Wild Mustang. Jane Toombs

What that clever old trickster was trying to do was set him up. That was the reason behind his inviting Laura to stay at the ranch.

      Shane snorted in disgust at being taken in. Realizing he’d startled Laura, he turned away. She’d had no part in this, he felt almost sure. Not once had she indicated she so much as liked him. He wondered why.

      Most women found him attractive. He’d be a fool if he hadn’t noticed that. But it was clear to him that Laura didn’t. He glanced at her and caught her looking at him apprehensively. Was she afraid of him? Why should she be?

      “Is something bothering you?” she said, flinging her words at him like bullets.

      He blinked. “What makes you ask?”

      “You keep scowling.”

      Shane hadn’t realized he was. “It’s not aimed at you.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Why is it you never intend to marry?”

      “I—well, I—” she faltered. He watched her take a deep breath and raise her chin. “Due to something that happened in the past, I don’t trust men,” she went on. “I prefer to have nothing but impersonal dealings with them. I absolutely can’t imagine marrying.” She gave him a level look. “Why don’t you intend to marry?”

      It wasn’t any of her damn business. But, after a moment, he realized he’d posed the question first, and she’d given him an answer. Fair was fair. He owed her some kind of an explanation.

      “The usual,” he said tersely. “We were young and ignorant, she got pregnant, so we got married. A mistake. We didn’t mesh. I took off and joined the rodeo circuit, wasn’t home much. She and my daughter were killed in an accident while I was gone.” He made a slashing motion with his hand. “Never again.”

      He had no intention of telling her how Deena had begun running around and that the fatal accident had been when she was coming home from her newest lover’s place, the baby with her. Nor was he going to confess his guilt. If he hadn’t run off, if he’d faced their incompatibility head-on and filed for divorce, asking for custody of his daughter, both she and Deena would be alive today.

      Hating to hash over the unchangeable past, he shucked it off by taking a quick look around. Spotting some dust rising, he pointed. “Might be a herd over that way. We’ll head for the nearest rise and see what it is.”

      When they paused at the crest of the hill, he saw he was right, but the mustangs were heading away from them and were already so far away they’d never catch up. Any pursuit would simply make them run all the faster and farther.

      “To get close to a herd, you really need to camp out near a source of water so they’ll come to you,” he said. “Since they normally range over about twenty acres per day, it’s futile to chase them. That’ll just result in them taking off and likely moving off reservation land.”

      “I can see that,” she said. “Shall we plan to camp tomorrow?” Concealing his surprise that she didn’t balk at camping with him, he said, “Up to you. But it’ll have to wait for a couple of days.”

      “Whenever you have the time, then.” She hesitated before saying, “I want to tell you I’m sorry about what happened to your wife and child. I realize the tragedy must make it doubly distressing for you now that you have to worry about losing Sage.”

      He couldn’t lose Sage, that’s all there was to it. His sister belonged here, where their mother had brought her, knowing he’d keep the girl safe.

      Back at the ranch, Shane found the evening meal livelier with Laura present. Not that she did much talking. She didn’t have a chance with Sage and Grandfather both vying for her attention.

      After the meal cleanup, Sage brought out her favorite shirt, which she’d torn on a nail in the barn, to show to Laura.

      “I don’t know how to fix it without having it look gross,” Sage told her.

      Though he seemed intent on the newspaper he was reading, Shane was acutely aware of Laura sitting across from him on the leather couch with his sister. It’d been a long time since there’d been a woman in this living room in the evening.

      “You’re right. Any repair stitches would show,” Laura said. “But what we could do is cover the stitching with embroidery—a flowering branch could run from one end of the repair job to the other.”

      “Embroidery?” Sage sounded as though even the word was alien to her.

      “My grandmother taught me when I was about your age. It’s not exactly fun, but it’s kind of neat to know how to embroider. I can teach you, if you like.”

      “But if I’m just learning, I might spoil my shirt.”

      “Oh, we’ll let you practice on the hem of a pillowcase or something like that. Embroidery isn’t all that hard once you get the hang of it. We’ll need to buy some special thread and some designs, though—in Reno, I suppose.”

      Shane lowered the newspaper. “There might be what you need in Grandmother’s trunk,” he said to Sage. “I seem to remember her trying to teach our mother some kind of fancy sewing.”

      Sage bounced up from the couch. “Whoa! Really? Can we go look in the trunk now?”

      From the corner where he’d seemed to be dozing, Grandfather said, “Our daughter wasn’t much for fancy work, but she turned out to be the best dancer on the res. Not much for picking good men, either, but I got to admit she turned out two pretty good kids.”

      Sage grinned at him. “How come you’re always telling me I’m bad, then?”

      “It’s like Coyote—you got two sides.” Grandfather turned to Shane. “All that sewing stuff is in one of the reed baskets Grandmother’s mother made.”

      Shane rose and left the room, with Sage trailing him.

      “He’s a sound man,” Grandfather said to Laura. “Once he learns to laugh again, he’ll be hard to beat.”

      Laura tried to think how to respond to this but gave up. She found herself at ease with Grandfather as a man, but she wasn’t always sure exactly what he meant.

      Reverting to what he’d said to Sage, she asked, “What did you mean about Coyote having two sides?”

      “One to do good for the people, the other to play tricks on them. I figure we’re all more or less like that.” He leaned forward in his chair, fixing her with an intent gaze. “We can’t lose Sage. We need her, and she needs us.” While Laura believed this to be true, she didn’t understand how Grandfather could think she’d be able to help, even though she wanted to.

      “So you’re going camping with Shane,” the old man said, completely changing the subject. At least this one was easy to respond to.

      “When he finds time—maybe in a day or two,” she said.

      Grandfather nodded. “Desert nights.”

      She was sure his cryptic words meant something that she was missing. “I’m sure they’re lovely,” she said cautiously.

      “Can carry a chill this time of the year,” he told her.

      That seemed fairly straightforward, but before she could reply, Shane reappeared with Sage who was carrying a beautifully woven, round basket, its muted-colored design scarcely faded with age. The girl dumped the contents of the basket onto the coffee-table, and Laura leaned forward to sort through them. In no time at all, she’d located what she needed and, sooner than Shane would have believed possible, his sister was getting her first lesson in embroidery and, by all indications, having fun.

      Grandfather rose and, in passing Shane’s chair, murmured, “Get along well, don’t they?”

      Shane grunted, well aware now of the old man’s motives. Grandfather knew very well why Shane would never marry again. He also ought to have known that dangling Laura in front of him, like