Free Wyoming Woman by Elizabeth Lane Page A

Rachel glimpsed a stocky figure in a woolen poncho and wide-brimmed sombrero standing at the gatepost.
    When the dogs had driven the last sheep into the pasture, the man closed the gate and slipped the latch, then turned and limped toward the horse. Rain dripped off the brim of his sombrero, blurring his face as he stood in the mud, gazing up at Luke and Rachel.
    â€œDéme el cordero, señorita.” His voice was young. His hands reached upward.
    Rachel hesitated, unsure of what he wanted.
    â€œGive him the lamb, Rachel,” Luke said quietly. “He’ll take care of it now.”
    With a sigh, Rachel eased her wiggling burden into the young man’s arms. Her nose tested the air for the welcoming aromas of coffee and hot food. Luke had said there would be a meal waiting, but she couldsmell nothing except the rain and the pungent odor of wet animals.
    No womanly figure had emerged onto the porch with a lamp. No children had come tumbling out of the house to run to their father’s arms. Rachel felt a bewildering surge of relief. She’d been wrong, or so it seemed, in assuming that Luke was married. But why should that make any difference to her? He was not one of her conquests. She did not even like him, let alone love him. Why should she care a fig whether he had a wife or not?
    Luke and the young man were conversing in Spanish. The words meant nothing to Rachel but she found herself straining to hear every nuance of their tone and expression. Rain dripped off the wide straw brim of the young man’s sombrero as he stood in the mud with the lamb cradled in his arms. A lightning flash revealed a square face with deep-set eyes and blunt features. From beneath the sombrero, straight black hair hung in lank strings. Muddy water pooled around his bare feet.
    Luke’s voice cracked with strain. His questions were urgent, demanding. The young man answered him quietly, his eyes dark and liquid through the misty rain. Watching them, Rachel felt invisible, like an outsider staring at a scene through a glass windowpane. This was their world—Luke’s world. She was not part of it, nor did she wish to be.
    They finished speaking. Cradling the lamb, the young man turned and walked back toward the house. The two dogs trotted after him like shadows.
    Luke swung his weary mount toward the looming outline of the barn. Rachel waited for him to say something to her, but he had fallen silent, almost as if he had forgotten she was there, sitting behind him on the horse. Unaccustomed to being ignored, she cleared her throat and spoke.
    â€œLuke?”
    He stirred as if she had awakened him from a dream.
    â€œWhat’s happening?” she demanded. “What were the two of you talking about for so long?”
    The whisper of the rain filled the silence between them as he guided the horse through the open door of the barn. They passed into a warm darkness, filled with the soft stirrings of animals in their stalls and the familiar smells of hay and manure.
    Letting go of the saddle, Rachel slid off the horse’s rump and dropped to the straw. Her legs quivered beneath her as she willed herself to stand erect and thrust her face up toward him through the deep shadows.
    â€œI realize I don’t belong here,” she said. “But after all that’s happened this afternoon, I believe I have a right to know what’s going on.”
    Luke swung out of the saddle. He moved slowly, almost painfully, as if he had aged twenty years in the time since he’d last mounted the horse. Rachel could hear the sound of his harsh breathing in the darkness. His tall, craggy silhouette loomed above her as she stood waiting, holding her ground.
    â€œThe man who came out to meet us is Sebastian, Miguel’s older son,” he said. “He told me that just an hour ago—” Luke sucked in his breath as if gathering his strength. “An hour ago, his father died.”

Chapter Six
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