hated.
If it weren’t so tragic, Cait would’ve found the irony laughable.
Chapter Two
WIN CUPPED HIS hands and splashed nightcooled water from the tin pan across his face. He gasped, but repeated the action again and again, hoping to rid his mind of the cobwebs from a restless night. Using the bar of soap sitting on the porch bench beside the pan, Win washed and shaved.
He drew the straight razor across his whiskered cheek and jaw, then gave a wry chuckle at his re?ection in the small square mirror. Of all that he’d inherited from his mother’s half Indian blood-high cheekbones, straight dark hair, and perpetually tanned complexion-he hadn’t inherited the lack of facial hair, which would’ve come in handy. Finishing the routine task, he rinsed with more cool water and plucked a rough towel off a wooden peg and wiped dry, then ?ngercombed his thick damp hair back from his forehead.
The front door opened and Cait stepped out into the dawn’s rosy glow.
“Mornin’,” he said.
“Morning,” she echoed, not meeting his gaze.
Win wasn’t surprised to see her in trousers again. The only time she’d worn a dress was that evening ten years ago. He could see the gown clearly in his mind-pale blue with white lace bordering the low neckline, accenting the soft swell of her breasts. She hadn’t resembled the girl he’d known for so many years, but had been transformed into a desirable woman who’d sparked his hot young blood. He’d never forgotten that dress or that night.
“Was the barn comfortable?” she asked.
Win blinked in surprise at her attempt at a civil conversation. “I’ve slept in worse.”
“At least it doesn’t leak.”
“Good thing, since it rained buckets last night.”
She nodded, a slight smile quirking her lips. “Breakfast is ready.”
He followed her into the cabin, enjoying the gentle sway of her backside and the long blond braid that fell to her waist. He recalled the smell of honeysuckle, and how her silky hair had slid across his chest and caressed his ?ngers.
He hung his hat on the rack by the door just as he’d done so often as a boy. A wave of nostalgia startled him. He’d been drifting for so long, he’d forgotten what it was like to think of some place as home.
He waited until Cait sat down before taking his chair, and hid a smile at her faint blush when she realized what he’d done.
“You don’t have to act so polite, Win. We’ve known each other since we were kids,” she said irritably.
He smiled, using the charm that had never failed him with the ladies. “But we aren’t kids anymore.”
She raised her deceptively dainty chin. “That’s right. I grew up fast, thanks to you.”
Win ?inched 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 ?ll 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 ?ngertip. “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 ?ne.” 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 twenty?ve 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 ?nished 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 ?ve 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 ?inched inwardly at the unexpected cuss word and her venomous tone, but kept his voice even. “The Cait I knew used to cry over dead butter?ies.”
“The Cait
