few two-by-fours jutting out the end.

      “Is that Josh’s place?” Even from a distance it appeared warm and cozy, nestled among pines and bare-branched aspens that wound their way further up the foothills of the MoJoes, the majestic pair of mountains that overlooked Joeville, the area Shane’s great grandfather, Joe Malone, had laid claim to over a hundred years ago. For miles below there was level land and Jenny could already imagine fields of tall golden wheat waving in the wind as large combines cut a wide swath.

      “Yep. It’s all Josh’s now. Used to be my great-grandparent’s place when they first moved west. Then Granddad built the ranch and this has been abandoned ever since. When Dad tripled our living quarters and added all the outbuildings, it didn’t look like anyone would ever live up here again.”

      “I think it’s perfectly charming. I can see why Josh is so excited.”

      “Yeah, well, wish we could say the same for Dad. He still holds fast to the old ways—that pure ranchers don’t farm. And now that Josh has taken up flying so he can crop dust when the time comes—” Shane repositioned his wide-brimmed bat and chuckled “—well, let’s just say there’s a little tension between Josh and Dad.”

      Jenny laughed. “You’re a fine one to criticize Max for being set in his ways. When was the last time you changed?”

      Shane sailed but his expression grew more serious. “What about you?”

      Jenny stopped laughing. “What do you mean ‘What about me?’”

      “Well, for example, why don’t you want to talk to Buck...learn more about those herbs you’re so interested in?”

      She rolled her eyes. “Here we go again. Indians! Why do we always end up talking about Indians?”

      His smile disappeared, his brown eyes turning nearly black. “Buck is one person, not a whole race. Besides, he’s like family to me. He’s a good and wise man who knows much about the things of the earth, who could teach—”

      “Look, Shane—” She started to argue her point, but thought better of it. What difference did it make if he understood her attitude? She wasn’t going to