“Is there a problem with Sweet William?” she asked the top of Clovis’s head.
Clovis didn’t quite look up. “No-o-o...” He was still watching the closed door.
Amanda didn’t like the sound of that hesitation at all. Shifting just a little in the saddle so that it creaked beneath her, she turned to follow Clovis’s line of sight. “He bucks, right? Tries to rub people off against trees? Bites chunks out of your leg?”
Finally, Clovis startled to attention and lifted his head to address her. “Oh, no,” he disagreed. “He’s more a gentleman than Pokey here’s a lady. He’s a real fine horse. Purebred quarter out of Impossible, and that’s a real calm line.”
Amanda looked down at the bemused brown eyes. “Then what’s the problem?”
“He’s the boss’s horse.”
Amanda looked back toward the door. “That huge black thing I’ve seen him ride?”
“Oh, no. That’s Buck. Sweet William is his trainin’ horse. When he wants to show another horse good manners, he demonstrates on old Bill.”
“Then why the concern about letting me ride him?”
Clovis’s face bunched up with intensity. “Because he’s the boss’s horse,” he repeated as if it shouldn’t have been necessary.
“Clovis,” Amanda retorted gently. “They’reallhis horses.”
That produced a belated grin, albeit still halfhearted. “No, ma’am. You see, Sweet William and Buck and Alabaster, they’re the boss’s personal string. And nobody rides ‘em but him. That’s just the way it’s done.”
Now it was Amanda’s turn to stare at the closed door as if she could conjure up the vision beyond it. The impact of Clovis’s astonishment was beginning to sink in. The foreman was surprised because of Jake’s generosity. And he didn’t even suspect the kind of animosity Jake seemed to hold toward Amanda.
She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t even know what to think. All she could remember was the hot ambivalence in Jake’s eyes when he’d caught hold of her face back in the house, the pure sexual power of him no more than five minutes ago, and it made her shudder.
“You want, we can saddle him up now,” Clovis offered.
It took Amanda a minute to remember what Clovis was referring to. “Next time,” she offered with a small smile. “After all the trouble I had getting up here, I’m not getting back off this animal until we’re finished.”
Clovis’s grin was broad and untroubled. Amanda wished she could feel the same.
“Okay, then, missy, we’ll start our lesson.”
She was going to be sore. She was going to beverysore. Amanda knew that because by the time she got back off Pokey again—this time sliding down her side like a very thick brown banister—she couldn’t quite get her legs to hold her up. Clovis had been a wonderful teacher, gentle and persistent, not once laughing about her mistakes or chiding her when she pulled too sharply on Pokey’s sensitive mouth. They had walked and trotted and cantered, and Amanda’s only trip back to earth was the one she made at the end of the lesson. Even so, she wondered just how cowboys had survived—and then managed to populate—the West. It was the one question she didn’t have the guts to ask Clovis.
“Did’ya like it?” Betty asked, holding out a cup of coffee when Amanda reached the front door of the house.
Amanda straightened carefully, already cataloguing places that were stiffening, and surprised herself with a smile. “Yes,” she admitted, stepping inside. “Next time I want to go really fast.”
Betty laughed. “Hadn’t figured you for a hot-rodder.”
“Jake offered to let me practice on Sweet William,” Amanda said offhandedly as she accepted the coffee. “Thanks.”
Betty didn’t let her down. The woman’s plain, round face folded neatly into astonishment. “You’re kidding.”
Amanda shrugged. “That’s what Clovis said.”
Betty’s attention veered right out toward the corrals. “Well, what do you know?”
Amanda turned with her, but there was nothing to see except the visiting Bronco she’d seen parked next to hers. “This western hospitality has me all confused,” she admitted, sipping her coffee. “I mean, back home, it’s as easy as inviting a person to the table and to join in when the music starts. If what I hear is true, the western code is that a cowboy’s horse is sacred. Inviting you to use it is like giving an engagement ring. I’m not sure how to take that after being yelled at for four days.”
“Maybe he’s finally decided not to hurt Lee’s feelings, after all,” Betty suggested, almost to herself, as if she were having as much trouble unraveling the problem as Amanda.
“Oh, thank heavens,” Amanda retorted. “For a minute there I thought he wanted to be friends.”
Betty’s answering smile was swift and wry. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s a good man.”
