Shadows from the Past

Groaning, Allison rose with grace and placed her napkin on her plate. “Thank you, Hazel, but I simply can’t do it.” She turned and left the room.

Kam took note that Allison didn’t deign to look at her or say, “It was nice to meet you,” or anything else. She had a gut feeling that the woman didn’t like her and would just as soon see her leave the ranch in a month.

“Son? I think you hit pure gold when you hired Kamaria. I’m pleased as punch.”

“I’m glad, Iris. She seems a good fit for you. I just hope she wants to stay for more than a month.”

“Why would I ever want to leave after a month?” Kam asked politely. Based on the family drama, she knew the answer.

“Your predecessors just didn’t seem to fit into our laid-back ranch lifestyle,” he said uncomfortably.

“Actually,” Iris said darkly, “Allison chased all of ’em off. She’d just as soon see me die of a stroke and be out of the picture so she can take over.”

“Iris…” Rudd protested, frowning. “That’s not so. Allison does not want to see you die. And I really don’t think she chased off the other caregivers.”

Snorting, Iris said, “Well, I know better, son. And you’re just gonna have to take my word for it.” She cut Kam a sharp look. “You seem pretty smart. And you seem to see through people quickly. I’m sure you’ll ask questions before jumping to conclusions if Allison starts stirring the pot again.”

“Of course I would,” Kam reassured her. She saw Becky coming around to pick up their emptied plates. “I work for you. My only focus is you, Iris. You and your health. That’s why I’m here. Mr. Mason made it clear that I was to be with you most of the time.”

“And you’ll help me plant and weed the garden?”

Grinning, Kam said, “Wild horses wouldn’t stop me from helping you do that.”

“Music to my ears,” Iris sighed, giving her son a beaming smile of pure pleasure.

Rudd smiled. “Mine, too,” he told Kam, gratitude in his tone. “I think you’re going to fit in well here, Kamaria.”

“Call me Kam, if you want,” she told them. “Most people do.”

“Kam it is,” Rudd said, raising his head to see Becky coming out with dessert.

Patting her arm, Iris said, “Tomorrow is a bright new day around here with you being on board. I have a nice feeling about you, Kam. You’re fun to be around, you’re prudent and you’re a good judge of character, unlike some of the family.”

“Thanks, Iris. I’m really looking forward to being here.” Kam felt a warmth in her heart toward the older woman. Iris was a kick-butt, take-names-and-no-prisoners kind of lady, but she had values, morals and integrity, too. In contrast, Allison was a woman in a mask, playing a part. At least Rudd and Iris were real, down-to-earth people who weren’t narcissistic. Kam figured she could avoid Rudd’s wife most of the time. Or, at least she hoped she could.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Iris told her, “I want you to take a ride with Wes and start familiarizing yourself with the Elkhorn Ranch. Sound exciting?”

“Yes, it does. I love riding horses.”

“Ah,” Iris sighed, “yet another plus in your column with me. I have a black Morgan mare that I ride almost daily. I’ll tell Wes to assign you a nice horse that you can use as your own. I often ride out into the hills to gather my flower essences and you can tag along.”

“Sounds great,” Kam murmured. Her heart skipped a beat. Wes. She gazed at Iris whose features looked perfectly innocent. And yet, Kam knew this woman had acumen when it came to evaluating people. Did she see something between her and Wes? Could she be aware of how Kam’s heart beat a little harder when she saw that lanky, wolflike cowboy? Tomorrow was going to be an exciting day for her in many ways, Kam suspected.

CHAPTER FIVE

WES SHERIDAN felt antsy as he waited for Kam Trayhern at the main stables. Why? Not wanting to look too closely at the reason, Wes reminded himself that his ex-wife, Carla, was enough of a deterrent to getting involved with another woman. Carla had been an alcoholic and he’d blindly walked into the marriage, completely ignorant of her disease. Even though his father was an alcoholic, Wes didn’t detect Carla’s symptoms until a year into their marriage. Suffice it to say, he had a knack for choosing the wrong women. Even though Kam Trayhern strongly appealed to him, Wes was certainly not going to allow her into his heart. Not a chance.

