She raised her deceptively dainty chin. “That’s right. I grew up fast, thanks to you.”
Win flinched at the bitterness in her tone. “Seems to me you weren’t complaining too much at the time.” In fact, they’d spent much of the night together and their youthful passions had kept them awake for most of it.
Cait’s cheeks reddened, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she picked up her fork and began to eat.
Win swallowed back a smile and dug into a hefty pile of fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, sausage, and biscuits and gravy. Cait rose halfway through the quiet meal to fill their cups with fresh coffee.
“Do you have any hired help, besides me?” Win asked after pushing aside his empty plate.
Cait shook her head as she idly traced the rim of her cup with a fingertip. “I haven’t had time to look for a hired hand since Pa died.” Abruptly, she stood and carried their plates to the tin wash pan.
“You’d best start looking. You can’t do everything that needs doing yourself.”
“I manage just fine.” If she were a cat, she would’ve arched her back and hissed.
Win leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “You’ll work yourself into an early grave.”
She gripped the back of her chair and stared down at him. Her eyes blazed with stubborn pride. “This was our dream, me and Pa’s, and I’m not going to let it go now that it’s so close.”
There was nothing of the laughing, innocent girl Win had known in the plucky woman before him. “I’m not asking you to, just that you hire someone to give you a hand.”
“No. As long as you can tame Deil, I can take care of the mares and the foals they’ll soon drop.”
Win dragged a hand through his unruly hair. “Damn it, Cait, don’t be so stubborn. I couldn’t handle that many horses myself and I’m not afraid to admit it.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I can, then, isn’t it?” She marched to the door. “Daylight’s wasting and I’ve got work to do.” Cait donned her widebrimmed hat and snugged the horsehair string beneath her chin. She strode out, leaving Win alone in the cabin.
He threw himself back in his chair and let loose a string of Cheyenne curses. What the hell had happened to the sweet girl he’d known? Granted, he’d taken her virginity and ridden out the next morning without so much as a goodbye, but dammit, he’d had his reasons. She’d had ten years to get over it, yet she clung to her resentment.
She was twentyfive now, an old maid, even though she hardly looked like some driedup spinster. Why hadn’t she married? Girls got over boys and moved on, but it seemed Cait hadn’t.
Why not?
He finished his coffee, hardly tasting the strong bitterness that he favored. After sliding his cup into the warm water, he donned his hat and followed in Cait’s wake.
He paused on the porch and noticed the barn door was open. He’d closed it behind him that morning. Knowing it was better to leave Cait alone until she got over her tantrum, Win strode toward the corral where Deil pawed at the ground. As he approached, the stallion tossed his head and snorted, and Win felt the familiar thrill of pitting himself against a strongwilled horse.
Win had been an itinerant bronc buster most of his life, following his father from one ranch to another after his ma died. They were normally paid five dollars a head for every horse they saddlebroke. But unlike some of their fellow busters, Win and his pa never used a whip or quirt on a horse. Neither of them could abide such cruelty to an animal.
Win’s mother’s people had taught Adam Taylor how to break horses their way. Combining the best methods of both the white and Cheyenne worlds, he and his son had established a reputation as busters who could saddlebreak a horse without destroying its spirit.
“How will you do it?”
Win whirled around, startled to see Cait standing beside him, her hands in her back trouser pockets. She was staring at Deil impassively.
Win forced himself to relax and leaned against the top corral pole. “Depends. Do you plan on riding him or will you just use him for breeding?”
Cait narrowed her eyes. “Both. I have to be able to trust him.”
“He’s a wild horse, Cait. You’ll never be able to totally trust him.”
“If I can’t trust him, I’ll put him down.”
Win scowled. “You don’t have to-”
She faced him squarely. “Yes, I do.”
“It’ll take some time.”
Cait’s attention returned to the stallion that stared at them with intelligent and cunning eyes. “Use whatever means you have to. I want him broke.”
“I won’t whip an animal,” Win stated, hoping that wasn’t what she meant.
“He’s an outlaw.” Cait clasped her hands and rested them atop the corral rail. Her knuckles were white. “But he’s the best chance for this ranch to succeed, so do what you have to in order to break him.”
“You’ve changed, Cait,” Win said softly after a few moments of stunned silence.
“What the hell did you expect?”
Win flinched inwardly at the unexpected cuss word and her venomous tone, but kept his voice even. “The Cait I knew used to cry over dead butterflies.”
“The Cait you knew is long gone.”
The statement was delivered in a flat monotone that both frustrated and angered Win. He’d ridden away to protect her, yet he was beginning to suspect he’d done the opposite.
“Are you going to forefoot him?” Cait asked, the anger replaced by bland curiosity.
Win eyed the spirited stallion, gauging how difficult it would be to lasso the animal’s two front legs. If he did, he’d have to take Deil down and tie his hind foot up as well. “Probably,” he finally replied. “If he’s as tough as you say, I’ll have to bust him, too. I’ll need your help if I do that.”
“Pa tried to do it himself.”
Win scowled. “That’s a good way to get hurt.”
“Or killed,” Cait murmured and turned toward the barn. “Let’s get started,” she said over her shoulder.
Puzzled by her words, Win retrieved his lariat from the barn, while Cait brought another out from the tack room.
She’d donned gloves and was checking the rope with the assurance of someone who’d done it numerous times.
Win had never known a woman bronc buster other than Cait. They’d both been taught by their fathers, with some of their training overlapping while Win and his father visited the Brices. Cait had forefooted her first mustang when she was thirteen years old. Win had been in the corral with her, ready to help if the horse needed to be taken down. He’d been impressed by her skill, but instead of praising her, he’d teased her.
“I’ll rope him,” Win said, unlooping his reata.
Cait stopped by the corral, her gaze never leaving the stallion. Her breath rasped in and out with rapid puffs.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concerned by her pallor.
“Fine.”
Although she sounded anything but fine, Win mentally shrugged and opened the post corral’s gate to slip inside. He latched the gate behind him when it was obvious she wasn’t going to follow. Instead, she climbed onto the corral’s top rail and sat there, her loop in hand and ready.
Deil pawed the ground, his hooves tossing dirt behind him. His nostrils flared widely and he snorted. Not once did the stallion take his eyes off Win, which sent a shiver of unease down the buster’s spine as he continued to hold the horse’s gaze. To look away would give Deil the victory, and Win had yet to be defeated by a wild horse. He increased the rope’s loop as he began to twirl it over his head.
Most horses fled when they saw the rope, and in a round enclosure, it was fairly easy to forefoot a running mustang. However, rather than flee, Deil reared up on his powerful hind legs, forcing Win to retreat, away from the flailing hooves.
“Look out,” Cait shouted, an oddly frantic note in her voice.