Six White Horses (16 page)

She considered her arguments to be based on sound logic, but she had forgotten her grandfather was just as stubborn as she was, especially if he believed he was right. For the next thirty-six hours he kept up a subtle barrage of comments, chiseling patiently away at her adamant stand until Patty toppled and agreed.

On Thursday morning, she was at the breakfast table, dressed in a summery cotton dress of sunny yellow, trying to convince herself that she had worn it because she was going into the city and not because she wanted to impress Morgan with her feminine curves that the dress showed off so well.

Patty even took pains to avoid his glance, in case he commented on her appearance, a decided change from her usual Levi's and top. But Morgan was unusually silent, barely speaking at all during the morning meal.

Not until they were walking from the house to the ranch's station wagon did he address a remark directly to her. "I didn't think you were going to come," he said with casual interest.

Patty glanced at her grandfather, several steps in front of them, a poisonous dart in the look as she guessed he had mentioned her initial refusal.

"Neither did I," she retorted.

"Your grandfather made me promise to be on my best behavior."

Flushing self-consciously, she kept her gaze downcast. She didn't want to make any reply, but she knew she had to, for pride's sake.

"And are you?"

"Going to be on my best behavior?" he finished the question, turning his dark head to look at her. Shrugging, he answered, "It's going to be difficult."

"It's not so difficult," Patty said, keeping her gaze fixed on the car, refusing to let it waver to the compelling man at her side. "We can simply ignore each other."

"It's not easy to ignore you."

His softly spoken reply drew her gaze like a magnet. Something in his voice insisted that she look at him. A slow, lazy smile was spreading across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. Patty caught at her breath, very nearly running back to the house before the pull of his charm became irresistible. She wished her grandfather had never extracted that promise from him. She would rather have endured Morgan's mocking insults than be exposed to this potent and compromising friendliness.

"I don't find it difficult to ignore you," she declared cuttingly, sharply averting her gaze.

"I've noticed that—at times," Morgan agreed dryly, placing significant emphasis on the qualifying "at times."

Yes, there had been times when his touch and kiss had obliterated all thought of anyone or anything else. The silent acknowledgment was accompanied by a betraying warmth rising in her neck. Patty quickened her steps to give herself time to control the revealing blush free of his inspecting eye.

Her grandfather was holding the door to the back seat of the station wagon open for her and Patty slipped quickly in. She made a pretense of adjusting the flared skirt of her dress as the driver's door opened.

"There's plenty of room in the front, Patty." Silent laughter ran through Morgan's voice. "You don't have to sit back there by yourself."

In the front seat, Patty knew she would be placed in the middle between the two men, in constant physical contact with Morgan for the whole of the ride to Oklahoma City.

"I'm perfectly comfortable here, thank you," she insisted, putting a chill in her voice that Morgan couldn't overlook.

"Suit yourself," he shrugged, and slid behind the wheel.

Her heart sank as the car was started and driven away from the house around the circular drive and down the lane to the highway. She was miserable. The last thing she wanted to do was to be snappish and standoffish, but it was the only way she knew to keep Morgan at a distance. Not that the wanted to be any closer; she was the one who wanted that.

Forcing her attention away from the dark, curling black head in front of her, she tried to concentrate on the undulating hills with their green dots of trees. In some ways, the landscape of the ranch was reminiscent of her own home in New Mexico. Patty would have liked to explore it on horseback, but it was better that she wasn't too familiar with Morgan's home. Better for her peace of mind, at least.

How long would it be before Morgan returned to the rodeo circuit, she wondered. Initially his statement had been that he was going to take a two-week rest. That was more than half gone. He had removed the sling three days ago, although his shoulder still wasn't capable of heavy work.

When he was gone, then what? She and her grandfather were supposed to stay another two months more or less. Thus far, Patty had been subjected to a minimum of stories from Morgan's parents about his childhood days. He was their son. It was natural for them to talk about him. What a mistake it had been to come here, Patty thought dejectedly.

Nervously nibbling at her lower lip, she caught the movement of Morgan's head as he half turned it toward her, revealing his strong, jutting profile, powerfully carved and rugged. His blue gaze left the road in front of them long enough to flick briefly at her.

"What do you know about Oklahoma?" he asked.

"The usual," Patty shrugged, watching the traffic zooming along the expressway.

"There are quite a few interesting places to visit within easy distance of the ranch. You and Everett should do some exploring while you're here."

"We might do that," she agreed tautly.

"To the east of Ardmore is a small town called Tishomingo. It's the site of a major wildlife refuge and the headquarters of one of the Five Civilized Nations," suggested Morgan.

"Indian tribes?" she queried, biting her lip the instant the question was out, wishing she had let the conversation die its own death.

"Yes, Indian tribes," he replied with patient humor. "The Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Creek and Seminole Indians are known as the Five Civilized Nations. I'm sure you're aware that Oklahoma was originally the Indian Territory. Originally, sixty-seven tribes were transported to reservations here. But a lot of the credit for the development of the Indian Territory into the State of Oklahoma belongs to the Five Civilized Nations. When they arrived, they brought with them an advanced system of education and a complex tribal organization and government as well as Christianity. It was their leadership that truly organized the Indian Territory."

"I didn't know that," Patty murmured, her tone self-conscious.

"The first newspaper in Oklahoma was the Cherokee Advocate, published in Tahlequah, Oklahoma, the capital of the Cherokee Nation."

The expressway on which they were traveling began to climb into the Arbuckle Mountains, monoliths that were weathered and rounded by time, sand-colored rocks thrust out here and there or exposed in sheer cliffs where the concrete road carved its way through.

