that shouldn't be taken seriously."
"Not so."
"You're letting a cow get away," she pointed out, thankful to bring the conversation to an end.
"But not you," he shot back as he lifted the bay horse into a gallop.
He'd had the last word, but at least she'd been able to give and take intelligently. Maybe she'd be able to handle him this summer, after all.
Jo frowned down at her old cotton T-shirt. It was a pale blue — comfortable, pretty. A tight fit, but she'd worn tighter. She wore them because a new shirt always seemed to get snagged when out handling cattle. Between barbed wire and thorn bushes, clothes took a beating.
"Hey-up," she yelled at a straggler, who took a few trotting steps and slowed down again. They were near the corral and Paca reached out to give the cow a quick nip on the buttocks to hurry it up.
Jo pulled her back. She didn't want to hurry. The longer she could put off their discussion about Gramps, the longer she had to try to think up an alternative to Karen's plan.
With Murray's help, the herd was easily turned off the trail into the corral. "I'll cut out mine first," Adam directed as he rode into the opening. "Open the gate when I say 'Out.' Okay?"
"Got it," she replied, tying Paca a short distance from the rail gate. The cattle quickly bunched near the other end, facing Adam. He placed his hands near the saddle horn and focused on a cow to cut from the bunch. At an unseen signal, his bay proceed to wheel and turn, separating the animal from the rest and forcing it over to the gate. Murray joined in to help his master, moving the cattle as directed. At Adam's call Jo dropped the bar, let her through, then replaced it.
It was impressive to watch as horse and rider moved as one, with a fluid grace—a balanced, athletic piece of work, the nearest to dancing that a cow pony could come. Jo watched with a mixture of admiration and envy.
Adam cut out his own bull last and started him up the trail along with his cattle. Finished, he dismounted and loosened the cinch to give his horse a breather.
Jo walked over to stroke the bay's wet neck. "Did you train him yourself, Adam." He nodded. "You did a good job. Have you entered any competition?"
"Not lately. I took Rocket to some of the rodeos when he was six years old, but never placed very high. I don't have the time to keep his training up, plus you wear out too many steers that way...run off all their weight."
He opened his canteen, wiped its mouth and handed it to her. "Let's take a break. We need to discuss how we're going to get around Gramps."
Jo felt her heart sink. She had been quietly dreading this all morning. What would Adam want to do? She did not have any bright ideas, and her grandfather's health depended upon how carefully they handled this.
"Sure." She wished she felt as confident as she sounded.
She finished her drink, feeling the water cleanse the dust from her nose and throat. Handing it back, she watched as he drank, the long column of his throat as imposing as any Greek statue's. And as attractive, at least to her.
"That tasted good," she remarked, toeing the dirt.
"Artesian water. I'll show you my spring some day." Adam led the way over to a nearby log, sat down and motioned her to join him. He looked prepared to wait all day for her to comply, so she sat where he pointed, next to him, her boots looking ridiculously small stretched out beside his big ones. Both pairs were dusty and dark with horse sweat, his more than hers.
Murray lay down in front of them, his head on his front paws, eyes focused attentively on their faces. Flies droned in the shady stillness accompanying the shuffling of the horses as they stamped a foot or swished their tails.
Jo plucked a piece of grass to chew on, to hide her nervousness. She thought better when she was not so close to this unpredictable man. What did Adam have in mind?
Adam spoke slowly, carefully, his deep voice softly emphasizing each word. "To put it mildly, I was rather
"Not so."
"You're letting a cow get away," she pointed out, thankful to bring the conversation to an end.
"But not you," he shot back as he lifted the bay horse into a gallop.
He'd had the last word, but at least she'd been able to give and take intelligently. Maybe she'd be able to handle him this summer, after all.
Jo frowned down at her old cotton T-shirt. It was a pale blue — comfortable, pretty. A tight fit, but she'd worn tighter. She wore them because a new shirt always seemed to get snagged when out handling cattle. Between barbed wire and thorn bushes, clothes took a beating.
"Hey-up," she yelled at a straggler, who took a few trotting steps and slowed down again. They were near the corral and Paca reached out to give the cow a quick nip on the buttocks to hurry it up.
Jo pulled her back. She didn't want to hurry. The longer she could put off their discussion about Gramps, the longer she had to try to think up an alternative to Karen's plan.
With Murray's help, the herd was easily turned off the trail into the corral. "I'll cut out mine first," Adam directed as he rode into the opening. "Open the gate when I say 'Out.' Okay?"
"Got it," she replied, tying Paca a short distance from the rail gate. The cattle quickly bunched near the other end, facing Adam. He placed his hands near the saddle horn and focused on a cow to cut from the bunch. At an unseen signal, his bay proceed to wheel and turn, separating the animal from the rest and forcing it over to the gate. Murray joined in to help his master, moving the cattle as directed. At Adam's call Jo dropped the bar, let her through, then replaced it.
It was impressive to watch as horse and rider moved as one, with a fluid grace—a balanced, athletic piece of work, the nearest to dancing that a cow pony could come. Jo watched with a mixture of admiration and envy.
Adam cut out his own bull last and started him up the trail along with his cattle. Finished, he dismounted and loosened the cinch to give his horse a breather.
Jo walked over to stroke the bay's wet neck. "Did you train him yourself, Adam." He nodded. "You did a good job. Have you entered any competition?"
"Not lately. I took Rocket to some of the rodeos when he was six years old, but never placed very high. I don't have the time to keep his training up, plus you wear out too many steers that way...run off all their weight."
He opened his canteen, wiped its mouth and handed it to her. "Let's take a break. We need to discuss how we're going to get around Gramps."
Jo felt her heart sink. She had been quietly dreading this all morning. What would Adam want to do? She did not have any bright ideas, and her grandfather's health depended upon how carefully they handled this.
"Sure." She wished she felt as confident as she sounded.
She finished her drink, feeling the water cleanse the dust from her nose and throat. Handing it back, she watched as he drank, the long column of his throat as imposing as any Greek statue's. And as attractive, at least to her.
"That tasted good," she remarked, toeing the dirt.
"Artesian water. I'll show you my spring some day." Adam led the way over to a nearby log, sat down and motioned her to join him. He looked prepared to wait all day for her to comply, so she sat where he pointed, next to him, her boots looking ridiculously small stretched out beside his big ones. Both pairs were dusty and dark with horse sweat, his more than hers.
Murray lay down in front of them, his head on his front paws, eyes focused attentively on their faces. Flies droned in the shady stillness accompanying the shuffling of the horses as they stamped a foot or swished their tails.
Jo plucked a piece of grass to chew on, to hide her nervousness. She thought better when she was not so close to this unpredictable man. What did Adam have in mind?
Adam spoke slowly, carefully, his deep voice softly emphasizing each word. "To put it mildly, I was rather
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