Moon Racer Read online

  The eldest of the trio, Sergeant MacDougall, was a man of medium height who had a shock of white hair that had once been as red as a rooster's comb. He tugged his cap low over his forehead; much to his disgust, he knew his skin would still bum if exposed to the punishing Texas sun. For twenty years he had lived the nomadic life of a cavalryman, had fought in many fierce campaigns, and was thankful he had lived to tell about them-which he did often, in glowing and exaggerated terms. His hitch would be up in another two months, and he'd decided that he was too old to reenlist this time. There was a small stretch of land back in Tennessee he wanted to buy so he could spend the rest of his years sitting on the front porch swapping tales with his neighbors.

  His bushy brows came together across his nose and formed a frown when he glanced at Private Da vies, who was one of his newest recruits. The lad was not yet accustomed to the discipline of army life. He was straight off a Georgia farm and as raw as they came. It was always the same with the new ones, but MacDougall knew he would either make a cavalryman out of the lad or break him completely.

  The sergeant's gaze moved to the commanding officer, who rode between them. Maj. Jonah Tremain sat high in the saddle, his blue eyes squinting against the brightness of the sun. There was a restlessness in the major that didn't fit with the usual West Point polish, and he carried himself with an aloofness that intimidated most men but not the sergeant.

  MacDougall didn't generally like officers, but this one was different. He was tough when he had to be and set strict standards of discipline for his men to follow. MacDougall had fought in three campaigns with Major Tremain. He knew the officer never asked a soldier under his command to do anything he wasn't willing to do himself. He always stood shoulder-to-shoulder with his men and went right into the thick of battle with them. Oh, he was a strictly by-the-book officer, all right, but he didn't mind getting a little dirt on himself. MacDougall had asked for, and been granted, a transfer from Fort Griffin to Fort Fannin when the major had been given the command there.

  At the moment Major Tremain had a lot of problems on his young shoulders. Fort Fannin was a post needing a strong man at its head. The previous commander, Captain Gregory, had been cashiered out of the army and was now doing prison time for corrup tion. The real trouble was that three of the payrolls destined for Fort Fannin had been stolen, and Major Tremain was determined to find out who was behind the robberies. So far the investigation had not turned up any of Captain Gregory's accomplices, and the captain wasn't talking from his prison cell.

  Sweat rolled down MacDougall's face, and he cursed silently. He wished the major, who kept his coat buttoned to regulations, would begin to feel the heat and allow them to shed theirs.

  As if Jonah had read MacDougall's mind, he held up his gloved hand for them to halt. "Let's get comfortable for now. However, I'll expect the two of you to be in full uniform when you ride into Diablo."

  Jonah unfastened the brass buttons and slipped out of his blue uniform coat. Folding it neatly, he secured it to the back of his saddle. He watched as the other two men did the same.

  "Major, sir," the private stated, loosening the top button of his shirt as well, "I never knew Texas was this green till I saw Fort Fannin."

  Jonah dismounted at the edge of the cliff and propped a polished black boot on a limestone boulder. He glanced at the hills that seemed to roll one into another for as far as he could see. "I know what you mean, Private-this part of Texas took me by surprise when I first saw it."

  "I don't like it much here," Davies stated. "It's too hot, and nothing like back home."

  MacDougall scowled as he wiped his mouth after taking a drink from his canteen. "You aren't here to like or dislike anything, soldier-you're here to do just what the major wants you to do and nothing more."

  "Yes, sir." The young recruit's glance went nervously to his commanding officer. "Major, sir, can I ask how far it is to this town we're going to?"

  "Diablo should be no more than a few miles ahead, Private." Jonah rested his arm on the saddle, then leaned closer to MacDougall so the younger man couldn't overhear. "This is where we part company. I'll meet you in Diablo in two or three days. Meantime, poke around town in an unofficial capacity. I still have a gut feeling the payroll robberies are somehow connected to someone in Diablo."

  MacDougall nodded. "I wonder how many more men besides Captain Gregory are involved? It sure seems that the information about the shipment is coming out of Diablo."