Morgan pointed out the exit to Turner Falls, explaining that there were two large swimming areas near the base of the famous waterfall as well as a campground and picnic facilities. On the north side of the Arbuckles were the rolling flatlands.

"Pauls Valley," Morgan identified the town they were approaching. "The last Saturday in June the World Championship Watermelon Seed Spitting contest is held here."

In spite of herself, Patty smiled, carving dimples in her cheeks. Morgan caught the brief look she darted at his reflection in the rearview mirror, a suggestion of an encouraging smile around his mouth. He was arousing her interest and he knew it. She had the distinct feeling that he was determined that she enjoy the trip, although she didn't know why he should care.

"I'm not boring you with my trivia, am I?" he asked.

There was a slight negative movement of her head. "No," she responded.

"I know gramps coerced you into this trip." Morgan darted a look at the older man who was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. "Since you
are gallantly tolerating my company, I thought the least I could do was to be as informative as I could."

He had read her thoughts again and was gently, and mockingly, letting her know that he had. As long as he didn't read any more than that, Patty didn't mind.

"I thought there was a purpose behind your history lesson," she replied.

"If you want to go back in history," he said, checking for traffic before edging into the passing lane to go by a slow-moving truck, "then you should visit the Heavener Runestone State Park in eastern Oklahoma."

"What's that?" her grandfather asked, Morgan's glance ending his self-imposed silence.

"More than four hundred years before Columbus supposedly discovered America, some Norse explorers traveled through that section of the state and marked their passage by carving runes, characters from their runic alphabet, onto a stone."

During the rest of the trip into Oklahoma City, Morgan told them about the cattle trails that had crossed the state, the Chisholm and the Western Trails and the Butterfield Overland Southern Mail. He talked about the government land rushes that opened the Indian lands to homesteaders.

Then they crossed the bridge over the Canadian River, skirted Norman, Oklahoma, and entered the city limits of Oklahoma City. Leaving the expressway, Morgan took a route through the city streets to the state capitol grounds. As the domeless capitol building came into view, he glanced in the mirror at Patty's reflection.

"The only state capitol in the world with an oil well underneath it," he smiled.

His statement was unnecessary. The steel derrick almost directly in front of the columned portico entrance to the gray stone structure spoke for itself. More derricks were dotted throughout the capitol grounds, straddling pumps that monotonously bobbed their heads up and down to extract the precious oil from beneath the surface.

At the north edge of the city, Morgan drew their attention to a hill looking over the downtown section. He turned onto the street that lay at its base. The white peaks of a roofed structure were visible on the top of the hill, along with flags snapping in the wind.

"That is Persimmon Hill and the National Cowboy Hall of Fame on top of it. One of the branches of the Chisholm Trail used to run along the foot of the hill," Morgan explained. From the street at the base, he turned onto a side street and onto another that climbed the mountain. "The flag esplanade on the side displays the flags of the seventeen Western states that built and sponsored this national memorial to the cowboy, as well as the United States flag."

Bypassing the parking area, he drove close to the walk leading to the entrance and stopped. Patty was halfway out of the car when the hand she placed on the opened door for balance was taken by Morgan. She found herself trapped in a triangle, the car, the door and a set of broad shoulders forming the three sides.

For a paralyzing instant, she stood immobile, her head tilted back, her brown eyes staring into his impassive face. Mockery glinted in the blue depths of his eyes, sootily outlined with dark lashes. Morgan made no move to let her pass, while her heart hammered like the trapped bird she was.

"Well?" A brow arched complacently.

"Well what?" Patty frowned.

"Did I keep my promise or not?"

"What promise?" She was too disturbed by his nearness to think straight.

"That I'd be on my best behavior." He ran a dancing eye over her.

Her tongue moved nervously over her suddenly parched lips. She regretted the stalling gesture immediately as Morgan's attention shifted to her lips. Her senses quivered in response, but the deliciously pleasant reaction was not one that she wanted to feet.

"Yes, I suppose you were," she murmured, wondering if he noticed the slight breathiness in her voice.

"You don't sound certain."

"The trip isn't over yet." Her response was meant to come out cold and sharp, instead it was weak and apprehensive.

"What are you afraid of, Skinny?" he asked thoughtfully.
 

She gained a hold on her composure and gripped it tightly. "That's absurd. I'm not afraid of anything. Now let me pass."

"Something is troubling you. It's there in your eyes." His gaze narrowed, trying to pierce through her fragile mask of pride. "What is it? An attack of melancholy? Or homesickness?"

"Maybe I'm simply tired of fencing words with you." Despite the pressure of his fingers, she yanked her hand free of his. "I'm entitled to the privacy of my thoughts and I certainly don't intend to confide them to you."

"I do make you angry, don't I?' Morgan smiled.

"Yes, you do!" Patty glared. "I think you enjoy making me lose my temper."

"It's better than seeing you wasting your time mooning over Lije Masters," he shrugged complacently, and stepped to one side.

"I don't want to hear you say his name again!" she flashed.

"When are you going to get over that ridiculous infatuation?"

I am over it, Patty wanted to shout. But of course she couldn't. He might ask how and why. And the answers to those two questions were all tied up with her feelings for him.

"I've told you before," she said instead, "that I wish Lije all the happiness in the world. What more do you want?"

"It's not what I want that counts. It's what you want," countered Morgan.

"At the moment all I want is to tour the Cowboy Hall of Fame," Patty snapped.