Free Branded by Scottie Barrett Page B

hand on his ranch was cautiously tiptoeing behind, made the whole scene even more laughable.
    Once he reached the smooth slabs of white granite, he gently reached back to be sure the saddle was secure. A river had once flowed here, but now all that remained were layers of slick, weather-worn rocks. Slade hoped they were slick enough.
    "Come on, girl. A little cooperation and we both come out of this ahead. I'll even give you a shot of the whiskey." The horse's ears were pinned straight back, her nostrils were flared wide and Slade could see the white of the eye she had trained on him. Never a good sign, Slade thought worriedly.
    Once on the tractionless surface, Slade grabbed the horn and put a foot in the stirrup. The horse gave a jump but froze immediately, when she discovered how slippery the ground was beneath her. Slade gave the animal a moment to gather her feet squarely under her before hoisting himself confidently into the saddle. Within seconds, the horse began gingerly walking across the rocks.
    "I'll be damned. She moves as dainty as a little kitten," Blue sighed in awe of the whole spectacle.
    "Slade, how the hell d'you know that horse would be afraid to buck on them rocks?"
    "Well, Dix," Slade looked down from his mount, who was now concentrating on every step she took, "there's three things a horse likes best of all; hay, other horses, and staying up on all fours."
    "Heck, my best bottle of liquor." Dix looked down and kicked the ground with the toe of his boot.
    "Serves you right, Dix. Anyone with half a brain knows that Slade Dalton never loses a bet," Thorpe said.
    Slade glanced over the cluster of dust covered hats to see if she was still there. Golden eyes met his for a long moment. She flashed him a smile that nearly knocked him out of the saddle, and then she turned back to the house.
    After several minutes passed, Slade dismounted and handed the reins to Blue. "Few more times on that riverbed and she'll be ready for some real riding. Oh, and Dix?"
    "Yeah, Dalton."
    "I don't want any of that coffin varnish you brew yourself, neither."
    "Yeah, yeah. Can I get back to work now, Boss?" The last word enunciated with particular sarcasm.
    "Sure thing."
    # # #
    Feeling greatly revived after a lukewarm bath, Lacey collected her embroidery bag and headed out to the creaky old rocker on the front porch, intending to spend the remainder of her evening working on her floral sampler.
    She stopped in her tracks. One of the two rockers was already occupied.
    She loved the way his hair curled up on his collar. His long legs were crossed at the ankle and propped up on the porch railing. He poured himself another glass of whiskey. She supposed he hadn't heard the door. He seemed completely unaware of her presence. She decided it best to tiptoe back into the house.
    "Join me?" He remained staring straight ahead into the graying dusk.
    "Are you talking to me?" Lacey asked startled by the invitation.
    He plunked his boots down, leaned forward and looked down the length of porch. "Well, Duchess, I don't see anyone else around. So I must be talking to you." Turning to look at her for the first time, he raised the bottle in an offering gesture.
    "Your winnings, I presume?" A little nervous, she walked toward the empty rocker.
    "Yup, and a damn good wager it was."
    "Thorpe told me, any man would be crazy to enter a bet with you. He said you were an expert gambler, called you the winningnest son-of-a-gun and the best wrangler he'd ever known."
    "Thorpe told you that, did he? Anything else my jaw-flapping ranch hand have to tell you?"
    "Well, let me see...."
    He refilled his glass and handed it to her. She delicately lifted it to her mouth.
    "I should warn you...." Slade stopped mid-speech and watched as she smoothly downed the contents in one swallow.
    "Mmm." With her pinky, she dabbed at a tiny drop at the corner of her mouth. "They sure do water the liquor down here in the states."
    He mumbled something about melting the horns of