McKettrick's Choice - Linda Lael Miller [63]
The cowboys and Captain Walton tried to look as though they weren’t watching. Rafe made no such effort.
“What’ll it be, Miss Fellows?” Holt asked, in a slow drawl. “Will you get into that wagon peaceably, or do we put on a show for the whole outfit?”
Lorelei imagined the delight the drovers would take in such an undignified scene and was forced to relent. She brought Seesaw to a stop, braced herself and dismounted. This time, there was no flash of pain, but her legs were numb, and her knees buckled. If she hadn’t grasped hold of the saddle, she would have fallen into a heap on the ground.
She looked up at Holt, rimmed with sunlight like Apollo in his chariot, and hated him with a dizzying intensity. As he bent to snatch up Seesaw’s reins in one hand, she saw the self-satisfied smirk on his face and would have flung herself at him, clawing like a scalded cat, if she’d had the strength.
She waited until she could trust herself to walk as far as the waiting wagon, then did so. Mr. Cavanagh got down from the box, gave Holt a withering look and took charge of Seesaw.
Lorelei looked up at the wagon box in pure despair. She couldn’t climb that far, and she couldn’t ask for help, either.
It was Captain Walton who came to her rescue. He got down off his horse, made a stirrup of his hands and nodded to Lorelei. “I can see that you’re about to cry,” he told her with quiet good humor, “and I would strongly advise you not to do so. If ever there was a time for a poker face, this is it.”
Lorelei put one foot in his cupped palms, grabbed for the edge of the wagon and hauled herself, with the very last of her strength, up into the box.
“Thank you,” she told the Captain.
He smiled up at her. “You done real good, Miss Lorelei,” he said. “I’d say you won that hand.”
Lorelei felt Holt’s gaze on her, but she refused to meet his eyes. If she did, her poker face might slip. “Would you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The Captain chuckled and got back on his horse.
The sun was on a distinctly westward path when they stopped again, at a water hole, to rest the stock. This time, Holt didn’t come near Lorelei, and she told herself she was glad of it, despite a pang of disappointment.
“You ought to get down and walk around a bit,” Mr. Cavanagh suggested. “Stretch your legs.” The dog had already leaped over the tailgate to squat, then chase merrily around in the grass.
Melina and Tillie dismounted easily and waited for Lorelei.
“I’m not sure I can stand,” Lorelei confessed.
Mr. Cavanagh patted her hand. “Sure you can. You’ve got more grit than any five women.”
Buoyed by this unexpected and, to her mind, unearned praise, Lorelei steeled herself, then climbed down off the wagon.
Melina and Tillie gestured, and the three of them made a necessary visit to the bushes.
Half an hour later, at Holt’s command, they were rolling again. It was almost six o’clock when they reached the abandoned mission.
The tireless and wholly obnoxious Holt McKettrick once again raised an officious hand, and the party came to a merciful halt.
“We’ll be making camp this time,” Mr. Cavanagh assured Lorelei. “I reckon we’ll all sleep like logs tonight.” He got down, walked around the back of the wagon and reached up a hand to her.
She took it gratefully, and nearly collapsed against him before she could make her legs work.
She and Mr. Cavanagh had ridden in companionable silence all afternoon. Now, watching Holt riding amid the travelers, probably giving orders, Lorelei asked, “What makes him so ornery?”
Mr. Cavanagh laughed. “Holt can be a hard man when he’s trying to get something done,” he conceded, unhitching the weary team from the wagon. “But I’ve never known anybody finer.”
Lorelei made a huffy sound, resting her hands on her hips. “I think he’s insufferable,” she said.
If Mr. Cavanagh heard her, he didn’t let on. But he grinned as he turned the horses loose to graze