Page 10 of The Heart’s Charge

“Of course.” Eliza moved away from his touch and his massive horse. She brushed at her skirt, embarrassed to show such weakness in front of a stranger.

She’d known there were horses in front of the house. She’d seen them when she exited. But they hadn’t seemed so large while she’d been on the raised porch. And then she’d been distracted with putting this man in his place and had nearly collided with the big brown one. A shudder quivered over her spine as she added some extra distance between her and the equestrian giant.

Flashes from the past zipped through her mind. Chasing a kitten into the street. Twisting her ankle. Falling. A horse rearing. Sharp hooves hovering above her head. That horrible squealing sound the horse made. She could still hear it twenty years later.

“Miss Southerland?”

“I’m fine.” Or she would be, as soon as she got away from that animal.

Making a wide circle around the visitors’ horses, she headed for the barn, where Bessie and Tessie waited—two sweet-natured ponies who barely stood thirteen hands. She still preferred having someone else handle the chore of harnessing them to the wagon, but she could manage when necessary.

And today it was necessary.

Jonah gave Augustus a pat, then followed Miss Southerland at a distance. She possessed a powerful fear of horses, but then, everything about her was powerful. Back in the house, she’d taken charge of the room the moment she entered. Authority clung to her like a fine perfume. Intelligent, pragmatic, protective of those in her care—she was a natural leader. Reminded him a bit of Captain Hanger. Though she was far better to look at. His gaze traveled the length of her back, tucked in at the dip of her waist, smoothed over the curve of her hips, then danced along the swishing lines of her skirt.

Yep. Eliza Southerland was a fine-looking woman.

It had been a long time since a woman had drawn his notice. Jonah had made a point to avoid noticing them, for the most part. Too focused on his career. His father had taught him that the only way for a black man to find success in this world was to be the best at whatever he put his hand to. Be skilled, and folks will notice. Be the best, and you’ll earn their respect.

So from the time he’d been a boy, he’d determined he’d be the best at something. As he grew, he came to recognize that God had blessed him with better-than-average eyesight and a steady hand. He’d turned that talent toward hunting, then shooting contests, then to becoming the best sniper in the US Cavalry. Not just the best among his fellow Buffalo Soldiers, but the best in the entire US Army. His skill was what led to him working with Captain Hanger and ultimately to joining the Horsemen, a brotherhood that had changed his life.

Maybe it was the respect of his brothers-in-arms that freed him now to notice the woman in front of him, or maybe it was the woman herself. Heaven knew the strength of her looks could arrest the attention of a blind man.

Her hair, a shade lighter than most black women’s, lay coiled in a thick bun against the mulatto skin of her nape. And her face—high cheekbones, fierce eyes, proud chin. She possessed a warrior’s beauty. A woman a man would fight beside, not in front of.

Jonah eyed the wagon standing outside the barn as he strode past, less than thrilled by its condition. Weathered and rickety were the two descriptors that came most readily to mind. Reliable and sturdy were not even in the running. He didn’t care about fancy paint or padded benches, but a conveyance transporting women and children should at least promise not to disintegrate at the first hard jolt it received. The only promise this one seemed capable of making was that it would hold together in a still wind. Not exactly a ringing endorsement of dependability.

Turning his attention forward again, Jonah entered the barn and slid into the shadows out of habit, keeping his back to the wall. Not that he expected a threat more dangerous than a grumpy milk cow to emerge from behind one of the stall doors. Still, a man was better off keeping his back protected until he knew the lay of the land.

“Hello, girls,” Miss Southerland was saying, her voice completely void of the command that had been so evident back in the house. “It’s me.” She unlatched the first stall’s half door. A piebald face nodded a friendly greeting. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Was she speaking to the horse or herself?

“We need to take a little drive, ladies. All right?” She reached for the first mare’s halter, her body bending at an awkward angle as she tried to keep as much space as possible between her and the horse.

Horse might be too generous a term. The mares poking their heads over the stall door were ponies, at best. The tops of their heads would barely reach Augustus’s withers. Jonah could understand Miss Southerland being uneasy around the large cavalry horses, but afraid of a pair of kid-sized animals? Something deeper than mere intimidation was at play here.

“Easy now,” she urged, giving the halter a tug. “Come on, Bessie. Be a good girl.”

Bessie tossed her head, obviously sensing her mistress’s unease. She stomped her hoof and tugged her neck backward.

Miss Southerland gasped, released the halter, and lurched backward as if the pony had transformed into a two-headed dragon.

Jonah frowned. Interfering would curry him no favor with the lady, but not interfering would lead to unnecessary delays. He figured Miss Southerland cared more about meeting the baby’s needs than coddling her pride.

Choice made, he crossed to the stall and took charge of Bessie’s halter. He led her out to the tacking area without a single balk, his firm, authoritative hand calming the pony. He went back for the second horse, striding past a not-quite-pouting-but-definitely-disgruntled Miss Southerland.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know.” And he did. No doubt she had harnessed these animals dozens of times on her own. But why should she have to torture herself with the duty today when he was here and could accomplish the feat in half the time?

He led the second horse out to join the first and started tacking them up. Miss Southerland assisted, buckling harness straps, apparently more relaxed now that he had the ponies in hand.

“It doesn’t seem right for them to respond so well to a complete stranger,” she said with a sigh as she gave Bessie’s neck a timid pat. “But then, I suppose you’re much more accustomed to working with horses than I am. Horses have never particularly liked me, and I have to admit the feeling is mutual.”

Jonah looked at her over the back of the second horse. “They sense your fear. It makes ’em nervous.”

Her chin jutted upward as if to deny his charge, but no words followed.