Western Man Read Online Free PDF Page B

horse made quick, swishing sounds in the thick rye grass that nearly reached her stirrup. Once this grass had dominated the landscape the way the sage did now, until early cattlemen had allowed their cattle to overgraze it. The Ute Indians had given this country its name,
Piceance,
which means “tall grass.” Now the grass, properly called Big Basin wild rye, grew only along isolated stream beds flowing into Piceance Creek.
    The bay horse whickered softly and tugged at the bit, pricking its ears toward the silver rush of water. Her own mouth felt dry after the longmorning ride, so Sharon reined the horse toward a gravel bar that pushed into the stream a few yards ahead.
    When they reached the narrow bar, Sharon dismounted and let the horse bury its muzzle in the cool, clear water and suck in the liquid in noisy slurps. She removed her hat and shook her shoulder-length hair free after hours of being tucked under the crown. After the horse had satisfied its thirst, she moved a short way upstream and stretched flat on the gravel to scoop up several handfuls of water, laying her hat on the ground beside her. For safety’s sake, she kept hold of the reins. The bay horse appeared to be well trained but she wasn’t taking any chances.

Chapter Three
    The water was crystal clear and cold, revealing the smooth and glistening stones on the creek bottom. Sharon had taken her last drink when she felt a pull on the reins. She tightened her grip on them quickly and hastily looked up. The solid-colored bay had lifted its head in sudden alertness to stare at some distant object across the creek. It snorted loudly, then its sides heaved in a questioning whicker.
    As she pushed to her feet, wiping her wet hand on her jeans, she heard the drumming of a horse’s hooves growing steadily louder. She shielded her eyes with her hand to look into the sun and identify the approaching rider.
    The tall, lean shape could belong to no one but Ridge Halliday. A thread of uncertainty ran through her nerves at the prospect of meeting him here. Sharon was puzzled by the cause of it. She hadn’t seen him since the dawn hours when he’d assigned the crew their individual tasks. There had been no resemblance to the joking, smiling RidgeHalliday she knew. Perhaps she’d been put off by the hard, authoritative figure he had presented. It had been all business and no nonsense. And Sharon hadn’t been sure how to react to this change even though she had come expressly to discover it.
    Her hat was on the ground near her feet. Sharon turned and bent to pick it up as Ridge slowed the liver-colored chestnut gelding into a long-striding walk. She heard his horse splashing across the creek to the gravel bar where she was standing and made a project of adjusting her hat snugly on her head before blandly turning to greet him.
    The saddle leather creaked as Ridge stepped down, the gravel crunching beneath his boot. His hard features had relaxed out of the stern lines of the morning. There was a faint curve to his mouth, and the rich blue of his eyes was lit by a taunting gleam. Sharon felt a vague relief that this was the Ridge she knew.
    “Looks like I caught you loafing on the job,” he remarked as his horse dipped its nose into the clear-running creek.
    “Just watering my horse the same as you’re doing,” she retorted, matching his faintly complacent smile with one of her own.
    “I had the distinct impression you were lying down when I rode up,” Ridge countered and let the reins fall to trail the ground.
    “I was getting a drink. The water’s icy cold and fresh,” Sharon stated, all her senses coming alert as he leisurely approached her.
    “So you were taking a break.” His skimming glance was playing havoc with her pulse. That purely physical attraction was asserting its influence over her again. “That’s going to cost you.”
    It was crazy. Sparks of sexual disturbance were shooting all over the place, charging the air with an elemental tension