Catch a Shooting Star jd edit 03 12 2012 html Read online

  Her gaze found its way to the wide, muscled shoulders and the chest that barreled out above a slim waistline and in front of a long, lean back. His strong legs curved around the large Palomino’s chest in muscular masculinity. Only when her eyes stopped at the stirrups of his saddle, which supported long, sturdy booted feet, did she raise them again to look at that handsome face which, for some reason, still looked familiar to her.

  Her heart fluttered wildly when he caught her looking at him and she quickly turned her head away. But, his curiosity at her interest in him was peaked and he asked without warning, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  Taken aback, Madeline pulled up on the reins and narrowed her eyes at him, asking, “Should I?”

  With another stunning statement, he told her, “Your name is not Madeline. I don’t quite remember it, but it’s definitely not Madeline, or Maddie, as your friends seem to think.”

  Shivers ran up and down her spine as she sat straight and apprehensive in her saddle, wondering how he could have known her secret. She stammered as she tried to correct him, “Y—Yes it is.”

  “Nope,” he said as he stared at her and tried to recall the name that he’d remembered that night on the lane. “It starts with an ‘S’, I think. The name of some city in Georgia. That is where you are from, right?”

  How could he know her? How could he know her past? She bit her lip and held back the mare that wanted to continue their trek across the desert while she contemplated telling him the truth that he probably already knew. She took a deep breath and said softly, “Savannah.”

  “That’s it!” he exclaimed as he slapped his hand on his leg and startling both horses. He settled his mount down while he reached for the mare’s halter in order to ease the Appaloosa’s nerves. Then while he stroked his chin, he said with growing recollection, “I knew it was something like that.”

  He leaned closer to her, pulling the halter of the mare next to his chest as he asked, “You don’t remember do you?”

  Savannah ducked her head and then shook it dejectedly saying, “I’m sorry. I don’t.”

  “It was about three years ago on a stormy night. Your horse had run away with you, a different horse. It was a black bolt of lightning. He’d run away with you and I saved you. And then a few days later, I was on my way to your plantation to make you a widow before you were even married. I was riding along with a preacher who was on his way to talk with you and your intended,” he began to explain to her but she cut him off.

  “I remember!” she shouted, bringing a palm to her opened mouth. “You were the man on the yellow horse,” she paused to look at the Palomino beneath him before she continued, “and you did not save my life. As I recall, I had full knowledge of my whereabouts. And then, you were with Reverend Warren. You were the man who wanted to talk me out of marrying Diego.”

  “And, I see, you didn’t listen to me,” he admonished her.

  “I know,” she admitted with a frown. “I should have. But, I was forced to marry him. You see, he had loaned my father money that could not be repaid and Diego made my father promise to let him marry me in return for the promissory note.”

  “Sounds to me like you were sold to the highest bidder,” he said. Inside, he wondered why she did not mention that the plantation was hers whether she married the Mexican or not, but he did not ask, for she agreed with his statement.

  “That’s exactly what I called it. But Father insisted that I marry my husband despite my dispute with the agreement. He—and Diego—made it clear that a deal was a deal and that I was bound by contract to go through with it. And then, Father took a turn for the worst and things had to speed up and the day after I saw you, we were married. Then,” her voice wavered before she composed herself and continued, “Father passed away and Diego made me pack my belongings and we rode to Mexico where I lived with him until the day he left me for dead in the desert. Who knows what condition the plantation is in or if he sold it or not. He’d told me that since he’d paid the debts for it, he owned it and would do with it what he pleased.”

  Travis heard a forlorn sigh from her before he stated, “Sounds like you should have listened to me alright.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t have mattered. If I had not married Diego, he would have still owned my home and my father and I would be homeless. I just couldn’t let that happen to my father while he was on his deathbed. I loved him too much to go against his wishes.”

  “So, you threw your life away in order to please a dying man?” Travis admonished.

  “He was my father!” she snapped. Then her voice softened when she said with a sigh, “It was the only way.”

  “And now you are on your way to kill the man that I should have killed the day we met,” Travis mused as he pushed his Stetson back on his head.

  “That seems to be the way it is,” she said, resigned to let him believe that he had won the argument.

  He knew that he should tell her about that conversation with Reverend Warren the day she’d refused help from the man who’d come to kill her fiancé, the fact that Robin’s Glen would always be hers until she died. But he felt that the truth might make her want to go to Georgia before taking on the task of killing her husband and retrieving her son. It just seemed in the best interest of both Travis and Savannah if they kept on this path together, for something told him that they had been thrown together for a reason.

  So, to change the subject, he interjected with a tiny bit of sarcasm in his voice, “And, you still think that I didn’t save your life in that storm?”

  The question took her quite off guard and she paused a moment while she gathered her wits. Memories that she dared not relive in her mind seemed to assail her along with the long-forgotten emotions that they evoked in her. Decidedly, she pushed them aside.

