Smoketree - By Jennifer Roberson Page 0,16

blue eyes saddened, and yet he smiled. But it did little more than stretch his mouth. “Can’t be helped,” he said briefly.

I put out a restraining hand as the horse’s blowing muzzle approached my face. “Nathan—” I stopped. I liked the man immensely and I respected his integrity as well as his pride and privacy… but I was also concerned. “Is there something wrong?”

He smiled. “Not at all. ”

That, I knew, was that. So I asked him about the destination of the trail we shared.

He gestured, shifting in the saddle. “It winds all along through there, edging the Forest Service land. You can’t get lost if you keep to it. The horses have beaten it smooth, so you’ll have no trouble in those shoes.”

I looked down at my thin leather flats. Perhaps they weren't the best thing for hiking.

Nathan grinned as he caught my rueful expression. “Just don’t stay out too long, or I’ll have to send someone to fetch you back. Maria’s got a barbecue planned for tonight’s supper, and we’ve got more guests coming in.”

Like Harper, he tipped his hat and went on.

I walked a while longer, in no hurry, just wandering along the trail. I felt luxuriously lazy, unpressured and unfettered, reveling in the sense of freedom. At last I spied a formation of tumbled boulders—granite, I thought—and went over to perch myself upon one. My seat was hard stone, but it felt good nonetheless.

I heard birdsong and the breath of wind through the needles and boughs. The breeze touched my face gently, like a lover; for a moment I thought of Tucker. I shied away from the imagery, then let it come, for had I not come to Smoketree to face up to my loss?

I sat very still upon the rock. I heard the whirring of a bird’s wings as it took flight; the rattle of a beetle in the dead needles on the ground; the staccato chattering of a nearby squirrel or chipmunk. And then I heard something more. The beat of horse hooves against a trail.

This time it was the wrangler. He rode the sorrel horse again, and I admired the smooth precision in the way the animal moved. He was nothing like the tall, fragile-legged thoroughbreds; he was nothing like Preacher, whose long legs and longer body spoke of gene manipulation in his distant past. This one was a heavier, stockier animal with fine, intelligent eyes, alert ears and a heavy jaw. The cowboy rode him easily and came down through the trees, forsaking the trail entirely. Pine cones and needles snapped beneath the iron-shod hooves.

He halted the sorrel next to my perch. “You lost?”

“No. Are you?”

Shadows stretched across his face and the brim of his hat hid much of his eyes. “No.”

I waited for further conversation. When it appeared there was none forthcoming, I decided to fish for it. “It’s too early for the barbecue, isn’t it? So Nathan couldn’t have sent you after me. What are you doing?”

“Riding.” He frowned minutely. “Nathan was here?”

“Briefly. He rode on about fifteen minutes ago.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Then I can catch up to him later. And no, he didn’t send me. I just came up to clear the smoke out of my lungs.”

His tone was level but I saw the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I wish we could have been more help last night. ”

“Nothing more to be done.” He shook his head slightly. “It was a goner the moment it was set.”

“Then you are certain it was deliberate?”

He cast me a sidelong glance of solemn evaluation. “I’ve known all along it was deliberate.”

I straightened on my rock. “What will you do?”

He rolled his shoulders briefly. “Build another barn.”

I sighed. “Not about that. About whoever it was who set the fire.”

“Not much I can do.” He shifted a little in the saddle, then cocked one leg up around the saddle horn. The sorrel nuzzled the ground for something to eat; Harper seemed oblivious to the horse, merely adjusting his balance automatically. “You see, there’s land developers after the ranch. They’re a pretty determined bunch. I got a feeling they’ll go to almost any lengths to get their hands on Smoketree… even so far as to sabotage the place until Nathan sells out of desperation.”

I straightened. “Would he?”

“Never.” Harper smiled a little. “Take it from me—never. Not in a million years.”

I had heard Nathan’s voice when he had told me about the guardianship of the land. No,