  "I have come to that same conclusion. I can't tell you any more than that not yet, anyway. I can tell you that I want your uniforms visible in Diablo. Let's see if we can shake the trees and make someone nervous."

  "I'll make sure we're noticed, all right, sir. You can depend on it."

  MacDougall watched Jonah hoist himself into the saddle, then met his piercing blue eyes. "When you see Quince Hunter, would you mind giving him my regards, sir? And tell him since he quit scouting for us, I hardly ever lose at poker."

  Jonah gave him a brief nod. "Should you need me for any reason, I'll be at the Half-Moon Ranch. Ask around; anyone can give you directions."

  MacDougall and Davies saluted as they watched the major ride away.

  "I'm glad he's gone. It makes me nervous when he's 'round," Davies admitted, dabbing the sweat from his brow. "It seems to me he thinks mighty highly of himself."

  MacDougall whipped around and glared at the private, his voice cracking like a whip. "You have a lot more to be nervous about with me, trooper. If I ever hear you speak ill of Major Tremain again, you'll be looking through the bars of a guardhouse from the inside out."

  "Sir, I didn't mean no disrespect," Davies said quickly, glancing down at the ground. He knew that the major had brought Sergeant MacDougall with him when he was transferred from Fort Griffin, and he should have realized that the sergeant would defend their commander.

  "That gentleman," MacDougall said as he watched Jonah disappear behind an oak grove, "is one of the finest officers you'll ever serve under. If you weren't such an undisciplined, misguided chawbacon, you'd know that. When we get back to the fort, I'll see that you have extra duty so you can think about your attitude."

  Davies lapsed into silence and mounted his horse. He'd have to be on his best behavior during the rest of this assignment so he could convince the sergeant that he was worthy of the Sixth Cavalry.

  Jonah slowed his horse to a canter. It was only midmorning and already as hot as hell. He had a mo mentary reprieve from the heat when a high-flying cloud lingered between him and the sun. He took in the scenery, appreciating the wild, untamed beauty of the land that was infused with the brilliant colors of an artist's palette.

  A feeling of unease had been stirring within him all morning, and he felt as if something was about to happen-something he would have no control over-something that would change his life forever. He had experienced this same sensation only one other time the day he'd almost lost his life in an Indian battle. He suddenly nudged his horse into a gallop and prayed that another cloud would pass between him and the sweltering sun.

  By nature Jonah was not superstitious, but he could feel his life hurtling toward something. The feeling lingered, troubling his mind.

  Abby dismounted beneath the sturdy live oak and dropped Moon Racer's reins, knowing her horse would graze contentedly until she was ready to leave. She grasped a low-hanging branch and hoisted herself upward into the dense growth of prickly leaves, as she had done many times before. She climbed until she came to her favorite spot. It had always been her refuge when she needed to shut out the rest of the world-a place to gather her thoughts or just to ponder her day-to-day life, undisturbed.

  She settled comfortably where two branches arched together, creating a secluded space among the dense foliage. She held her breath when a whitewinged dove landed on the branch just above her, and she remained perfectly still to observe the extraordinary phenomenon. She became fascinated when the bird gracefully fanned its elegant feathers and tucked i
ts head amid the softness. Abby shifted her weight only slightly, but it was enough to startle the dove, and it took flight. She shook her head and sighed with regret.

  The storm the night before had made the air smell fresh and clean, but it had done little to cool the temperature. If anything it had elevated the humidity considerably, and her shirt was plastered to her body with sweat.

  She allowed her gaze to wander. As far as the eye could see was Hunter land, she thought with pride. She was a part of this land; it was in her blood.

  Her horse whinnied, drawing her attention. No one seeing Moon Racer today would guess that the stallion had almost died when he was a colt. His mother had been attacked and killed by a wolf pack, but somehow Moon Racer had escaped with only minor wounds. The owner had given the foal to Brent, thinking it wouldn't live, and Brent hadn't thought so either when he had given it to Abby.

