crying.
Gabriel stood there, absently toeing the ground.
Crying women made him feel awkward. He wanted to comfort them, as he’d seen his father comforting his dying mother and his Sunday-morning flock; but he didn’t have his father’s passion or gift for words and as a result endedup feeling clumsy and tongue-tied.
He felt that way now. But because Ellen was Cally’s sister, he felt strangely linked to her; after a little, for the first time, he was able to overcome his awkwardness. Kneeling, he put his arm around her and stroked her hair.
She responded by burying her face in his chest and sobbing. He tried to soothe her, but soon ran out of words.
Nearby, the stallion stopped grazing and watched Gabriel trying to comfort Ellen. As if understanding his problem, it trotted over and stood close to them, snuffling softly in its nose.
The gentle sound had a positive effect on Ellen. Sniffing back her tears, she gazed up at the Morgan. It wrinkled its lips at her and pawed the ground.
‘He isn’t going to bite me, is he?’
‘Not unless you’re fool enough to pet him.’
‘Then … why’s he making that noise?’
Gabriel had no idea – probably just to be ornery, he thought.
‘I reckon he’s askin’ you to stop cryin’.’
As if to verify his words, the stallion snuffled again then whinnied.
‘What’s he saying now?’
‘Tellin’ me to shut up.’
Ellen laughed and wiped her eyes with the big red kerchief he offered her.
‘You’re making all this up, aren’t you?’
His wry grin answered her question.
Blowing her nose, she said: ‘I don’t understand what came over me. Crying like a baby, I should be ashamed of myself.’
‘No shame in tears, Ellie. Shame belongs to the folks who cause ’em.’
She smiled and returned his kerchief. ‘I’ll be all right now. So if you have chores to do, don’t let me keep you from them.’
Gabriel hesitated, and she thought he was going to stay. But with a polite tip of his hat he turned and walked up the slope to the cabin.
Ellen regretfully watched him go. She sensed he was hiding the truth from her: that he actually was Mesquite Jennings. But he’d been so kind to her, so honorable in every other way, she couldn’t accuse him of lying.
Turning to the stallion, she said: ‘If only you could talk. You’d tell me all about him, wouldn’t you?’
The Morgan made a gentle snuffling noise. Ellen went to fondle its velvety black nose, then remembering Gabriel’s warning jerked her hand back.
The stallion tossed its head and snorted, as if offended, and backed up.
Ellen laughed. ‘Oh, so now you want to be petted, do you? Very well. Then get back here. Come on,’ she said, offering out her hand. ‘Don’t be stubborn.’
The Morgan eyed her suspiciously.
‘My God,’ Ellen said, ‘you’re just like him. Don’t trust anyone, do you?’
As if to dispute that the Morgan trotted up to her, head lowered as if asking to be petted. But just as Ellen tentatively reached out to rub its nose, the horse jerked its head back, neighed shrilly and galloped off.
Ellen watched as it raced around her in a wide circle, prancing and bucking and kicking up its heels in sheer delight.
What a pair they make, she thought. A man and a horse, two of God’s creatures, so much alike they could have come from the same mold: two loners, thoughperhaps not by choice, both suspicious and dangerous in their own way, yet sensitive too, and both as unpredictable as a winter storm.
She watched the stallion for a few more minutes, amused by its antics, then, feeling better, she leaned over the stream and washed away her tears. Refreshed, she patted her face dry with her petticoat and started up the slope, the Morgan trotting behind her like an obedient puppy.
CHAPTER SIX
Miguel Escalero sat dozing with his back against the cabin wall, his hands clasped around his drawn-up knees, his big frayed sombrero covering him like an umbrella.
He was dreaming of a December
Gabriel stood there, absently toeing the ground.
Crying women made him feel awkward. He wanted to comfort them, as he’d seen his father comforting his dying mother and his Sunday-morning flock; but he didn’t have his father’s passion or gift for words and as a result endedup feeling clumsy and tongue-tied.
He felt that way now. But because Ellen was Cally’s sister, he felt strangely linked to her; after a little, for the first time, he was able to overcome his awkwardness. Kneeling, he put his arm around her and stroked her hair.
She responded by burying her face in his chest and sobbing. He tried to soothe her, but soon ran out of words.
Nearby, the stallion stopped grazing and watched Gabriel trying to comfort Ellen. As if understanding his problem, it trotted over and stood close to them, snuffling softly in its nose.
The gentle sound had a positive effect on Ellen. Sniffing back her tears, she gazed up at the Morgan. It wrinkled its lips at her and pawed the ground.
‘He isn’t going to bite me, is he?’
‘Not unless you’re fool enough to pet him.’
‘Then … why’s he making that noise?’
Gabriel had no idea – probably just to be ornery, he thought.
‘I reckon he’s askin’ you to stop cryin’.’
As if to verify his words, the stallion snuffled again then whinnied.
‘What’s he saying now?’
‘Tellin’ me to shut up.’
Ellen laughed and wiped her eyes with the big red kerchief he offered her.
‘You’re making all this up, aren’t you?’
His wry grin answered her question.
Blowing her nose, she said: ‘I don’t understand what came over me. Crying like a baby, I should be ashamed of myself.’
‘No shame in tears, Ellie. Shame belongs to the folks who cause ’em.’
She smiled and returned his kerchief. ‘I’ll be all right now. So if you have chores to do, don’t let me keep you from them.’
Gabriel hesitated, and she thought he was going to stay. But with a polite tip of his hat he turned and walked up the slope to the cabin.
Ellen regretfully watched him go. She sensed he was hiding the truth from her: that he actually was Mesquite Jennings. But he’d been so kind to her, so honorable in every other way, she couldn’t accuse him of lying.
Turning to the stallion, she said: ‘If only you could talk. You’d tell me all about him, wouldn’t you?’
The Morgan made a gentle snuffling noise. Ellen went to fondle its velvety black nose, then remembering Gabriel’s warning jerked her hand back.
The stallion tossed its head and snorted, as if offended, and backed up.
Ellen laughed. ‘Oh, so now you want to be petted, do you? Very well. Then get back here. Come on,’ she said, offering out her hand. ‘Don’t be stubborn.’
The Morgan eyed her suspiciously.
‘My God,’ Ellen said, ‘you’re just like him. Don’t trust anyone, do you?’
As if to dispute that the Morgan trotted up to her, head lowered as if asking to be petted. But just as Ellen tentatively reached out to rub its nose, the horse jerked its head back, neighed shrilly and galloped off.
Ellen watched as it raced around her in a wide circle, prancing and bucking and kicking up its heels in sheer delight.
What a pair they make, she thought. A man and a horse, two of God’s creatures, so much alike they could have come from the same mold: two loners, thoughperhaps not by choice, both suspicious and dangerous in their own way, yet sensitive too, and both as unpredictable as a winter storm.
She watched the stallion for a few more minutes, amused by its antics, then, feeling better, she leaned over the stream and washed away her tears. Refreshed, she patted her face dry with her petticoat and started up the slope, the Morgan trotting behind her like an obedient puppy.
CHAPTER SIX
Miguel Escalero sat dozing with his back against the cabin wall, his hands clasped around his drawn-up knees, his big frayed sombrero covering him like an umbrella.
He was dreaming of a December
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