“I’d be of little help there, and by now I’m sure I would have strangled Mrs. Watson. The woman reminds me of an out-of-tune wind chime set off by the slightest breeze. I’ve seen rivers that babbled less.”
When Em didn’t comment, he added, “Miss Emily is sweet, though, too sweet. There’s something about all that shyness and sewing that makes me nervous. You’d think she was getting paid, the way she works.”
Em shrugged and pulled off her hat to wipe her brow as she tried not to laugh. “Then I guess you’d better stay with me. I may work you to death, but at least we’ll have no shyness or sewing.” She smiled. “Of course, unless I’m sewing up your hide.”
He mumbled a swear, then laughed. “I’m afraid if she did the stitching on my leg, I’d have French knots and needlepointed initials.”
She laughed with him. “So I guess Miss Emily is out of the running?”
“She was never really in it. When a man is looking for a mate, there has to be some attraction there.”
“But she’s pretty.”
“I know. Beautiful, in fact, but I . . .”
He didn’t finish, and Em didn’t know if he had no answer or if he just didn’t want to tell her.
He turned away from her and was silent for a while as he watched the horses, and then he whispered, “About last night.”
“Last night is over,” she said, too quickly to be casual. “Thank you for showing me what a kiss was like, but I’m in need of no more lessons. What happened last night was a mistake.”
“Fine,” he said between clenched teeth. “I wasn’t asking for a thank-you or a repeat.”
“What’s the matter?” she snapped back at him. “I thought we were going to be honest with one another.”
“Nothing,” he answered, moving toward his horse. “Let’s get back to work.”
They rode north, following a set of mountain lion tracks. Neither talked, but when Em pulled her rifle, he did the same.
For the tenth time that day, she slipped from her horse and studied the tracks. “He’s close,” she said.
“You can read that in a track?”
“No, I can feel it. I’d swear he is the same big cat that came down last winter. We never saw him, never even got one shot off at him, but I remember one of the men saying he was missing a few claws. The prints show that now.”
“Maybe he’s too old to hunt? Or maybe there are more deer up in the hills than you think?”
She looked up at him, making no effort to hide the worry in her face. “Or maybe, he’s back.”
They followed the cat’s trail for another hour, and then the wind turned cold and Em knew it would be wise to head home.
Just as they turned, she caught a movement at the edge of the clearing.
Lewt saw it a second later. Without a word they moved closer, both rifles ready to fire.
Twenty feet into the shadows of a stand of tall pine, they recognized what lay in the grass. A colt, not three months old, tried to stand, then tumbled into the grass.
“He’s hurt,” Em said, as she kicked her mount and closed the distance to the young horse.
Lewt remained frozen in place as she jumped down and ran to the colt. Blood from what looked like a puncture wound dripped from his side, and he stared at her with wild, frightened eyes.
Just as she reached the animal, something moved in the trees, and she realized too late that the mountain lion must have smelled them and had moved into hiding but had not left.
Before she could pull her sidearm from the holster, she heard a rush in the brush and knew the lion was rushing toward her. Instinct allowed only a second for her to lean over the downed colt, and then the blast of a rifle whistled just above her head. One long silent moment later she heard the thundering thud of something falling in the bush between the trees.
Em looked up to see Lewt jumping from his horse, his rifle still in his hand as he ran toward her.
“Stay down!” he yelled as he passed her and crossed into the trees.
Em wanted to help the colt, but she knew what she had to do. If the mountain lion was wounded and not killed, he might still be in the brush. She ran for her rifle and chambered a round. She stood a few