  At that time she had practically lived in the stable, unwaveringly determined to keep the colt alive. She had bottle-fed him and rubbed him down several times a day. She had even slept beside him at night and covered them both with a blanket.

  Today the beautiful roan stood sixteen hands high-he had a white blaze on his forehead and four white stocking feet. His bloodline was flawless: his dam had been the famous Calliope, who had never lost a race; his sire, Tucan Runner, had a lineage that went all the way back to champion Spanish stock.

  Moon Racer could outrun any horse in their stable, but Brent didn't want him entered in any races, and neither did Abby. The stallion was too valuable to the Half-Moon as a stud.

  The stallion moved down the hill in search of sweeter grass, so Abby continued her musing. This place no longer offered her the emotional comfort it once had. She was lonely and really had no one to confide in. There were times when she wanted someone to share her thoughts and ideas with, but she was totally alone.

  With an exasperated sigh, she came to the conclusion that Frances was right: she was getting too old to hide from her troubles like a child. She was a woman now, and she needed to face her problems straight on.

  She leaned back for a moment and closed her eyes, freeing herself of her need for this solitary hideaway. After today she would not come there again.

  Moon Racer whinnied and stomped his feet, letting Abby know he was ready to return to the stable. She slid downward, caught a branch, and swung toward the ground.

  Abby saw a horse just below her, then a flash of blue, but it was too late to stop her descent. Her sudden appearance had startled the animal, and it reared on its hind legs, sending the rider tumbling backward to the ground.

  With her heart thundering inside her, she ran forward and bent down beside the man. His eyes were closed, and she was afraid she had killed him. "Sir, are you hurt? Can you hear my voice?" she asked frantically. "Sir, sir!"

  He did not move or answer, so she darted to her horse, grabbed her canteen, and ran back to him. When she knelt down beside him, she noticed for the first time that he was a soldier. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she shook him gently, but still he did not respond. In desperation, she unscrewed the cap of her canteen and dashed water in his face. She was overcome with relief when he blinked and slowly opened his eyes.

  Staring up at her were a pair of the bluest, angriest eyes Abby had ever seen.

  Maj. Jonah Tremain sat up slowly and shook his head to clear it. "Why in the hell did you douse me with water?" he demanded, wiping his sleeve across his wet face.

  "I'm sorry, sir," she said. "I thought you were unconscious."

  "I wasn't unconscious-I was merely trying to stop the world from spinning and catch my breath."

  "I wouldn't wonder." She bit her lower lip. "I didn't see you until it was too late."

  Jonah muttered an oath as he rolled to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster. "Dammit, boy-"

  I'm not a boy," she stated with growing irritation. She was beginning to dislike the soldier.

  "Well, even so, what did you think you were doing scampering about in that tree? Do you make it a practice to drop down on every unsuspecting traveler who happens by?"

  Abby was about to answer him in anger when she saw him limp as he took a step. Guilt-ridden, she reached out and touched his arm. "You're hurt. Lean on me, and I'll help you to your horse-I'll get you to a doctor."

  He shook her hand off and studied her warily. "The limp is from an old wound," he clarified. "But if it makes you feel any better, my shoulder will probably be bruised by tomorrow."

  She clamped her lips together while she dusted dried grass from her trousers and stared into those cold blue eyes. "I'm so very sorry, sir. It was just an unfortunate mishap."

  He gave her his sternest glare as he rubbed his shoulder. "Is there something wrong with your hearing that kept you from picking up the sound of my horse?"

  She stared at him grimly. "My mind was on other matters at that time."

  "Is that so? What could be so interesting up in that tree to hold the attention of a mere child?"

  She raised her gaze to his, anger flushing her face and tightening her throat. "I'm not a boy or a child." Her chin went up higher. "And what I think about or don't think about is none of your concern."

  "It is when you involve me in it," he replied, flexing his shoulders and wincing in pain.

  "I said I was sorry, sir." But she didn't sound sorry-she sounded impatient and irritated.

  She gathered Moon Racer's reins, shoved her booted foot into the stirrup, and swung into the saddle.