  “You didn’t,” she said, touching her heels to the belly of her mare. She called back at him from ahead as she trotted away, “And I wouldn’t have let you kiss me that night either.”

  Spurring Blazer into a gallop, Travis came abreast of her. That moment long ago, that electrifying moment when desire met destiny flashed in his mind, reminding him that he had been granted so many chances, so many opportunities to possess this woman who defied him at every turn, back then during the storm and now amid the torrent that overtook him. Even now with her fiery violet eyes and her jutting breasts, she unknowingly twisted him in a whirlwind of emotions like a tempting tempest dressed in denim and skin-tight cotton. Breathlessly, while their gait increased, he said, “But you wanted me to.”

  Savannah pulled back on the reins and brought her mare to a standstill while she glared at Travis and said, “I did NOT!”

  He chuckled quietly and shook his head as he said, “And you didn’t want me to kiss you in the tub, I suppose.”

  “I certainly did not!” She retorted but, unfortunately, her words were lost in the morning breeze, for he had kicked his heels into the Palomino’s sides and touched a forefinger to the brim of his hat as he rode away.

  Savannah kicked her mare into a gallop in order catch up with Travis and just as she was getting near him, Dixie stumbled and faltered. Savannah called to Travis that something was wrong with her mare and he wheeled his mount back toward her.

  She dismounted and touched a hand to the mare’s foreleg, which tapped painfully against the dirt. Fear gripped her heart at the thought of losing another loving horse. She looked to the man who exuded the ability to solve any problem for a definitive answer.

  Travis stooped next to her, easing her out of the way while he leaned against the Appaloosa’s right shoulder and then ran his palm down the quivering leg until it was wrapped around the fetlock. Gently leaning into the horse, he encouraged her to give him the leg while she leaned on the other three. Cupping the injured hoof in his hand, he shook his head and stated, “Looks like she’s about to throw a shoe.”

  As she leaned over him, Savannah heard Travis swear under his breath while he picked at the loose nails that protru
ded from the iron shoe on the hoof. She straightened up and defensively put her hands on her hips when he scowled at her.

  “Yep,” he growled as he let the hoof drop again. “In another step or two, it would have fallen off.”

  He rose up to face her and while he wiped his hands together, he asked in a tone that she neither appreciated nor tolerated, “Didn’t you have her checked before you started out on a long trip?”

  Savannah took on a supercilious stance as she retorted, “I took her to Sal just a week ago and he said that she was in good shape. I had no reason to distrust him. He takes very good care of Dixie. Besides, it’s just a loose shoe. Can’t you fix it?”

  “Do I look like a blacksmith?” he asked, anger building in him. He strode to his mount and reached into a leather bag and then walked back to the mare, but his temper had calmed a bit when he returned and said, “Lucky for you, I keep this with me. You never know when you’ll be stranded with a lame horse on your hands.”

  Feeling relieved, Savannah smiled gratefully and watched him as he went to work on the nails and the shoe. She leaned in closer to observe him as he lifted the hoof again and while he talked soothingly to the mare, he examined the space between the hoof and the shoe to make sure that there were no pebbles and then, he wiggled the shoe back down onto the hoof. With the tack hammer, he tapped each nail gently back into place and then bent the ends of the nails over the outside of the hoof so that they would not come loose again. The nails would have to be trimmed later if not replaced by a professional, but the fix would do for now, he thought.

  As he concentrated on his work, his own horse sauntered over to nudge him with his nose and Travis chuckled and patted the stallion with a palm as he said calmly, “Back up Blazer. No need to get jealous.”

  Blazer did as he was told and turned to graze on sprigs of sparsely growing grass. Savannah watched the Palomino’s comfortable manner around his owner and she commented to Travis, “You’ve got him well trained.”

  Travis raised his head and instantly, his features softened as he smiled and said, “Yep. It helps when you start with good stock. I brought him up from a colt.”

  “What was that you called him?” she asked, making idle conversation while he worked.

  “Blazer. His real name is Trail Blazer. His great-great granddaddy was the horse that Meriwether Lewis rode when he explored the country,” he explained as he bent over the hoof once more.

  “Oh,” Savannah said, still talking about anything but the fact that he had yelled at her, which had riled her more than she cared to admit. “I thought you called him Blazer because of the white streak that goes down his face.”

  “Nope,” He said as he struck the hoof with the hammer one last time and then dropped the foot. He straightened himself up and slipped the handle of the hammer into his back pocket while he rubbed the knuckles that Savannah had crushed in the door the day before.

  “It still hurts, doesn’t it?” she asked, her violet eyes reflecting the concern that she felt.

  “A little,” he said as he closed his fingers into a fist and then opened them again. But he reassured her, “It’ll be alright in a day or so.”

  “I’m sorry that I hurt it,” she said watching him examine the bruise that had colored the tanned skin that covered his hand.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said with a dismissive wave. “I’ve been hurt worse.”