Besides, he ruminated, standing at the entrance to the horse barn, Kam probably had a steady relationship with some very lucky man. Then, she really would be off-limits to him. Wes found himself hoping like hell she was engaged. He spotted Kam skipping down the steps of the ranch house.

In vain he tried to ignore the way her jeans fitted her long, beautiful legs. She’d traded in her sensible Echo shoes for a pair of newly purchased cowboy boots so that she could ride. In the May afternoon, her short, slightly curled hair glinted with blue highlights. There was such excitement in her features as she spotted him. She eagerly waved.

Wes lifted his hand but without the same exuberance and joy. She was just too damn pretty for him. The way she moved her tall, lithe form, the way that pink T-shirt fitted her and outlined her small breasts—it all conspired against him. Kam wore a red bandanna around her throat and it only enhanced the elegant lines of her neck. In her hand was a tan Stetson cowboy hat. He wondered if Iris had given it to her as a gift. Wes was glad that Kam and Iris were getting along. That was a good sign. He sincerely loved Iris because she was a no-nonsense, down-to-earth woman who had always made positive and healthy decisions for the ranch.

Frowning, Wes thought of his father, Dan Sheridan, who owned the Bar S in Cody, Wyoming. Because of his alcoholism and his refusal of intervention, the once-prosperous cattle ranch was in decline. Just like his father. There was nothing Wes could do about it. He had tried over the years, only to be angrily rebuffed and eventually disowned. That had hurt then as it did now. Wes tried to redirect the thought but it did no good. He watched Kam’s approach, melting inwardly over her sparkling blue eyes. She was a salve to his wounded spirit.

“Hey,” Kam called gaily, “you got a horse for me, Wes?”

An unwilling grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as she plunked the cowboy hat down on her head. “I think I do. Chappy told me you were a beginning rider, but that you’d ridden off and on when you were a kid.”

The friendly nicker of horses in box stalls echoed down the wide, concrete aisle between them. The May breeze was gentle and invigorating to Kam. What was there not to be joyous about? She was with Wes, who was too handsome for words. Kam had been looking forward to this moment. “Yes, as a kid I rode, but my big sister Kathy was really the horsewoman. She had a horse and every once in a while I’d get to sit in the saddle as she led him around. I’m a real amateur, Wes. I hope you got me a nice, gentle, slow-moving horse.”

“I think I have.” He turned and motioned her to follow him down the aisle. “Let’s see how you and Freckles get along.”

Kam absorbed his powerful masculine nearness. “Has anyone ever told you that you walk like a wolf on the prowl?”

Startled, Wes glanced over at her. “Why…no.”

Laughing and embarrassed, Kam held up her hands. “It must be me, then! Don’t pay any attention to my creative meanderings. As a professional photographer I see things differently than most people. When I noticed you walking yesterday, you had such an easy grace that you reminded me of a wolf. That was a compliment, by the way.” She laughed nervously.

Wes found himself charmed by Kam’s innocence and the way she saw her world. Just as abruptly, he yanked himself from her spell. “Well, I’ve been called many things in my life, but never a wolf. Thank you.”

Halting at a box stall on the right, Wes opened it and took the halter of a small pinto and led him out to the cross ties. After he quickly hooked the horse’s halter into the metal panic snaps, the gelding stood quietly between them. “This is Freckles. He’s a mustang, very small but tough.” Wes ran his hand over the paint’s brown-and-white body near the withers. “Chappy thought Freckles would be ideal for you. He’s fifteen years old, savvy about things and will keep you out of trouble on the trail if you’ll let him.” Ruffling his hand through Freckles’s chestnut-and-white silky mane, Wes added, “Freckles is used for the kids who come here to the dude ranch over the summer. He’s one of our safest horses because he was a wild mustang as a youngster. Mustangs are a lot smarter because their wild nature is close to the surface. For instance, if you’re riding down a trail and he spots a rattlesnake, he’ll stop in his tracks and won’t move. He’ll let you have the time to look ahead of him to spot the snake. Some horses will bolt. Others won’t even see the snake and will step on it or get too close and get bitten. But Freckles won’t.”