  Jonah suddenly noticed her mount and reached out to touch the horse's shoulder, allowing his hand to slide up the smooth neck. "This is what I call mighty fine horseflesh."

  "Yes," she answered stiffly. "You aren't telling me anything I don't already know."

  Jonah suddenly noticed the way the damp shirt revealed the swell of her breasts. How could he have mistaken her for a boy when there was so much evidence to the contrary? It was an honest mistake, he admitted to himself-he had never expected to find a female wearing trousers.

  A single long braid hung down her back, and she definitely had the delicate features of a girl. She spoke well enough, but in appearance she resembled a poor sodbuster's daughter. "How did you come by such an animal?"

  His question surprised her, and she answered with more civility than she had intended. "He was a gift from my brother."

  Jonah knew superior horseflesh when he saw it, and this animal was definitely exceptional. "Would you consider selling him?"

  She was looking down at him, her spine straight. "Not at any price."

  He ran 'his hand along Moon Racer's shoulder. "Everything has a price."

  She had never met a more arrogant man. "No, some things are priceless."

  She spun Moon Racer out of his grasp and started to ride away when she saw the man's horse in the distance. It gave her momentary pleasure to think of him limping to catch his mount. But her sense of fairness would not allow her to leave him stranded; after all, she had been responsible for his mishap. She rode up to his horse, stretched forward, gathered up the reins, and led the animal back to the soldier.

  Jonah was further irritated because he had landed on his slouch hat and squashed the crease out of it. He was scowling when he recreased it and then adjusted it on his head. He pulled on his jacket and made an attempt to dust the grass off, while ignoring the girl as she tried to hand him the reins of his horse.

  Abby's gaze fell on the two gold bars on his shoulders. He wasn't just an ordinary soldier. "I thought officers were supposed to be gentlemen," she blurted out before she could think.

  He arched a dark brow and said mockingly, "And so they are... if there is a lady about." He swept off his hat with an exaggerated bow that infuriated her even more.

  She dropped the reins at his feet. "Good day to you, sir."

  Now he was grinning. "Good-bye to you, ma'am."

  He was standing with his back to the sun, and it suddenly seemed to Abby that he was surrounded by light. The blu
e of his uniform enhanced the blue of his eyes, and she felt a strange tightening inside her. Bewildered by the new sensation, she wanted only to get away from him.

  if I never see you again, it'll be too soon for me."

  His gaze was arrogant, his shoulders tense and straight, when he said, "Amen to that!"

  Abby whirled Moon Racer around and galloped toward the house. She frowned when the full impact of what she had done hit her; that officer could have been badly hurt, and it would have been her fault. Then she remembered blue eyes that had gone from angry to mocking, and hoped his shoulder would pain him for some time to come.

  She gave a toss of her head. He should have been watching where he was going. And after all, he had been trespassing on Hunter land.

  A short time later Abby entered the barn, and she was certainly not in a good mood. With her jaw set firmly, she was more determined than ever that she was going to ride the Johnson horse.

  When - she heard movement overhead, she glanced up at the loft and saw Navidad pitching hay. When he noticed her he paused at his work, and with a worried look on his dark face, descended the ladder to stand before her.

  "Senorita Abby, say to me that you have not come here to ride that bay horse."

  Most of the hands that worked on the Half-Moon Ranch were loyal and usually stayed with the family for a long time. Some of them, like Red and Curly, had been there since before Abby was born. She felt affection for them all, but her favorite was Navidad.

  The Mexican man had come to work for them five years earlier, and he had an exceptional gift for handling horses. His dark mustache was brushed with gray, and the leathery texture of his skin gave testament to the fact that he spent a lot of time in the sun. The most extraordinary thing about him was the kindness of his nature and the compassion reflected in his dark eyes. He was one of those rare human beings who really cared about people and was always doing good deeds for someone.

  He and Abby had forged a special bond from the very beginning, when she had teasingly called him by the English translation of his name. It had pleased him at the time, and the name had stuck, as far as she was concerned.