Chapter Eight
“Turnip! Leave thatbunny alone,” Josie called uselessly from atop Gretchen as the dog chased the hapless rabbit through the grasses. The rabbit, however, was quicker, and darted away, leaping into brush. Turnip whined at the bushes and weeds, but the rabbit didn’t re-emerge.
Josie laughed. “Serves you right.”
Hoofbeats pounded from behind her, and she jerked around, instinctively reaching for the pistol she kept tucked at her side when she went out on rides alone. Squinting into the distance, she relaxed as the figure on horseback grew to resemble Arlen.
“You’re awfully slow,” she called as she turned Gretchen around to face Arlen and his horse, which he’d told her was named General.
“Who says I was trying to move quickly?” He looked almost affronted that she’d questioned his ability on horseback.
“Hmm,” she said as she appraised him. Arlen looked as comfortable on a horse as he did on the ground. He sat easily, the reins held casually in his right hand. “I doubt you could reach that dry creekbed before me.”
He raised his eyebrows. It was funny how that expression had appeared cocky to her when she’d first met him. But now she found it fun to challenge him, to see if she could make him raise those eyebrows in response to whatever she’d said.
“You’d be wrong,” he said.
“Oh? How about a little race, then? From here to the creekbed.”
His lips curved up into that slow smile that somehow turned her skin into gooseflesh on a warm day. “All right then, Mrs. Thomas.”
His self-assuredness made her sit up straighter even as she gave him a frown. “That isn’t my name.” Before he could respond, she nudged Gretchen into motion. Off they went, settling into a gallop that made the world blur by them.
Arlen and General appeared beside her to the left, and Josie crouched down lower, leaning her chest closer toward Gretchen. He soon slipped out of sight behind her, and she smiled against the wind. She would win this little race, and then he would know exactly who he was dealing with.
Mrs. Thomas. Ha!
She slowed Gretchen to a trot as they approached the creekbed. But when she glanced back to see how far behind Arlen had fallen, she furrowed her brow. He’d stopped completely and now trotted off to the west, entirely off the track of their little race.
Josie’s heart picked up speed. Arlen wasn’t one to give up a challenge so easily. Something had to be wrong. She turned Gretchen in his direction and had soon caught up to where Arlen had left his horse and was now making his way on foot.
“Stay back there,” he called over his shoulder.
He carried a pistol, Josie noticed. Without being asked, she leaned to the side and grabbed the reins of his horse.
Arlen paused by something brown and white and black, something that looked like . . . “Turnip,” Josie said under her breath. Her dog wasn’t moving, but he crouched down low in the grass. Josie would’ve guessed he’d found another rabbit, but Arlen raised the pistol. Did he intend to have rabbit stew?
“Get hold of my reins,” he said.
