"This is absolutely insane." However, the murmured opinion
didn't discourage the determination in her step as she
tramped across the neatly trimmed grass between the house
and the gravel drive. "The man is not going to help you.
He probably won't even remember you."
Normal, everyday behavior for Jenna didn't customarily
include talking to herself. But her life had been anything
but normal over the course of the past eight weeks. Thick
emotion threatened to consume her when she contemplated
all she'd endured, all she continued to endure; the
sadness, the grief, the overwhelming frustration of
dealing with the Lenape Council of Elders. So she thrust
the thoughts from her mind and, instead, focused on the
reason she'd come to Broken Bow — finding a solution to
her problem.
Yes, coming here might be crazy. And, yes, once she
presented her proposition, the man might laugh her into
next week. But she'd turned the situation over in her head
every which way, and this was the only answer she'd come
up with.
The plain plank steps leading to the door of the rustic
but contemporary ranch were sturdy under her feet. The
covered porch offered a shady respite from the sweltering
summer sun. The house was built with rough-hewn timber.
Lifting her hand, she rapped on the door before anxiety
stole away her nerve.
During the past weeks, the reservation had become a
familiar place to her...a place filled with little more
than apprehension and defeat. When the idea of garnering
the help of Gage Dalton had popped into her head several
days ago, she'd begun asking around about him.
However, as hard as she'd tried, she'd been unsuccessful
in getting anyone to talk about him. What little
information she had been able to gather about the man had
left her feeling extremely unsure as to whether she should
even attempt to approach him. But she simply had to do
something.
Jenna hated feeling desperate, but that was exactly how
she and her circumstances could be described. If he turned
his back on her, she didn't know what she would do.
When he didn't answer the door, unexpected relief swept
through her.
"Get in your car and drive away," she muttered under her
breath. But instead of listening to reason, she reached up
and knocked again. This time even harder. A mocking voice
inside her head warned once again that this scheme was
utterly outrageous.
The house showed no sign of life.
Dalton pretty much keeps to himself.
Rarely leaves his ranch.
Prefers to be left alone. Those were the few pieces of
information Jenna had accumulated while trying to locate
Gage Dalton. Those who had talked to her had made him
sound like some kind of hermit. And each and every person
she'd approached, whether they offered information or not,
had cast a peculiar glance, obviously wondering why she
was searching for the man, but thankfully they'd been too
polite to probe.
At a nearby service station, the talkative teenage boy who
had checked her car's oil had commented, "We haven't seen
much of Gage for the past year." Then he'd offered the
most curious clue of all when he'd added, "The accident
changed him."
Although she'd wanted to query further, other customers
had occupied the boy's attention.
She should have taken the teen's words as a warning. Put
together with her own tense experience with the man the
tragic day of that horrendous storm, she should be running
for the high hills, not seeking him out with a request for
what was sure to be an awesome benevolence, if he agreed
to help her. Doubt reared its head, hissing like an ugly
snake, but she refused to surrender. She wouldn't —
couldn't — back away from this. She had too much at stake.
Gage Dalton was her only hope. Her only chance of getting
what she wanted.
The people of Broken Bow had inferred that Gage was an
island — a lone and wounded man who kept himself isolated
from the world. Well, he couldn't avoid her. She meant to
see him.
"Gage Dalton!"
Several birds in the treetops were startled into flight.
She descended the porch steps and rounded the corner of
the house. To her surprise, she saw a fenced paddock where
two black-and-white horses moseyed about. There were
several outbuildings, as well as a large stable located
down a short, dusty lane.
The property was substantial, she realized, amazed she
hadn't observed its size as she'd approached the house in
her car. She turned, her gaze scanning the hard-packed,
winding gravel drive. Fences spanned as far as she could
see, and more horses grazed in one of several enclosed
meadows. She'd seen enough western movies to identify
those horses. Gage Dalton bred pintos.
She called, "Hello!"
He stepped into her view, stopping in the open double
doors of the stable. Shirtless, he clasped a metal rake in
one hand.
