Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(86)

The wind rushed in Sadie’s ears as she bent low over Paris’ neck, urging her on. Reuben looked back, laughing as they completed the long circle, coming back up the slope as if their lives depended on being the first to arrive at the starting point.

They slid to a stop, laughing breathlessly, their horses panting.

“Forget it, Reuben. It was nose to nose.”

“No way!”

“Yes, it was!”

“Paris isn’t faster than mine, Sadie!”

“She beat her though.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Give your horse a name, Reuben. You can’t just call her ‘the brown horse.’”

Reuben squared his shoulders and looked out across the valley, a serious expression stamped on his face.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“If I do, it’ll be much harder to let go of her. You have to realize, Sadie, we can’t always come up here on someone else’s land and ride someone else’s horses. I mean, come on. Duh!”

Sadie glanced sideways at him, shocked to find his eyes bright with unshed tears. He was very sure of himself in reprimanding her, but it was still hard for him to hide the feeling he had for the horse he had grown to love.

“I mean, what’ll happen this winter? We can’t come up here. You know that.”

Sadie nodded.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Let’s go home. Sun’s sliding behind the mountain.”

“Okay. See you, Paris.”

Sadie turned, loosening the rope, stroking the honey-colored neck. The horses had been brushed over and over, their manes and forelocks trimmed, burrs removed from their tails. Still, they had never been bathed and shampooed the way Sadie would have liked. But it was something the way they were able to groom them at all, even the black.

Sadie stood by her horse’s head murmuring, when she heard Reuben’s short, “Shhh!”

She raised her head and froze when she saw two men standing close to the tree line watching them. Her hands dropped away and her arms went numb as she watched them approach. They were dressed in black, one much larger than the other.

“Sadie, let’s run!” Reuben hissed.

Sadie shook her head. She blinked her eyes and squinted into the shadows.

Could it be?

Yes. It was.

Richard Caldwell.

She felt the tension leave her body, then smiled when he threw up a hand.

“Hey, Sadie.”

Reuben came over to stand very close to her, and she welcomed his nearness.

“Richard Caldwell! This is a surprise! What brings you up here?”

Paris and the brown horse stood alert, their ears forward. The large black stallion was back farther, his head held high, his nostrils quivering, ready to bolt.

Richard Caldwell stopped, his hand indicating the smaller man at his side. Sadie watched warily as he stepped forward.

“I’m Harold Ardwin of Ardwin Stables.”

“Yes?” Sadie was puzzled. She had never heard of this place, and why should she? What was he doing up here with Richard Caldwell? She thought she could trust Richard. Now he had blown her secret, and this would be the last evening of her life with Paris.

Richard Caldwell stepped forward.

“Harold Ardwin is the owner of the ranch where all the horses were stolen.”

“Oh. So…”

“We’ve been watching you and your brother for close to an hour.”

Sadie’s face flushed, and she looked down at the toe of her boots, her long lashes sweeping her tanned cheeks.

Reuben coughed self-consciously.

No one spoke.

Harold Ardwin looked at the horses. He looked at Sadie and Reuben. He cleared his throat. “I believe I’ve found my horses.”

Sadie kept her eyes on her boots and bit her lower lip. The bottoms of her denims were frayed and torn, her skirt dirty and dusty. She blinked hard. She swallowed. She tried to look up, but if she did, she knew the men would see her misery, so she kept her gaze on her boot tops.

She heard Harold move away, his highly polished boots with the intricate design moving through the grass with a soft rustle. His shoulders were powerful beneath the black shirt, his waist trim for a man she guessed to be close to 60 years old.

“This is Black Thunder of Ardwin Stables, the sire of our finest colts,” he said firmly. The black stood as if carved in stone. He trembled, then turned and bolted, but only a short distance.

“Sadie, can you get him back?” asked Richard Caldwell.

Reuben nodded, and Sadie walked after the black. She touched his nose with her outstretched hand, then cupped his chin, murmuring as she did so.

Harold Ardwin blinked and blinked again. He sniffed, then cleared his throat. He watched in disbelief as Sadie came back, the black following, a faithful pet who was as obedient and helpless as a kitten.

“Come here, boy! Don’t you know who I am?” Harold Ardwin asked, his voice thick, his eyes misty.

Black Thunder whinnied. He had found his owner. You just couldn’t deny the recognition between a man and a horse.

This was a different kind of relationship than Sadie had with the big, black stallion. The black horse knew and respected Harold Ardwin, but Sadie had a hunch there was a stable boy at Ardwin Stables who spent more time with the horse than the wealthy owner did.