McKettrick's Choice - Linda Lael Miller [59]
The critter wanted gentling, if Lorelei was to ride him to Mexico and back, and since she insisted upon doing so, it was up to either Rafe or Holt to get that mangy devil reconciled to a saddle. When the toss of Rafe’s nickel came up heads, Holt was secretly glad he’d called tails.
Rubbing his hands together in the blessedly cool dawn of the last day of August, Rafe approached the mule, who stood untethered out in front of John’s barn. Kahill and the six other questionable types Holt had managed to scrape up looked on, their own horses saddled, their gear packed. The Captain and John took an interest, too, though Lorelei, Tillie, Melina and the dog had yet to come out of the house.
Rafe carried a bridle over one shoulder, and the mule accepted that easily enough. Holt himself fetched the saddle and blanket, and when he stepped up to Rafe, he took the opportunity to offer a quiet, “Be careful.”
Rafe just smiled, and his apparent confidence both nettled Holt and made him feel a twinge of guilt. He was the eldest brother, and this was his outfit, for all practical intents and purposes. He ought to be the one taking the risks.
With a practiced motion, Rafe put the blanket on the mule’s back.
Seesaw quivered and swung his head around, tried to take a nip out of Rafe’s upper arm.
The door of the house creaked open, and Holt didn’t have to look to know the spectator list had just grown by three women and a slat-ribbed hound. He felt Lorelei’s presence as sure as if she’d planted herself square in front of him, and that was troubling. He’d think about it more, once Rafe had either subdued the mule or eaten a few mouthfuls of barnyard dirt.
The mule gave a long shudder when the saddle came to rest on top of the blanket.
“Easy,” Rafe told the animal.
“Easy,” Holt told Rafe at the same moment.
Rafe hooked the stirrup over the horn and reached under Seesaw’s belly for the cinch. The mule sidestepped and tried again for a chunk of Rafe’s hide. Rafe gave Seesaw’s upper lip a firm tug, to let him know who was in charge.
Holt wasn’t so sure it was Rafe. He stepped back, to give his brother and the mule all the room they needed, which was likely to be about a square acre.
Rafe slipped the cinch strap through the buckle and pulled it tight.
The mule huffed ominously, all four feet planted to put up a fight, and swelled his belly. Rafe elbowed him, made him let out his breath, and gave the cinch strap another pull. He tested it by slipping his fingers underneath the leather, and nodded to himself. Then he brought down the stirrup, put a foot in it and mounted. He was a big man, Rafe was, but he was all grace as he settled himself on the back of that contrary mule.
Holt held his breath.
The mule pondered his predicament, lowered his head and propelled himself straight up in the air, just as if he had springs in those dinner-plate hooves of his.
Rafe let out a whoop and spurred the bastard hard with his heels.
The mule pitched forward, then back, living up to his name.
Rafe sat him like a rocking horse. “You can do better than that, you flea-bitten bag of sorry misery!” he yelled.
Seesaw set out to prove him right. He spun to the left, kicking all the way, and then to the right.
Rafe laughed, and that was his undoing. Seesaw took another plunge, dropping to his knees, and sent Rafe sailing over his head.
Rafe landed rolling, Triple M style, and came up laughing even harder. The mule raised a storm of dust, but when it cleared, Rafe was back in the saddle and kicking hard.
The cowboys cheered.
Holt tried to swallow his heart, which had surged up into his throat when Rafe went flying. He felt a tug at his sleeve and knew it was Lorelei, even before he spared her a furious glance.
“There’s your thirty-five dollar mule, Miss Lorelei,” he growled. “You’d better hope he doesn’t kill my brother, because if he does, I’ll drop him in his worthless tracks.”
Lorelei put a hand