“How do you check the farm?” she asked him.
“I ride Black,” he answered.
“Black?”
“My stallion.” He waited, watching her face, but she was giving him no hints whatever. “He rides double,” he said at last.
Kathleen’s head came up and for one unguarded moment her eyes flashed excitement.
“Would you mind?” asked Donnigan.
“No. No, I wouldn’t mind,” she said simply, hanging the dishcloth over the pan on the wall.
Kathleen may have become an expert at hiding her feelings, but even she slipped when she saw the black. He was magnificent. He was also a bit scary. Could they both really ride him? she wondered as the black horse raced around the corral, tossing his head and snorting.
At one whistle from Donnigan, the black dipped his head, snorted, and trotted obediently toward his owner. Kathleen longed to reach a hand out to the silky side of the animal, but she dared not do so without permission, and she refused to ask.
The black was soon bridled and saddled and Donnigan swung himself easily up. He reached down a hand for her. Black stomped impatiently, anxious to be off, but at a word from Donnigan he stopped his dancing.
“Give me your hand,” said Donnigan. “Now, step up on my foot. When I lift, up you come behind me.”
Kathleen reached up her hand, stepped on his foot and was lifted swiftly and easily from the ground to the back of the black horse. Never had she been up so high. It almost took her breath away.
“Put your arms around my waist and clasp your hands together,” invited Donnigan.
Kathleen complied. She was glad that Donnigan could not see her flushed face.
“There’s not much to see in the fields this time of year,” Donnigan informed her. “The hay and crops are all in.”
Donnigan held the black to a walk. The horse snorted his impatience and tossed his head, working the bit between his teeth. They traveled down a long lane, over the brow of a hill and past fields now empty of their summer’s crops. The whole way the black sidestepped and danced and chomped at the bit.
“Does he always walk like this?” asked Kathleen innocently.
“He wants to run,” said Donnigan.
Kathleen was silent for a few moments.
“Do you usually run?” she asked him.
“Usually,” said Donnigan.
“Then—let him run,” said Kathleen simply.
Donnigan half-turned in the saddle. “Are you sure?” he asked her. Kathleen nodded. Donnigan still looked doubtful. “You’ll have to hang on,” he told her.
In answer she tightened her arms around him. He reached down with one hand to hold both of hers tightly and gave the black his head.
The horse answered immediately with a giant spring forward, and then they were rushing over the prairie grasses, the wind whipping at Kathleen’s hair and fluttering her skirts. She had never experienced such an exhilarating sensation. On they went, covering the distance to the horse pasture in long strides, the muscles beneath her seeming to ripple with each forward lunge. Kathleen thought of the gentle roll of the sea.
They came to a fence and Donnigan pulled up the black with a soft “Whoa-a.” Just on the other side of the fence a herd of horses was feeding. The black greeted them with an excited whinny, and many of the mares answered him. The herd began to stir, shifting, whirling, kicking up heels and playfully nipping one another.
The stallion stomped and pranced, eager to be back with his band.
“They’re beautiful!” breathed Kathleen before she could check herself. “Whose are they?”
“Mine,” replied Donnigan, pride coloring his voice. Then he blushed and corrected himself. “Ours.” It was going to take some getting used to—this sharing of property, of their lives.
“Here, let me help you down,” said Donnigan and reached his arm around to circle her waist. Kathleen felt herself being lifted up and out and lowered to the ground to stand beside the black. With one swift movement, Donnigan swung his leg over the black and joined her.
“We usually have to ride in to find them,” Donnigan was explaining. “We were lucky today.”
They stood for a moment watching the horses mill about. A few had approached the fence and extended their noses. The black moved eagerly forward to greet them. Others still ran and kicked and chased one another.
“Do they always act like that?” asked Kathleen.
“Only when the black comes around,” replied Donnigan with a grin. “Then they show off a bit.”
Kathleen would have liked to ask more questions but she held her tongue.
They watched the horses until the herd gradually settled. A few even went back to feeding.
“Ready?” asked Donnigan and Kathleen nodded. He gathered the reins and wheeled the reluctant stallion around, then mounted in one smooth motion and reached his hand for Kathleen. This time she did not need to be invited to place her arms around his waist. Firmly she clasped her hands together, hoping fervently that he would let the black run again. She could not hide her smile when he did. But Donnigan could not see it.
They surveyed the entire farm with its horses, cattle, fields, pastures, and woodlots before Donnigan turned the black toward home. They had been out for some hours. The day had grown hot, the hour past noon; still Kathleen was reluctant to relinquish the freedom she had felt when skimming across the prairie on the back of the big horse. She felt that she would just like to ride and ride—forever.
“I’ll be in as soon as I take care of Black,” Donnigan informed her as he eased her to the ground. Kathleen reached up a trembling hand to try to get her hair in order. The wind had wrenched the pins from their place.
She nodded her head slowly. She knew that Donnigan was saying that he would soon be in for his dinner.
Kathleen had never minded kitchen duties, so she washed her hands at the corner basin and began her search through the shelves. She found enough to fix them a proper dinner, but she realized that the American cupboard stock was different than what she had been used to.
Donnigan must have recognized the fact also, for as he washed at the basin later, he spoke without turning.
“We’ll need to get into town soon and let you pick your own fixin’s. I haven’t been in the habit of keeping much on hand.”
Kathleen nodded, forgetting his back was to her.
He stood up straight to run the rough towel over his hands and face. “You can get the other things you’ll want, too,” he told her.
Her face must have registered her surprise. “What things?” she dared to ask.
“For the house. Whatever it is you need.”
Kathleen let her gaze travel around the room. Oh, it was tempting. But she would not be demanding. Besides, Kathleen had never been given opportunity to “make a home” before. She didn’t really know how one went about it—and she was afraid that she would make some terrible blunders if she attempted it. She did not want to risk the displeasure of the big man who stood opposite her in the cabin kitchen.
“The house is fine,” she said, turning back to the stove. She missed seeing Donnigan’s look of disappointment.
They were sitting on the porch enjoying the coolness of the fall evening. Kathleen had placed her shawl about her shoulders as the evenings could become chilly. They had shared this quiet time for almost four full weeks. It seemed a long time to Kathleen—and she still knew little more about Donnigan than she had the day she had entered his home. She longed to know—but remembered that he might resent her prodding. If there was one thing that Madam had stressed over and over, it was that a man didn’t like being quizzed or nagged at.
Things had settled to a bit of a routine. Kathleen got the meals, did the laundry, kept the house clean. Donnigan cared for the animals, brought in the fresh pails of water and hauled the firewood. It seemed a good arrangement. In fact, Kathleen felt that she really should feel quite happy and contented. But she didn’t. Deep down inside was a loneliness that hadn’t been touched. In a way, she wondered if it really would have been that much different being a housemaid at Madam’s new country home. She stole a glance at Donnigan, wondering if he could read her thoughts.