Westin Legacy. Alice SharpeЧитать онлайн книгу.
although her position in the saddle was precarious at best.
“Do you know I produce television shows?” she asked a little breathlessly.
“I thought you were a decorator of some kind.”
“Nope.”
“Is that your new job in New York, producing television shows?”
“That’s it.”
“What kind?”
“I did nature shows in San Francisco, but in New York I’m moving to food.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”
“I’m going to produce a cooking show. You know, on cable.”
“I’ve never heard of a cooking show,” he said honestly.
“You must live under a rock. There are whole channels devoted to cooking and eating and restaurants and all the rest.”
He shook his head.
“Anyway,” she continued, “last year, in Frisco, we did a three-part special on birds. I produced the segment on Bowerbirds. Have you ever hear of them?”
“I don’t think so.”
She waved a hand in the air and slipped again, grabbed the saddle horn and steadied herself. The horse tossed his head as if to ask what in the heck she was doing back there. “The male Bowerbirds really go all-out building these fantastic nests to lure a female into mating with them,” Echo said a little breathlessly. “Each nest is different, too. The males decorate them with colorful trash they find or maybe with flowers or dead insects…anything to attract a potential partner.”
The look he cast her this time was longer. “Wait just a second. Are you comparing me to a bird?”
She laughed. “Judging from that house you’re building, you’re aiming to capture a princess of your own and raise about ten kids.”
“No princess, no thanks. When I marry it will be to a girl who was raised on a ranch and knows exactly what she’s in for. And as for kids, don’t tell me, let me guess. You don’t like them. They’re too much trouble. They get in the way of a career.”
“Wrong, oh, wise one. I actually like kids.” Her forehead creased as she added, “Do you know what all that blustery stuff between my stepfather and your father was about?”
Adam turned away from the lake, following the steep trail into the trees. “It sounded like it was about your mother.”
“I think it kind of sounded as though they were talking about your mother.”
“No,” he said firmly. “No one on this ranch talks about my mother.”
Echo leaned sideways toward him. When he realized it wasn’t entirely on purpose, he put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back upright.
“Least of all you?” she said.
“Least of all, me.”
“But—”
“If your mother had run away with some cowhand while you were still a little kid, would you have spent a lot of time worrying about her?”
“I guess it would depend on why she ran.” Echo gasped as the gelding made a small but jarring leap across a gully. “Understanding that very basic thing seems important to me.”
“Not to me.”
“My stepfather mentioned your mother sent a postcard after she left. From Canada, I think he said. Did anyone track it down? Why don’t you try to find out where she went or if she’s dead or alive?”
Reaching the top of the ridge, he once again waited for the gelding to catch up. When Echo was beside him, he met and held her gaze. “Get this straight. My mother died for me a long, long time ago. She chose life with a guy named David Lassiter over a family who loved and needed her. Now, if you want to ride with me, I think we should change the subject, don’t you?”
Her black eyes flashed irritation. The gelding, apparently sensing her mood, pawed at the ground and snorted again. “I’m beginning to remember what you were like, Adam Westin. We always had to do everything your way, you always had to be the boss.”
“I was older than you.” The horse was turning in a circle now, making ominous guttural sounds in his throat. “Echo, be careful—”
“If your whole family is as sanctimonious about your mother as you are, no wonder she ran away!”
“Forget my mother for a minute. Calm down. Your horse—”
“I will not calm down. Maybe the two or three years between us was a big difference when we were little kids, but it’s nothing now,” she continued. “I have half a mind—”
The horse had had enough. He bolted. Going fast.
And in the wrong direction.
Chapter Two
“Whoa,” Echo shouted. She yanked on the reins automatically but all that seemed to do was make the horse toss his head. She looked down at the ground and wished she hadn’t. A blur of flying hooves, rocks and grass made her dizzy. Any half-baked idea she’d had of abandoning the saddle went away.
Thank goodness the horse had the good sense to stay in the open. At least so far…
Think. No way did she want Adam to save her although it probably beat plunging off a cliff.
Should she try pulling on the reins again? Both reins at the same time? One harder than the other? Help!
She couldn’t think straight. Her insides were bouncing around like ice cubes in a cocktail shaker. She was lost in panic mode just like the horse…?.
So calm him down….
Snatches of long-ago lessons finally fought their way through the electrical flash points in her brain. She needed to center herself in the saddle or she was going to go right over the gelding’s head the next time he tossed it. She managed to thread her fingers through a handful of mane down by his withers. Gulping with fear and effort, she attempted what seemed impossible, working to find a rhythm to the horse’s thundering gait and adapt herself to it, to stop fighting him. Give him time. All she had to do was stay on his back until he decided he’d had enough.
Gradually it seemed the horse’s surges decreased. She gently but firmly squeezed her knees, concentrating like crazy on relaxing into his stride. She was suddenly aware of Adam riding the big red-gold horse alongside her and had no idea how long he’d been there. He didn’t try to grab anything, just little by little began backing his horse off and that, too, seemed to reassure the gelding.
At last the gallop became a trot and the trot petered away to a nervous, staccato walk. Echo gently patted the gelding’s hot neck and made soothing sounds until he came to a full stop.
Adam slowly got off his horse and took the gelding’s reins. She slid out of the saddle. Her knees buckled when her feet hit the ground. Adam caught her and for a few seconds, she leaned against him and breathed heavy.
“Are you okay?” he muttered against her hair.
No voice yet to answer.
“I had no idea Bagels would respond to rider inexperience like that,” he said. “You did good, I mean for someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”
“The compliments just keep rolling off your tongue,” she muttered. Now that it was over, she’d turned into a jellyfish. Eventually it occurred to her that Adam Westin was not stiff like his father or her stepfather, not at all. He was firm and lean, yes, but he was also incredibly tender and his arms supporting her were strong. Warm. Sexy.
She pushed herself away, embarrassed to have such thoughts about him.
He