Leonardo (Romancing the Weavers #5) - Kit Morgan Page 0,22

and a swarthy fellow with a full black beard – Israel, presumably – were minding them.

She skirted the herd, letting Nutmeg walk through the late spring grasses and grab a bite or two. It was beautiful here with the wildflowers, meadows and forest – so different from the Oregon prairie she called home. Both inspired her, as she was sure they did Savannah. Could her cousin ever leave the Triple-C and Clear Creek? Would she do it for love?

She spotted a trail leading into the woods and decided to follow it through the fir and pine. She loved the smell of the forest and everything surrounding it. Fresh, clean and different. It made her feel alive.

“What are you doing?”

She started and almost lost her seat. “Exploring.”

“It’s dangerous,” Leo said as he approached.

Parthena surveyed her surroundings. “Bears?”

“Among other things. Mountain lions.”

“Cougars?”

“The same. Nonna just calls them big cats. Israel calls them pumas.”

“I guess it depends on where you’re from.” Parthena turned Nutmeg around again.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, now that you’re here, do you mind if we go down the trail? I’d like to see more of the forest.”

She heard him sigh behind her. “Just for a minute, then we should go back.”

She turned in the saddle to look at him. “Bears and cougars … and that’s it?”

“Oh, no – coyotes, wolves. Moose and lynxes down from Canada on occasion. The odd buck that’s feeling feisty. And me without a gun.”

“But we’re on horseback. The horses would sense something before we ever did.”

“True.” He urged his horse to catch up. She smiled and faced forward again.

They rode for several minutes and Parthena enjoyed the new sights and sounds of the woods. “Where does this trail lead?”

“To the creek. It’s the north border of the farm.”

“This trail seems well worn.”

He laughed. “We use it all year round. In summer to swim, in winter to harvest ice. In every season to make sure beavers aren’t damming up the creek and flooding our land.”

“That can be a problem.”

The trail widened and he rode alongside her. Parthena caught his scent and another tingle went up her spine. That was twice now. She shouldn’t let herself be affected like this, but how was she supposed to stop it?

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said. “Nothing wrong here.” She kicked Nutmeg into a trot. Maybe if she put some distance between them, she wouldn’t suffer more effects.

No such luck – he caught up quickly. “We should be heading back. Your father will wonder where we’ve gone.”

She brought Nutmeg to a stop. “Very well. But I’d love to come back here. I’ll ask Clinton to bring me.”

“I can bring you.”

Her heart leaped in her chest. Egads, not that! What was going on? Why was this happening? She never got tingles or a pounding heart around anyone in Clear Creek. She watched Leo as she turned her horse again to head the other way, and her leg brushed his as she passed. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. There isn’t a lot of room here.” He turned his horse and followed.

She fought the urge to turn and look at him. He was handsome, no doubt about it. He was also making her insides quiver. Well, there was only one thing she could do. She’d have to put a stop to it, and the best way to do that was to ignore him …

“Bella is making spaghetti for dinner tonight,” he announced behind her.

… if she could. Drat! “We’re eating with you?”

“Yes, didn’t Nonna tell you? We’ll eat at the main house, but Bella will bring the pasta. I’m not sure who’s making the meat …”

Parthena closed her eyes, her mouth watering. “Savannah will love that. She still talks about the food she got to try the last time she was here.”

“Bella is always creating new recipes. She’s good at it. Not to mention making the old ones.”

“How old?” Not that she cared, but if she kept him talking about food, maybe her stomach would growl enough to drown out the confusion in her heart.

“Some of them are my grandmother’s, and her grandmother’s before her.”

A tremor ran through her at the sound of his voice – deep, with just a gentle lilt of Italian. Who wouldn’t like listening to him? She rode on, not saying a word.

“Ebba is making a special bread to go with the spaghetti. Nonna plans to bake pies for dessert. I’m not sure what other family is coming.”

She swallowed hard. “Does everyone bring a dish?”

“Oh, yes. Everyone that comes pitches in.”

“I