Lone Star Bride. Carolyn Davidson

as if he imprinted her scent in his memory. She laughed, tossing her head in a like motion, her long hair flying, only to settle in a pale cloud over her shoulders again.

      She was a beauty, James thought. Her face was animated with pleasure and her body almost vibrating with the joy of handling the colt. He gave her the end of his lariat and motioned with his hand that she should lead the colt in a circle.

      Without hesitation, she obeyed, allowing only a short bit of rope between herself and the horse. And then, as if she had watched him work the same procedure, she let the rope slip through her fingers a bit, until a greater length separated her from the animal she led, till the colt was circling her at her silent command, prancing around her, tossing his head and kicking up his heels as if he would ignore the fact that he was connected to her by a rope.

      “Pick up your speed,” Jamie said, his voice a low undertone, but audible to her.

      She drew the colt in closer and increased his tempo by pacing him herself, tugging the rope to urge him into a trot. He obeyed and she called out to him, encouraging him as his hooves scattered small bits of pebbles and grass behind him.

      James was struck with the woman’s skill and her beauty, the quick movements of her hands and the way she’d so readily taken to the colt. Between the two of them, they presented a picture of graceful movement he could only admire. And then, as if he felt warmed by another’s gaze, James looked back at the barn.

      Hank stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, a smile on his lips and pride on his features. With a grin, he sent James a silent salute, and then turned to go back in the barn, leaving the two to their privacy.

      “You have a name for this one yet?” James asked quietly.

      Alexis looked surprised as she glanced his way, and then her attention returned to the colt, as if she were embarrassed. “Who told you about that?”

      “Your father. He said you can’t help but name every living thing on the ranch. In fact, he said they’ve used the names you’ve chosen more often than not.”

      She rubbed her forehead against the colt’s jaw. “He’s Black Thunder, out of Black Lightning. And don’t you dare laugh at me. Naming the animals is something I like to do.”

      “I wouldn’t think of it,” James said soberly, although his heart sang with the pleasure this woman brought to his days. “Black Thunder sounds like a name suitable for a colt who’s going to make a name for himself one of these days.”

      “His formation? Or his disposition?” she asked, drawing up the lead line and walking to where James stood, the horse at her shoulder.

      “Both. He’ll breed true, I’ll warrant. He’s built like a champion, and if he keeps that sweet temper of his on a leash, he’ll make a good addition to the ranch’s breeding program. Nothing worse than a mean stud on the place. They’re hell to breed. The mares don’t like them.”

      “Mean is a nasty word, no matter who it’s applied to,” Alex said sharply. “That goes for men as well as animals.”

      “You sound like you’ve been acquainted with a few.” And if she had, what would he do about it?

      “I’ve seen a few in action,” she admitted quietly. “Had a couple of bruises in my time.”

      “What did your father do about that?”

      She shot him a look of defiance. “Nothing. I didn’t tell him about it. I told you already, I can take care of myself.”

      “Who?” he asked harshly. And was rewarded by a look of surprise.

      “No one you know,” she said, ending the conversation neatly.

      “If anyone on the ranch—”

      “No one here would give me a bad time,” she said, interrupting his threat. “Now forget it, Jamie. It’s not worth talking about.”

      “It is when your safety is involved. I won’t have you molested by anyone.”

      “Not even you?” Her grin was quick, her eyes flashing a challenge.

      “Not even me. I’ll never molest you, Alex. I might coax you a little, even try a bit of seduction, but I’ll never cause you pain.”

      “You’ll never leave bruises?” she asked innocently.

      “I didn’t say that,” he told her. “Sometimes a little—” He halted suddenly, thinking better of what he’d almost said. “Never mind. Forget I suggested such a thing.”

      She looked curious. “I think I’d like to hear about it one day. Don’t forget where we were when I ask you to continue with this.”

      “I think you’d better let that colt off the lariat and let me rope you another student, ma’am,” he told her. “You’re about to get in over your head.”

      “I’m almost twenty years old, Jamie. Don’t treat me like a child.”

      “I don’t intend to,” he said. “But I’m almost thirty, so just don’t tempt me, sweetheart.”

      He thought she smiled as she turned away, loosening the lariat to take it off the colt’s neck. She handed it back to him, watched the colt as he kicked his heels as if he celebrated his freedom, and then raced away across the pasture.

      The rope settled over the head of a dark-legged filly, a true blood bay, and with a series of soft entreaties and a steady hand on his rope, he coaxed her closer, walking toward the filly as he spent his litany of praise on her. She sniffed at his hand, apparently judged him acceptable, and followed him to where Alexis stood waiting.

      “She’s a beauty,” he told the woman who had eyes only for the filly. “I don’t think she’ll give you any trouble. She seems eager to please if you handle her right.”

      “I’ll do my best,” she said, tossing him a look of scorn, as if his words had cast doubt on her skills. “This is more fun than work, anyway,” she told him, her face glowing. She tossed her head as she walked with the filly to an open spot, away from the trees and the man who stood beneath their branches.

      The ritual of training he’d instigated with the colt was repeated, and in twenty minutes time, Alexis brought the prancing animal to him, her smile one of triumph as she awaited his response to her silent challenge.

      “You catch on quick, ma’am. Sure you haven’t done this before?” he asked her. “Got a name for this one?”

      “Of course I’ve done this before,” she answered quickly. “But I just called it playing with the horses, teaching them what they need to know. Then finally getting them used to a saddle and having weight on their back. Dad says I’m better than most men he’s seen working with the three-year-olds. And as to naming them, it doesn’t take long to size up an animal, see beyond their physical attributes to what’s inside.” She reached beneath the filly’s head, her arm almost circling the graceful neck. “This one is Pretty Girl. She knows she’s pretty, and she carries herself like a woman with confidence.”

      “Well,” James said softly. “You’ve sized her up right well, ma’am. Pretty Girl it is. I’ll tell your father this afternoon.” He watched as she released the filly from the rope and gave the cavorting yearling a final rub between her ears.

      They worked with the other four horses in the next hour or so, and James sorted out the names she had decided on for each of them in his mind. She was uncanny, he decided, finding an element in each animal that was reflected in the name she chose for it. No wonder Hank had said she was gifted at the skill of pronouncing the right name for each horse on the place.

      The largest of the group was a tall colt, a chestnut giant who was almost guaranteed to be a fine stud one day. He’d given Alexis a bit of trouble, daring her with his greater strength to keep him under control, and she’d faced up to him without hesitation, speaking sharply when he would have protested her hands on him, drawing him