Free The Glass Shoe by Kay Hooper Page B

her now was more or less automatic and halfhearted, and she avoided it easily.
    "Be nice," she warned him, untying the reins and checking the girth. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Whiskey send her a glance, his ears back. He'd held his breath while Doug had tightened the girth, so now it was too loose to hold the saddle securely. Amanda tightened it firmly and quickly, checked the length of the stirrups, and then mounted the horse before he could think of trying something else.
    She felt his back bow up in a prelude to bucking as she turned him away from the fence, but he settled down after a few steps, obviously deciding not to bother trying to throw her; he'd been trying that for more than five years, and had yet to succeed. He moved out in his easy, ground-covering trot, obeying Amanda's guiding touch on the reins to head northwest toward the Bighorn Mountains.
    Amanda had no particular destination in mind. She just wanted to give the cold air a chance to blow away a few cobwebs in her mind. She opened and closed several gates without dismounting, riding steadily northwest and enjoying the chill wind on her face. They passed through several stands of cattle, and Whiskey flicked an ear back at her, but since he obviously wasn't expected to work today, he made no attempt to herd the cattle and get them moving.
    She stopped finally, almost an hour later, near a couple of cottonwood trees, and it wasn't until then that she realized she wasn't going to be alone. Between the wind in her face and the rhythmic creaking of the saddle, she had heard nothing, but as soon as she and the horse were still she heard approaching hoofbeats.
    She turned Whiskey to see who it was, and felt little surprise when she saw Ryder coming toward her. He was on a big gray gelding, and by the way he sat easily in the saddle Amanda knew that he'd been riding for years.
    "Don't you know it's freezing out here?" he called.
    "Don't you?" she retorted.
    Ryder pulled up abreast of her so that their horses were standing side by side but facing in opposite directions. He was wearing a thickly quilted jacket, jeans, gloves, and boots as she was. And, just as she, he was hatless.
    "I'm hot-natured," he said. "Cold weather doesn't bother me at all."
    Amanda eyed him. "I don't think I want to touch that remark," she said.
    "Not up to my weight this morning?"
    Totally against her will she felt a sensual heat as she thought of his weight on her. Hoping her cheeks were already reddened by the cold, she managed to say lightly, "I'm not a morning person. Sue me."
    He studied her thoughtfully, his eyes bright. "You're being elusive," he said in a considering tone. "Last night scared you, didn't it?"
    Her first impulse was to deny that unequivocally, but a saner voice prevailed. What was the use of denying what was obvious, she thought wryly. She touched her' heels to Whiskey's sides so that he started walking back toward the ranch house, and waited until Ryder brought his own horse alongside before she spoke.
    "I suppose it'll pander to your ego if I say yes," she muttered.
    "No." He was silent for a moment. "The opposite, I think. I don't want to scare you, Amanda. Fear doesn't belong between a man and a woman."
    She kept her gaze focused ahead, a little surprised by what he said but unwilling to show it. She tried to nerve herself up to tell him who she was but, again, couldn't find the words to explain.
    "You've been hurt, haven't you?" he said suddenly.
    This time it required a supreme effort not to turn her head and look at him. "Haven't we all?" she said flippantly.
    A large, gloved hand reached over to cover hers and draw back on the reins. She felt Ryder's knee brush hers, and was dimly surprised that Whiskey 'didn't sidle or kick in his usual objection to being crowded by another horse. Maybe he was mellowing, she thought.
    "Amanda, look at me."
    He'd bewitched her horse. He'd bewitched her. She turned her head and looked at him. He was too close, and the