Saddle Up(16)

He grunted his reply then mounted his horse and turned his attention back to the mustangs. “Dave will lead while we push from behind,” he said. “Once they’re following him, we’ll slowly drop back.”

“Will they keep following him if we leave?” she asked.

“It’s a horse’s nature to follow, and this pair is in dire need of a leader,” Keith explained. “Dave is claiming that position. They’ll trust him as long as they don’t perceive him as a threat.”

“You really do understand them, don’t you?”

“You thought I was all bullshit?” Mumbling a curse, he turned his horse and rode off ahead of her. Just as she’d suspected, he was going to ignore her as much as possible. They might not like each other, but she still couldn’t help admiring Keith’s tenacity in fighting for the foal.

After a quarter mile or so, Keith and Miranda parted ways with Dave, and then turned back toward the mountains in the direction where Trey had reported several strays. They rode for an hour in stone-cold silence, before picking up a trail of hoofprints and horse dung that led to an old mining camp.

Keith pulled up. “The sun’ll be setting soon. We’ll make camp here. It’ll be warmer than it is up on the mountain. There’s also an old well where we can water the horses, and trees to picket them.” Keith turned his back, making no effort to help her, not that she’d expected any. He obviously didn’t intend to make this any easier on her. She’d volunteered to help him, damn it! Why was he still giving her the cold shoulder?

Miranda groaned as she attempted to dismount. Her ass was beyond numb, and her knees so cramped she didn’t know if she’d be able to stand once she dismounted—if she could get off. Taking a deep breath, she threw her leg over the back of the saddle and slid down the horse. As she’d feared, her knees nearly gave way the moment her feet hit the ground. She had to grab onto the saddle horn for support.

“You’ll feel far worse tomorrow,” he tossed carelessly over his shoulder.

She still couldn’t comprehend his continued hostility. She questioned her decision to stay behind with him. Dave’s promise that he and Donny would rejoin them was little comfort.

“Why are you being so mean to me?” she asked, fighting the burning behind her eyes.

“It was your decision to do this,” he replied coldly. “I told you how it would be. I get paid to round up horses. Kowtowing to you isn’t in my contract, Miz Sutton.”

“That’s not what I expected. I feel like you’re trying to make it more unpleasant than it has to be.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Yes,” she replied.

His gaze met hers. “Then you think too much.”

What did he mean? It was pointless to ask. She knew he wouldn’t explain. “What are you doing?” she asked. He had a coil of rope he was stringing between two trees, clothesline style.

“Making a picket line for the horses.” He knotted the rope and gave a tug before releasing it.

“Oh.” She loosened her horse’s cinch and led it over to him. He nodded curtly as she slipped off Sadie’s bridle and tied the horse. “What can I do to help you?” she asked, determined to prove she wasn’t as clueless as he seemed to think.

He eyed her, gaze narrowed. “You can pump water.” He pointed out a rusty-looking hand pump near a collapsed building that must have once served as the well house. “The horses are going to need about ten gallons each. Hopefully that old well will produce enough for all of us.”

“All right. I can do that.” She approached the rusted pump with a dubious look. It took both hands, all her strength, and a grunt just to raise the handle. “You don’t happen to have some WD-40, do you?” she quipped, trying again to break the tension.

Keith scowled back. “The only lube we have is elbow grease. I suggest you use it.”

Miranda threw herself into the effort, bearing all her weight down on the handle, but failed to raise it again. She silently cursed that she’d have to ask him for help. “I’m sorry, Keith. I’m not sure I have the strength even to prime the pump.”

Keith came to the well, muttering a stream of incomprehensible words. “Fine. I’ll pump the water. You go gather firewood. Just watch out for snakes and scorpions.”

“Wonderful,” she grumbled back. “The only thing I hate worse than scorpions is snakes.”

“And I’d rather deal with either of them than a whiner.”

“I’m not whining,” she protested. “I just don’t like things that slither and creep, okay?”

His gaze met hers, his expression dark and cold as he raised the pump handle. “And I don’t like people who lie and deceive, so I guess we’ll both just have to deal with it.”

“I didn’t lie!” She stamped her foot in protest. “Damn it! How many times do I have to say it? Maybe you didn’t like the spin Bibi put on it, but everything in that film was factual. The words were from your own mouth, and the rest was taken straight from public records.”

“And just how would you know that?” he asked, driving the handle back down.

“Because I fact-checked everything.”

Determined to prove her worth to Bibi, she’d spent days digging before finally solving the mystery of Keith Russo, a.k.a “Two Wolves.” Bibi was so pleased, she’d rewarded her with a job.