High Country Bride by Linda Lael Miller Page B

those things. If she was ever to amount to anything as a ranch wife, she had to be able to c with any emergency.
    Rafe stayed close when they crossed the creek—Emmeline’s feet were already numb with cold—then rode ahead. She persisted, and he wheeled around to ride beside her again. “You’re acting like a damn fool!” he yelled over the downpour. “People get struck by lightning storms like this—-they get themselves thrown from their horses and hit their heads on rocks—they drown in flash floods!”
    “Exactly why we need to find Concepcion!” she cried in reply, sputtering as the wind buffeted her face, stopping her breath.
    “Hell!” Rafe roared. Then, before Emmeline knew what was happening, he leaned over, hooked an arm around her waist, and dragged her off Banjo, settling her behind him on his horse. Deftly, he removed Banjo’s bridle, gave the animal a light swat on the flank, and sent her racing back to the barn. “At least she’s got some sense!” he shouted.“Hold on, damm it!”
    With a motion of his heels, he set the gelding in motion again, and Emmeline was forced to cling for dear life. She reached around his middle and took handfuls of his coat, then buried her face in the slight hollow between his shoulder blades. The ride was a rough one, wet and cold and slippery, but when the overturned buggy came in sight, just ahead, Emmeline was glad she’d come along. Concepcion had unhitched the horse, and the two of them, woman and beast, stood shivering beneath an overhang of rocks.
    Rafe was down off his horse in an instant, while Emmeline followed more slowly. She was stiff, and the balls of her feet ached mightily when she walked, causing her to limp a little.
    “He’s lame,” Emmeline heard Concepcion tell Rafe, as she stroked the animal’s muzzle.
    “What about you?” Rafe shouted over the driving rain. “Are you all right?”
    Concepcion nodded. “Just feeling a little stupid,” she confessed.
    Rafe gave her a look designed to convey his opinion of females who didn’t have the sense to stay out of the rain, but said nothing. He checked the buggy horse, an ancient dappled gray, and then straightened. “He’s sound enough to carry Emmeline,” he said to Concepcion.“You can ride back with me.”
    “What about the buggy?” Concepcion asked. “Are we just going to leave it out here?”
    “Yes,”Rafe said, giving the rig a cursory inspection.“The axle is broken. I’ll come back for it when this lets up.”
    He hoisted Concepcion onto the gelding’s back and, with even less ceremony, flung Emmeline up onto the gray. The muscles in her thighs screamed in protest, but she didn’t make a sound. During the brief moment when her gaze locked with Rafe’s, the two of them sparked lightning of their own.
    Emmeline jutted out her chin.
    The return trip was necessarily slower than the ride out had been, due to the dappled gray’s injured foot, and once or twice, from beneath the brim of her bonnet, Concepcion looked back at Emmeline, a troubled expression in her eyes.
    Reaching the ranch house, Rafe deposited the women near the back door, then rode off to the barn, the gray plodding along behind him.
    “What happened?” Emmeline asked, when she and Concepcion were safe, if not yet warm, in the welcoming kitn. It was obvious that there had been a mishap of some sort, but she wanted details.
    Concepcion added wood to the fire in the stove, stoked the blaze with a poker, then nodded toward the back stairs. “We’d both better change out of these wet clothes before we do any talking,” she said.
    They retreated to their rooms, returning minutes later, wearing their warmest dresses. Emmeline huddled close to the stove, blotting at her wet hair with a towel, while Concepcion brewed tea.
    Concepcion sighed as she measured fragrant leaves into a pot. “You should have stayed here, Emmeline,” she said.“It’s dangerous out there.”
    “I could say the same to you,” Emmeline