Her eyes cruised down the length of him. Sunlight gleamed
against his bronze chest. Abdominal muscles rippled all
the way down to the worn blue jeans that rode low on his
trim waist and hugged his thighs. She dragged her gaze
back up to his face. Those black eyes homed in on her,
making her feel as if the very air around her had
constricted. Even though he must have been nearly fifty
yards away, she could sense the same tense displeasure
pulsing from him as she'd felt the terrible, stormy day
when they'd first met. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting a
visitor, nor was he happy to see one.
The sight of him impelled her to turn tail and run. But
thoughts of little Lily whispered through her mind,
prompting Jenna to stand her ground. Her motive for being
here was all-important. Even the formidable Gage Dalton
couldn't keep her from getting what she wanted.
Well, he could. But she planned to do everything in her
power to see that he didn't.
Ignoring his unwelcoming countenance, Jenna trudged toward
him. She hoped her cheery smile hid the emotions warring
inside her.
The closer her steps brought her to him, the heavier her
doubt about his help grew.
A soft summer breeze fluttered the ends of his long
hair. "Hello, there." She was pleased that her greeting
came out so smoothly. But then the stammering started. "I —
I was a little wet and disheveled w-when we last m-
met...and it's been weeks ago...so...well...I don't know
if you remember me, but —"
"Jenna Butler."
Her shoulders relaxed as relief soothed the anxiety that
provoked the awkward song and dance she'd just performed.
Without thought, she softened her tone to nearly a whisper
and murmured, "Oh, good.You do remember."
The seconds ticking by felt like eons as the warm sunshine
beat down on her head and shoulders. Finally, he shifted
his grip on the wooden pole, planting the rake's prongs
into the ground. The impatience in the gesture had her
nervousness sprouting to life all over again.
Jenna had known the task at hand was going to be tough,
but she hadn't realized just how tough. Now that she was
face-to-face with Gage Dalton and about to ask an awesome
favor...why, she couldn't remember a time when she'd felt
more ill at ease.
"H-how are you?" she blurted. "You hit your head during
the accident, I remember."
"I'm alive."
She couldn't read much from his deadpan expression.
Feeling the need to infuse some amiability between them,
she chuckled. "That's good. Sure beats the alternative."
Her humor seemed lost on him.
Grasping for something more to break the ice, she looked
around her, commenting, "You've got a nice place here."
"I like it."
So he wasn't much of a talker. She should have guessed as
much, judging from what she'd learned of him. But it sure
would be nice if she didn't have to work so hard.
She had to warm things up a little before broaching the
favor she needed from him. If she just blurted out her
question, cold turkey, he'd think she was insane.
Jenna, my girl, a voice in her head groaned silently, you
are insane.
She tried again. "The horses are beautiful." Glancing over
at the animals in the pen, she added, "I've never spent
much time around horses, but I know those are pintos from
the old cowboy movies I watched as a kid. They sure are
majestic-looking creatures. Proud. Untouchable. They might
be enclosed, but they sure do look wild."
As if on cue, one of the horses snorted and clawed at the
dusty ground with his hoof.
"They're tame," he assured her. "What you see is attitude.
If a horse is broken to the point that it's docile, it's
no better than a pack mule. My horses are intelligent and
strong and spirited."
Seemed Gage Dalton possessed a healthy share of attitude
himself. Life sparked in his onyx eyes as he talked about
the animals he raised. Then he leveled his gaze on her.
"Is that why you're here? You're interested in a pinto?"
The question elicited another chuckle from her, this one
completely natural. "Oh, no," she told him. "Not me. I
wouldn't know one end of a horse from the other."
She couldn't tell if the tiny crease that suddenly marred
his high brow was a sign of curiosity or suspicion. He
glanced down at the ground, tapped the rake absently with
his foot, and then lifted his chin to meet her gaze.
"Well, you've found out that I weathered the accident just
fine," he said. "And you've complimented my ranch. And my
horses. We could talk about the weather, if you like. Or
how rising gasoline prices are thinning our wallets. But
I'd prefer it if we cut the small talk. I have stalls to
muck before I can stable those horses. Why don't you save
us both some time and tell me why you're here?"
The blunt question left her momentarily speechless. But
then, before she'd even had time to think, words began
tumbling off her tongue.