Head in the Clouds by Karen Witemeyer Page A

lightweight English saddle he was raised on for pleasure rides even though he had adopted the Western saddle for ranch work. The bulky thing was unwieldy, but he couldn’t dispute its practicality.
    Like most aspects of his life since coming to this country, he had learned to blend tradition with utility. That blend was reflected in his stables, as well. He kept a Thoroughbred or two for prestige and the occasional country race, but his mount of choice for the range was Solomon. The bay gelding was surefooted in the rough terrain and as wise as his namesake, although there was something humorously ironic about a gelding being named after a man with seven hundred wives. But the horse’s intelligence couldn’t be denied. Solomon’s instincts had spared Gideon trouble on more than one occasion when predators or foul weather had caught him unaware. At times, he would even swear the horse could sniff out sheep that had gone missing from the flock.
    Gideon finished buckling the girth and swung up into the saddle. He patted the horse’s neck with a firm hand and bent forward to place his mouth close to the animal’s ear.
    “Ready to run, boy?”
    Solomon answered by dancing around in a circle. Gideon grinned in anticipation and tightened his grip on the reins. He touched his heels to the bay’s flanks and Solomon lunged forward. Moving as one, man and horse raced toward the river.
    Fading pink clouds stretched across the sky as Gideon galloped over rolling grassland, skirting the shadows cast by occasional oak trees. Cool wind rushed past his face, invigorating him and raising his spirits. It had been too long since he’d last taken the time to privately commune with the Lord. His habit of reading Scripture daily during those long months on the trail had slipped into disuse as he’d busied himself with setting up a new household. However, when Miss Proctor noted the old Bible in his study yesterday, it had awakened a thirst in him to reestablish the pattern.
    Gideon reined Solomon in as he neared the top of the knoll that overlooked the San Saba River. He loved this spot. The water streamed by at a gentle pace, pecan trees lined the bank, and across the river his land extended for miles in waves of beauty that only an owner full of dreams for the future could appreciate.
    A flash of pale yellow off to his right dragged his attention away from the vista before him to a woman’s skirt quivering on the breeze. He turned. Now, there was a beauty any man could appreciate. Delicate features, thick chestnut hair, and eyes that reminded him of the river on a spring day, blue-green with a sunkissed sparkle.
    What am I thinking? He spun away from her and focused in the opposite direction. The woman was his daughter’s governess, not some society miss ripe for a flirtation.
    Gideon stood up a bit in the stirrups, stretching his legs and considering his options. Should he leave? He stole a glance back toward the river. Miss Proctor sat a few feet away, propped against the trunk of a pecan tree with her legs drawn up to her chest. A book lay balanced precariously atop her knees while she gazed into the distance. She didn’t seem to have noticed him. He might still escape without detection. Yet if she noticed him as he was riding away, he’d look like a tactless boor.
    And a gentleman never acted the part of a boor. No matter how tempted.
    Blowing out a resigned breath, Gideon dismounted and left Solomon to graze. “Good morning, Miss Proctor.”
    She swiveled toward him, the book on her knees tumbling into the folds of her skirt.
    He favored her with one of the famous Westcott smiles. “I hadn’t expected to encounter you out here this morning.”
    “Mr. Westcott!” Her eyes widened, as if she’d been caught nabbing the silver. “Mrs. Garrett said she would see to Isabella’s breakfast if she awakened before I returned, but if you’d prefer I be there, I’ll certainly …” Her sentence faded away as she grabbed her book