loaded up and ready to go," her grandfather announced as he locked the trailer gate in place.
"Do you want me to lead the way or follow?" she asked.
"You'd better follow me for a while until we see for sure how the horses are going to do. When we get to the Oklahoma border, you can take the lead."
"You go ahead and start out. I'll catch up," Patty said after nodding in agreement.
"You aren't still mad at me, are you?"
"I'm not mad at you," she frowned.
"You've been so quiet all week I thought you were upset because I'd accepted Morgan's offer. I only did what I thought was best."
"I know that, grandpa," she smiled, letting her dimples come into play. "And I couldn't be holding any grudges or I wouldn't be going along. But you knew that all the time."
"It makes me feel better to hear you say it," he smiled in return. "Now, we'd better get on the road or we'll be traveling all day."
After a jaunty salute in her direction, Everett King climbed agilely into the cab of the pickup and started the motor. Waving her own goodbye, Patty set out for her pickup and the travel trailer parked some distance away. Her grandfather was pulling out of the rodeo grounds gate as she neared hers.
Blinking uncertainly, Patty looked again toward the passenger side of her truck. There was the crown of an ivory Stetson hat level with the window. Someone had evidently decided to hitch a ride. Her mouth smoothed into a firm, angry line as her long legs carried her to the passenger door.
"Get out of there!" she ordered, and yanked the door open at the same time.
There was a startled curse of pain as the man who had been leaning against the door nearly fell out, caught himself with a hand on the door, and straightened back into an upright position in the seat.
"For God's sake, you could be more careful!" Morgan Kincaid growled. "I could have broken my neck when you pulled the door open that way!"
Patty's mouth opened in surprise as she stared into his blazing blue eyes and the stern, forbidding frown beneath the wayward strands of black hair.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded when she had recovered her speech.
"I could ask you the same question," he retorted. "I thought your grandfather always drove the truck pulling the travel trailer."
"He changed this time so he could keep a closer watch on the horses," she answered instinctively, forgetting for a moment that he had not answered her question.
He turned in the seat to face her with painstaking slowness. "You could have checked to see who was in here before nearly killing them," he muttered angrily.
It was only when he had completed the turn that Patty saw his left arm was in a sling. Her anger and surprise evaporated into curiosity and concern.
"What's happened to your arm?"
"I dislocated my shoulder. And damned near did it again when you tried to send me sprawling on the ground!" Morgan retorted, "Who did you think was in here, anyway?"
"I supposed it was a hitchhiker," Patty defended herself. "How was I supposed to know it was you?" Suspicion loomed to the front. "Did grandpa know you were going to be here?"
"Of course he didn't?" Morgan snapped. "If he had I would have known which truck he was pulling now, wouldn't I?"
"Then what are you doing here?"
His mouth moved into a cold, exasperated smile. "I wanted a ride home and I knew that was where you were going." With his good hand, he lifted his slinged arm slightly. "I can't drive very well with this."
"How did it happen?" Her train of thought reverted back to his injury.
"Snowball went through the fence. I was, unfortunately, on the other side," Morgan replied tautly.
Snowball, Patty knew, was one of the rodeo bulls, renowned for his complete lack of respect for the height or thickness of any fence if he chose to be on the opposite side. He was a Brahman cross, but an extremely mild-tempered beast unless he got a notion in his mind to wander.
"What happened to Snowball?"
There was a suggestion of amusement in
"Do you want me to lead the way or follow?" she asked.
"You'd better follow me for a while until we see for sure how the horses are going to do. When we get to the Oklahoma border, you can take the lead."
"You go ahead and start out. I'll catch up," Patty said after nodding in agreement.
"You aren't still mad at me, are you?"
"I'm not mad at you," she frowned.
"You've been so quiet all week I thought you were upset because I'd accepted Morgan's offer. I only did what I thought was best."
"I know that, grandpa," she smiled, letting her dimples come into play. "And I couldn't be holding any grudges or I wouldn't be going along. But you knew that all the time."
"It makes me feel better to hear you say it," he smiled in return. "Now, we'd better get on the road or we'll be traveling all day."
After a jaunty salute in her direction, Everett King climbed agilely into the cab of the pickup and started the motor. Waving her own goodbye, Patty set out for her pickup and the travel trailer parked some distance away. Her grandfather was pulling out of the rodeo grounds gate as she neared hers.
Blinking uncertainly, Patty looked again toward the passenger side of her truck. There was the crown of an ivory Stetson hat level with the window. Someone had evidently decided to hitch a ride. Her mouth smoothed into a firm, angry line as her long legs carried her to the passenger door.
"Get out of there!" she ordered, and yanked the door open at the same time.
There was a startled curse of pain as the man who had been leaning against the door nearly fell out, caught himself with a hand on the door, and straightened back into an upright position in the seat.
"For God's sake, you could be more careful!" Morgan Kincaid growled. "I could have broken my neck when you pulled the door open that way!"
Patty's mouth opened in surprise as she stared into his blazing blue eyes and the stern, forbidding frown beneath the wayward strands of black hair.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded when she had recovered her speech.
"I could ask you the same question," he retorted. "I thought your grandfather always drove the truck pulling the travel trailer."
"He changed this time so he could keep a closer watch on the horses," she answered instinctively, forgetting for a moment that he had not answered her question.
He turned in the seat to face her with painstaking slowness. "You could have checked to see who was in here before nearly killing them," he muttered angrily.
It was only when he had completed the turn that Patty saw his left arm was in a sling. Her anger and surprise evaporated into curiosity and concern.
"What's happened to your arm?"
"I dislocated my shoulder. And damned near did it again when you tried to send me sprawling on the ground!" Morgan retorted, "Who did you think was in here, anyway?"
"I supposed it was a hitchhiker," Patty defended herself. "How was I supposed to know it was you?" Suspicion loomed to the front. "Did grandpa know you were going to be here?"
"Of course he didn't?" Morgan snapped. "If he had I would have known which truck he was pulling now, wouldn't I?"
"Then what are you doing here?"
His mouth moved into a cold, exasperated smile. "I wanted a ride home and I knew that was where you were going." With his good hand, he lifted his slinged arm slightly. "I can't drive very well with this."
"How did it happen?" Her train of thought reverted back to his injury.
"Snowball went through the fence. I was, unfortunately, on the other side," Morgan replied tautly.
Snowball, Patty knew, was one of the rodeo bulls, renowned for his complete lack of respect for the height or thickness of any fence if he chose to be on the opposite side. He was a Brahman cross, but an extremely mild-tempered beast unless he got a notion in his mind to wander.
"What happened to Snowball?"
There was a suggestion of amusement in
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