Heart Of The Eagle

Jim looked up as many of the horses whickered simultaneously in greeting. There was Dal, at the entrance to the airy barn, walking toward him. He saw that she looked rested, the shadows gone from beneath her blue eyes. Did she realize how graceful she was? He had a tough time disguising the inner hunger he felt for her as she drew abreast of him.

“I see you’ve made friends with our three studs,” Dal said with a smile as she opened the box stall of a white stallion, led him out to the center of the aisle and placed him in the cross ties. “You ready for a ride with me?”

Jim followed and picked up the tack box from the tack room, handing her a currycomb and taking a brush for himself.

He began brushing down the stallion. “Sure.”

She grinned at him, then went to the tack room to find the appropriate saddle. “Trusting soul, aren’t you? You don’t even ask where we’re going or what we’ll be doing.”

He took the blanket and saddle from her and tacked up the Arab, which pawed restlessly in the ties. Jim’s amber eyes were dark and thoughtful as he looked across at Dal. “I’m trusting of some people,” he countered.

“And how do you know you can trust me?” Dal taunted softly.

“Your mouth.”

She laughed outright, curious as to how he saw her. “My mouth?”

“Or maybe it’s your large deerlike eyes. Vulnerable mouth and trusting eyes,” he murmured, finishing his task by bridling the horse.

Dal gave him a grim look. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

He handed the reins of the horse to her but she shook her head. “He’s yours to ride. His name is Flight.”

Jim smiled. “Fast, eh?”

“You’ll see,” she promised, walking down to another stall.

Within minutes Dal had her favorite gray gelding saddled and they were off at a brisk trot toward the southern pasture. Flight pranced sideways, blowing and snorting beneath the capable hand of Jim Tremain. From time to time Dal would drop back slightly and watch him handle the spirited stallion. Millie was right; Jim knew how to ride with the best of them. His thighs were long and powerful against the stallion’s barrel, and he rose and fell with each stride of the horse, as if they were one. He was beautiful, Dal decided. The man and the stallion; one and the same with so much spirit fused with pride and maleness.

“You and Flight suit each other admirably,” she complimented dryly, riding at his side.

Jim’s eyes narrowed as he studied her. “I hope your brother approves of me riding one of his prize stallions.”

“Rafe knows I’d never let anyone ride Flight who didn’t know what he was doing.”

“Is my wrangler side that obvious?”

She grinned. “You’ve got bowed legs like the rest of us. What do you think?”

His laughter was deep and clear and it freed Dal in a breathless sort of way. When he smiled, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened, and the smile lines around his mouth became grooves that eased the hardness of his features.

“I thought you were going to blame my Navaho blood,” he teased.

Dal became more serious, her curiosity overcoming her natural distrust of him. Flight was a volatile animal at best, and yet beneath Jim’s firm but sensitive hand the stallion had never once tossed his head or fought the bit. Her gaze rested on Jim’s hands, and she recalled him sensitively caressing the flesh of her palm. Her heart beat a little faster as she savored that branding moment earlier.

“I owe you an apology, Jim.”

“Oh?”

“I called you a half-breed. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

His eyes were filled with amusement. “I didn’t take what you said seriously, so don’t apologize. You were a little out of sorts, that’s all.”

Dal cast him a spurious look. “I haven’t figured out whether you’re a mind reader or not,” she muttered.

“Why?”

“Because you know me too well.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. Everything. Men are insensitive.”

His mouth curved into a teasing smile. “Is that like ‘all women are catty’?”

She laughed at his generalization. “Touché. Well, I guess I can throw all my labels out the window with you and start all over.”

He gave her a heated look. “I think you’d better,” he said huskily.

Chapter Three

It was nearly eleven when Jim sauntered into the study that evening. Dal sat at the cherrywood desk, calculator nearby and pen in hand, wrestling with a set of figures in a ledger before her. Her head was bent, one hand resting against her wrinkled brow as she labored over the accounting records. Jim leaned casually against the door frame, a tender light burning in his eyes as he watched Dal. She looked closer to twenty-four years old rather than thirty, he thought ruefully. Her skin had a peach color to it and her cheeks were rosy with good health. Had their ride earlier brought that color to her face? She was a different person when she was on horseback or working with her eagle. At other times, Jim could feel her putting up walls and shrinking behind them. Why? He wanted to find out. If Rafe Kincaid approved of his plan, Dal would be working with him almost constantly. And then he could gently get her to remove those barriers that she threw up so easily between them.

“I wanted to come in and say good-night,” he said softly, so as not to startle her.

Dal raised her head, a tired smile on her full lips. “How long have you been standing there?”

He became concerned with the exhaustion he saw in the depths of her sapphire eyes. “A few minutes.”

“You’re silent. Like a cougar.”

“But not dangerous like one.”

Dal brushed several strands of hair from her eyes. “Every man is dangerous.”

Easing from his position, Jim walked over to the desk, holding her challenging gaze. A smile relaxed the angles of his face beneath the lamplight. “Give me a chance to prove your generalization isn’t always right.”

She stared up at him, thinking how ruggedly handsome he was and that there wasn’t the aura of male ego around him that she associated with most men. Another blessing of his Indian heritage? Pursing her lips, she returned to the numbers beneath her hands. “Perhaps Indians aren’t as concerned with the macho image as most men.”

Jim slid his long, tapered fingers across the dark polished wood of the desk, watching her. They had come so far so quickly. Despite her distrust, Dal was opening up to him. Did she realize it? Probably not. “The Navaho revere their women. As a matter of fact, it’s a matriarchal society. In your present mood, you’d probably feel very secure in that type of environment.”

Dal gave a soft snort and tried to concentrate, but found it impossible. Rightly or wrongly, she was drawn to Jim Tremain’s quietness. He was an island of peace in the dangerous currents of emotion she experienced daily. Listening to his cajoling voice, Dal had to fight a tumult of emotions that surfaced as easily as new life in a wintered land under the tender caresses of the sun.

She raised her head and studied him intently. “I think you’re a cougar in disguise,” she accused.

“Why?”

Dal licked her lips, avoiding his amused gaze. He was stalking her. She could sense it, and her brain was going off in alarm over his veiled statement. “You just are,” she answered stubbornly. Damn, why couldn’t she concentrate? Gripping the pen until her knuckles whitened, she said, “I have to get this done before Rafe gets back tomorrow.”