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And she didn’t intend to involve what was left of her heart. Colin had made her see the folly of that.
Brand answered her question. “Nothing serious, seeing as I’m still here and still riding horses.”
“But you have been injured?” Sybil, you don’t need to know the particulars to see that this man should wear a big danger sign around his neck.
Details for her story. That was the only reason she wanted to know.
“A time or two. Once when I was ten.”
“Ten! You were hardly out of short pants.”
“Ma’am. I never wore short pants. And it was my older brother who thought it was a lark to throw me on a horse he was trying to break. I stuck until the ornery critter stopped bucking.”
Another chuckle that he made no attempt to hide. Interesting observation. It would make a nice addition to her story.
A loner of a man with a deep-throated laugh that broke out unexpectedly from time to time, surprising the cowboy as much as it did those who heard it.
“I felt so high and mighty about riding a horse my brother couldn’t that I climbed to the loft and jumped out the open door.”
Mercy laughed as if it was the funniest thing ever.
Sybil gasped. “Why on earth would you do that?”
“I was ten. I didn’t need a reason. But I guess I thought riding a wild horse made me invincible.”
Sybil laughed softly. “Let me guess. That’s when you were injured.”
“My brother broke my fall, but I still busted my arm.” He held it out and had a good look at it.
Mercy leaned back on her hands, her gaze darting frequently to Dawg.
Sybil’s mind raced with questions. How many could she ask before he refused to answer? “What happens when you get bucked off?”
“If I did get bucked off—” he made it sound like a far-fetched possibility “—I’d just get right back on and finish the job.”
His answer pleased her. She liked the idea of a man finishing what he’d begun. Except, she reminded herself firmly, in this case, it meant he would break horses and move on. That’s the job he’d begun.
Not that she cared one way or the other.
You’re not telling yourself the truth here, Sybil.
Oh, hush. Her inner voice could be so annoying at times.
Annoyingly right, maybe? Because you wish that he’d stay around.
I do not. How could I wish for anything so foolish? A dangerous man. A leaving man. I’m paying attention only because he saved my life and I want to write a good story.
You’re hiding from the truth.
Sybil wasn’t interested in whatever so-called truth that annoying inner voice meant.
Chapter Three
Brand had almost forgotten about breaking his arm. But only because he hadn’t seen Cyrus in a long time. Cyrus never missed a chance to remind him that he likely owed his life to his big brother, and as a result, his big brother deserved a few favors in return. Trouble was, Brand wasn’t prepared to dish out the sort of favors Cyrus had in mind. A sour taste filled his mouth. Because of Cyrus and Pa, Brand could never hope for anything but a nomadic lifestyle.
“Have you ever been hurt riding a horse?” Sybil asked, her voice a melody of calm and sweetness...a marked contrast to his thoughts and the raw sounds he normally heard on a ranch. Her gaze riveted him like velvet nails, compelling him to answer.
“A few bumps and bruises. Nothing to take note of.”
Dawg wriggled closer to Sybil. Well, if that didn’t beat all. Brand couldn’t remember when the animal had shown the least sign of interest in another human being. Dawg could spot a sly fox a mile away. Brand could only assume he could equally well spot a sweet, innocent, woodland miss. Maybe this woman warranted further interest. It wasn’t like he would be around long enough to put her in danger. He eyed the plate of food. It would have to wait until the ladies left. If he dug in now, they might see it as time to leave.
“I was about to have coffee. Care to join me?” He had only two cups, but he would drink from a tin can. He filled the cups and passed one to each of the ladies.
Sybil’s blue eyes held his.
He couldn’t remember how to fill his lungs.
Mercy leaned forward, her expression eager. “You must have seen most of North America.”
