Free No One But You by Leigh Greenwood Page B

the yard to the hills that met the distant horizon. Seeing the land lie quiet before the burst of cosmic energy that would bring it to life in a few weeks, it didn’t look like a place that would harbor hostile Indians or Cortina’s raiders. It appeared far too welcoming to conceal poisonous snakes, nearly impenetrable thickets of bushes and vines armed with vicious thorns, or arid soil that refused to support the nourishing grass her cows needed or the fruits and vegetables her family needed.
    Shutting out the dispiriting images, she walked down the steps and turned toward the barn. She was less than halfway there when Salty came out. She had thought her attraction to him was something she could easily overcome, but this morning it hit her with numbing force. She stopped, hoping he wouldn’t see her, but there was nothing to conceal her from his view. When he waved, her arm didn’t wait for a conscious command before giving an answering wave. She started forward, dragging her feet, because each step increased the attraction she was trying to forget.
    â€œWhat are you doing out here?” he asked when she drew near.
    â€œJust looking.”
    â€œI can show you around. What would you like to see?”
    â€œI’m not sure.” She wasn’t thinking. “The barn,” she said, latching onto the most obvious. “Why did George build it? I’ve never seen anything like it in Texas.”
    Salty turned toward the rectangular structure. “George grew up in Virginia where everyone had barns. He’s not comfortable without one, but it was also practical. The bull is too valuable to be left out, and a shed doesn’t offer much protection. It’s also where we keep the saddles, bridles, chaps, and all the equipment we need for the ranch, as well as Rose’s buckboard.” Salty pushed open the door. “Take a look inside.”
    A medley of aromas greeted Sarah. Leather and saddle oil competed with the odor of manure. Less prominent were the smells of new wood, moist earth, and hay. The door at the far end was open, giving a contrast of bright light, shade, and deep shadows.
    â€œI let the bull out every morning before breakfast and bring him in before I go to bed. We’re pasture breeding him.”
    Sarah could see the bulk of the animal resting in the shade of a live oak. She recognized some of the cows as longhorns, but the others were unfamiliar. “What kind of cows are those?” she asked.
    â€œThey’re some we got from Richard King in exchange for our bull’s calves. King is experimenting with new breeds.”
    She tried to concentrate on the rest of the barn rather than trying to think of a way to pay for one of this bull’s calves. Even that frustrating exercise was better than allowing herself to think of the effect on her of Salty’s nearness. What was it about this man that wouldn’t allow her to ignore him? He wasn’t devastatingly handsome. He was too tall and thin to be a grand physical specimen like George Randolph. He didn’t have a commanding way about him. He wasn’t so full of energy that it radiated out from him. He was just a man. You could pass him on the street and not notice him.
    Well, somebody else could, but it was obvious she couldn’t. Being with him in a barn talking about saddles and manure was the most exciting thing that had happened to her in years. What was wrong with her?
    â€œDo you want to see the bunkhouse?” Salty asked.
    Sarah collected her wandering thoughts. “I doubt the other men would like that.”
    â€œThey won’t care.”
    She allowed him to show her the bunkhouse, the corral where they kept their horses, and the shed where the bull used to stay. Even the chicken house. She probably would have followed him to the pigpen, but he said he thought it was better to skip that. The more she listened to him, the more she wanted him to keep talking. She loved