Free Johnston - I Promise by Joan Johnston

She stepped down off her horse in the shade of an ancient, moss-draped live oak and tied the reins out of the way on the saddle horn so her palomino gelding wouldn’t step on them as he grazed.
    She stuck her hands in the back pockets of her jeans and stood with her hip cocked, staring across the barbed wire fence dividing Carson cultivated pasture and North scrubland, wondering what she should do now.
    “Hi.”
    She whirled so fast she lost her balance and nearly fell before North steadied her. She stepped back as soon as she could free herself from his grasp, but it was too late to avoid the jolt of pleasure where his callused fingertips had touched her.
    “Where did you come from?” she asked, as annoyed at being scared half to death as she was glad to find him there.
    “I was leaning up against the other side of the tree. I heard you coming, and I wanted to see if I could surprise you.”
    “You did,” she said. “Where’s your horse?”
    Marsh pointed, and she made out the rangy buckskin camouflaged behind the tall yellow grass and a thick patch of scrub mesquite on the North side of the fence.
    “Do you want to ride some more right now, or would you like to rest a while?” he asked.
    “The shade is nice,” she said, lifting her hair to let the breeze catch the sweat on her nape. She saw his nostrils flare and felt her body tighten like a drawstring. “Why don’t we sit here for a while.” Her knees felt weak. If she didn’t sit down, she was going to fall.
    She made it the few steps to the base of the live oak and settled herself on a thick branch growing about a foot off the ground. To her consternation, Marsh sat so close their thighs nearly touched.
    She noticed the ring of sweat around his hatband and the grass stains on the knees of his jeans. She pointed to the leather gloves hanging out of his back pocket and asked, “What was so important it had to get done on a Sunday morning?”
    “I had some fence to repair.”
    She chuckled and relaxed against the rough bark of a slightly higher branch of the tree behind her. “I don’t think that’s going to make Max very happy.”
    “Who’s Max?”
    “My mother’s Grand Champion Santa Gertrudis bull. I think he was enjoying the company.”
    A muscle worked in Marsh’s jaw. “My father shouldn’t have done it. It was stealing, plain and simple.”
    Her eyes widened. The town’s bad boy was constantly amazing her. She waited for him to continue the conversation, but he didn’t say anything, just stared at his boots.
    “Do you work for your father?”
    He nodded. “There’s more than the two of us can handle sometimes. I’ve been trying to talk him into hiring some help, but he doesn’t want strangers around.”
    “They wouldn’t be strangers for long once they started working for you.”
    “That’s what I told him, but there’s no making him see reason. Sometimes I get so mad I feel like quitting.”
    “Why don’t you?” Delia asked.
    From the startled look on Marsh’s face, the idea had never occurred to him. “What else would I do?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know. What would you like to do?”
    “I never really thought about being anything but a rancher. How about you? What are you planning to do when you graduate from high school?”
    “I’m going to college.” She took a deep breath and added, “Then I’m going to law school.”
    Marsh whistled. His face cracked into an amused grin. “Those are pretty big plans for such a little lady.”
    Delia bristled. “These days a woman can be anything she wants. I want to be a lawyer.”
    “Why?”
    “I . . .” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ll laugh.”
    “I promise not to laugh,” Marsh said, crossing his heart with a forefinger. “Tell me.”
    She wasn’t sure he wouldn’t laugh, but she had been wanting to talk to someone about her plans for the future, and it wasn’t anything she could comfortably discuss around her father. And these days, her father