Kam nodded and moved to where Wes was resting his hand on the horse’s withers. Freckles had big brown eyes set in his small, short head. She liked the alert look in them. Running her hand down his smooth, silky neck, she said, “He sounds perfect. I’m glad he’s not a real tall horse. I have this fear of falling and killing myself. At least if I fall off Freckles, it’s a short trip to the ground.” She grinned.

Wes nodded. “I’m sure Chappy can set up some riding lessons for you when Iris gives you time off.”

Patting Freckles, Kam marveled over the patterns of chestnut and white across his body. “He’s beautifully marked, Wes.”

Standing opposite her, the mustang between them, Wes was glad Freckles was where he was. It would be too easy to reach out and graze Kam’s hand as it rested on the horse’s neck. No, he had to keep his hands off Kam. “Yeah, he’s what they call a Medicine Hat mustang. They have a very special set of markings.” He showed her the brown color across the top of Freckles’s head. “You see this brown that looks like a hat over the top of his head and ears?”

“Yes.”

“That’s called a Medicine Hat pattern. The Native Americans valued a horse with this bonnet because it had powerful medicine. Many of these marked mustangs were kept as breeding stallions to the Native American herds. Iris has a medicine hat stallion named Lightning Bolt. She started a mustang-breeding program on this ranch about forty years ago. We have a paint mustang herd that’s internationally known. Iris sells medicine hat babies all over the world.”

“She’s an amazing woman,” Kam said. “What foresight to save a valuable animal and its genetic line.”

Wes nodded. “Believe me, you’ll find Iris the heart and soul of Elkhorn Ranch.” He walked to the tack room and found a blanket and saddle. Coming back, he set them on the floor and quickly brushed Freckles. “This is what you’ll do before riding him. A horse needs to be well-brushed.” He took a hoof pick from his back pocket. “You need to clean his hooves and pick out any stones or stuff that might be trapped inside the clefts of his hoof. Let me show you how.”

Kam came over and watched Wes pick up one of Freckles’s front legs. He held the horse’s pastern in his large, rough hand. Their heads almost touched as Kam observed him expertly pulling out debris from the two clefts on the hoof. His masculine scent dizzied her, acting like an aphrodisiac.

“See?” Wes said, allowing Freckles to set that leg down once more. He could feel Kam’s warmth, she was that close to him. Gulping, he handed her the hoof pick. “Your turn. I’ll guide you in cleaning his other three hooves.”

Wes’s fingers were rough and Kam’s hand tingled as he dropped the hoof pick into her palm. “Right. Okay, here we go.” She walked to the other side of Freckles, patted him and said, “Be kind to me, Freckles. I’m a rank beginner.”

Once again, Wes stood within inches of her as she lifted the mustang’s front leg. He took her hand and repositioned it so that Freckles’s hoof was cradled comfortably in her palm. Just the act of touching her sent a thrill through him. “Okay, now you can clean his hoof,” Wes told her, his voice slightly off-key. Would she notice how she affected him?

“Good work,” he praised. “Now, watch how I move beside Freckles to lift his back leg. You always stay close to the horse. Should one kick, they won’t have the arcing power to really hurt you if you’re close to them. The farther you stand away from them, the more they can injure you. Now, Freckles is not a kicker, but any horse under certain circumstances might become one. If threatened they will automatically kick to defend themselves. Stay close, put your left hand on his rump to let him know where you’re at. Keep the left side of your body in contact. Then, gently run your right hand down his hock here to his pastern just above his hoof.”