  He removed his Stetson and leaned closer to her, parting his brown hair so that she could see the scar beneath. She drew in a breath of alarm as she asked, “How did that happen?”

  “Bullet,” he said and then continued, “It was just a crease, though. Nothing to worry about. It does give me a headache sometimes and that affects my thinking.”

  “And apparently, your temper,” she said without thinking as she stepped around to retrieve the reins and hop into the stirrup.

  Travis mounted his own horse and threw her a sideways look while he spurred Blazer onward and said, “So, where’s the bullet hole in your head?”

  Anger building again, she kicked her mare forward and ignored his accusation that she had a temper also. They continued their journey in silence, both trying to cool the anger that each of them seemed to bring about in the other. They did not look at each other, but kept their eyes forward as the horses plodded beneath them.

  Savannah wanted desperately to ask Travis how he had gotten shot, but did not want to start another argument with him and realized, as she let her mare walk alongside the golden stallion that carried the most intriguing and exasperating man that she had ever encountered, that she would have to reanalyze her idea of what a decent man could be like.

  He was in no way like her husband, who instilled fear in her. Fear at first because she was a mere child when she had met him. And later, the fear came from his intolerance of her insolence and his need to control her when she had a mind of her own and still had the courage to defy him. Until, he finally managed to beat the spirit out of her, both physically and mentally and fear was all that her despondent heart would impart in those dark and lonely years that she was forced to endure with him.

  Shaking off the dreadful emotions that the mere thought of Diego instilled in her, she turned her attention to the man who now had changed her idea of how a powerful man should behave. This one, who exuded vigor and verve, could be both gentle and forceful, both charming and audacious. This man was not at all the hateful devil that her husband was.

  Before she could contemplate further, Travis pulled back on the reins and then dismounted, telling her that they would stop for a bite to eat. He told her to stay with the horses while he looked around and then left her to gather food for the noon meal. She got a slab of roast beef and bread from her saddle bag and then went to his horse and looked for plates, which she had forgotten to pack.

  She rifled through his saddle bag and only found his personal belongings. As she was putting things back, she found a picture of a woman among the things that she had removed. She held the silver frame in her palms and stared at the beautiful face that seemed to look back at her. She wondered who the woman could be, but just as she had begun to think about it in depth, she heard footsteps behind her. She wheeled around and dropped the picture at her feet. There was no time to retrieve it, for Travis was there in front of her, his eyes cast down at the frame at her feet.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, curious yet not accusing her of poking around in his personal things.

  “I—I was,” she stammered, then realized why she had gone into his bag in the first place and explained, “I was looking for plates. I forgot to pack some.”

  He bent to pick up the frame and then tucked it into his shirt pocket before he told her, “You won’t find ‘em there.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, wringing her hands together as she stepped backward so that he could readjust his things in the saddle bag. Then, she assured him, “I didn’t take anything.”

  “Just this,” he said, pulling the frame out of his pocket and then placing it into the safety of the leather saddle bag.

  “I didn’t mean to,” she said, stepping toward him. “I heard you coming and there was no time…”

  “No time to look further?” he asked, turning toward her, his face filled with anger. “You want to know what I’ve got in there?”

  “No,” she said, casting her eyes to her feet. “I was just looking for plates. I said I was sorry.”

  “Well, don’t touch my things again,” he said as he stepped past her and went to the rock where she had laid out the food. He picked up a slice of bread and some of the roast beef and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing quickly and then nodding toward the fare, saying after he swallowed, “You’d better eat fast. When I’m done, we’re back on the trail.”

  She hurried over to grab a handful of the food, eating without benefit of plates or silver ware. She chewed and swallowed as quickly as she could, gulping water from her canteen in between bites of the dry sandwich. When she
was finished, she watched him walk over to her mare and check the hoof that he had repaired earlier in the day and then she packed up the food and walked toward him to put the things back into her saddle bag.

  Without looking over his shoulder at her, he nodded toward a stand of mesquite and said, “You can go over there and relieve yourself.”

  Hesitating, Savannah wondered if any creatures would attack her, but as if reading her mind, Travis said, “Don’t worry. I checked it for snakes.”

  “Thank you,” she uttered as she hurried toward the clump of trees.

  When she returned, he was already in his saddle waiting for her. She remounted and her mare started walking behind the stallion without being told. As they walked along the trail, she looked at Travis’ back and wondered who the woman in the picture was. She dared not ask him in the mood that he was in, she knew. But still, she wondered if the woman was his wife, for he had tucked the frame away as if it meant something to him.

  Again, as if reading her mind, he answered her question without looking behind him, “She was my wife. Your husband killed her.”

  Her heart sank in her chest and she wanted so much to comfort him, to tell him how sorry she was for what the man she’d married had done to him and his wife. All she could do was to kick her mare forward until she was parallel to him and then lean over to cover his gloved hand with hers. No words came from her lips, for there were none that could make his pain any less than it was, none that could make his wife return to him, none that could fill the emptiness that he must be feeling inside his broken heart.