The Forever Man(48)

Johanna held the rope, Timmy reaching up to grasp the end of it, his  face glowing. Together they watched as Tate instructed Pete in the  holding of the reins and the movement of them to one side or the other.

"I'm going to let you go in a circle around me, Pete." Tate took the  lead from Johanna's hand and motioned her to stand closer to the barn.

She watched as Tate moved out across the yard, feeding the rope through  his fingers, controlling each movement of boy and mare with softly  spoken words of instruction. The sun shone with brilliant splendor on  the scene before her, and the sky was so blue it seemed to stretch  farther than her mind could fathom.

It was a moment of perfection, a space in time to be cherished in  memory, and she watched as if mesmerized, as if compelled by the grace  and strength of man and beast, the youthful beauty of the child, his  face shining with the joy of this moment.

"Miss Johanna? When does it get to be your turn?" Timmy tugged at her hand, his small face earnest as he peered up at her.

Johanna smiled at the boy's query. "Not today, sweetie. One at a time is enough for your father to handle."

"I heard that, Jo," Tate called out. Wrapping the rope into a coil, he  drew the mare in a tighter circle, finally reaching to grasp the bridle  and bringing her to a halt. "When you want her to stop, you must pull  back gently on the reins, Pete, and say, 'Whoa.'"

Pete nodded, his look solemn; he was quite taken with the responsibility he'd gained today.

"I'm going to let you slide down now, and then we'll let Johanna have a  turn." Tate watched as the boy easily gained the ground and took a  tottering step.

"My legs feel funny, Pa." Pete frowned and then grinned as he gained his balance. "I feel like I'm still up there."

Timmy was tugging at Johanna's hand. "I knew it would be your turn next," he chortled. "Come on, Miss Johanna!"

She dragged her feet, unwilling to be exposed as less than courageous.  "Pete's young and spry, Tate. I think I'm a little old to be learning  how to ride," she protested.

His look was sober. "You might need to ride someday, Jo. I can't believe  your father never put you up on a horse when you were a child. Besides,  you might enjoy it once you get the hang of things. I'll give you a  hand up."

She frowned, looking down at her dress. "I'm not sure this will work."

"Trust me." His hand was beckoning, his nod urging her compliance. And  then he hesitated, his mouth twisting, his eyes measuring, as if he had  reconsidered.

Now that the prospect of sitting astride the animal was upon her, the  chestnut mare had assumed gigantic proportions, and Johanna swallowed a  moment's terror, determined not to appear a coward before her audience.  "How do we do this?"

"Maybe … maybe we won't, just now," Tate said slowly. Taking a chance with  Johanna wouldn't be a smart move, he thought. There was no sense in  courting trouble, should she truly be carrying a child. "We'll let you  have a turn another time, Jo," he said glibly.

"All right." She backed off, relieved not to be tested today. "Another time."

"Is it my turn, Pa?" Timmy clambered from his spot by the barn door. He  was bouncing on his toes as he watched, and Tate took pity on his  impatience.

"Now it's your turn, Timmy. Come on over here and talk to the mare."  Tate pulled the animal's head down, closer to the boy's level, and the  child approached.                       
       
           



       

"She likes me, doesn't she, Pa?" he asked, his eyes round, as he reached to pat the patient creature.

"Sure she does," Tate assured him. "Now let me lift you up on the  saddle, and then I'll get on behind you." He unfastened the lead rope  and tossed it to Johanna, then, with an easy motion, swung from the  ground, mounting the mare and lifting Timmy to sit on his thighs. One  arm around the boy's waist, the other hand on the reins, he turned the  mare in a tight circle and headed down the lane toward the road, his  feet hanging free, the stirrups too high for him to use.

"Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Lookit me, Miss Johanna!" Timmy's cry of triumph  resounded, and Johanna laughed aloud as she shared his enjoyment.

Pete sidled up next to her. "I'll be able to ride by myself pretty soon, won't I?"

"I'm sure you will," she assured him, one hand rising to rest on his  shoulder. "I wouldn't be a bit surprised if your father doesn't put you  back up on the mare when he comes back from taking Timmy for a ride. He  said he was going to work with you for a while."

"I was thinking we need to have a name for her. It'd be easier when I'm  riding her if I knew what to call her, don't you think?" Pete's small  face was screwed up with concern as he voiced his thoughts.

"Why don't you and Timmy talk about it after a while? I think your  father would like you to name her," Johanna said, hoping silently that  Tate would agree with her.

"Yeah, we could do that!" Pete agreed, his enthusiasm doubling as he  watched the mare turn around and head back in his direction. "I'll bet  it'll be my turn again now."

Johanna dared to squeeze her fingers gently against the boy's shoulder,  and then lifted her hand to smooth his hair, her fingers relishing the  dark, silken locks that were so much like his father's. She met Tate's  gaze as he brought the mare to a stop before her, and her eyes delivered  a silent message even as she spoke.

"Pete's probably ready for a longer lesson, if you've got time." Agree with me, her eyes told him.

"I planned on it, as a matter of fact," Tate said smoothly. "We've got  all afternoon. I thought maybe I'd put a bridle on the bay later on and  ride with Pete. I used to be pretty good riding bareback when I was a  kid."

The song of a robin caught her ear as Johanna headed for the house, and  she lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sun's rays, searching  the sky for the bird.

"Over by the house, in the maple tree," Tate said, pointing high to  where a solitary bird perched on a bare branch. "He's calling his mate."

"How can you tell, Pa?" Pete asked, peering to where his father pointed.

Tate shrugged. "I know the words to that song, son." And then, with a  final glance at Johanna, whose mouth was resisting the urge to curve in a  smile, he lifted the boy into the saddle once more.





"It was a good day, wasn't it, Jo?" In his usual position, Tate cradled  his head on his open palms, looking up at the bedroom ceiling as his  wife undressed for bed. Had she not been behind the screen, he'd have  been watching her. As it was, he was depending on his memory to provide  the details his mind could only imagine.

"Yes. Pete was still working on a name when you sent him to bed." Her  voice was muffled beneath layers of fabric as she lifted her skirts over  her head, and Tate grinned to himself, imagining the maneuvering she  was doing behind the screen.

"I'd be glad to help you with that if you came over here," he offered.

"I can manage, thank you. I've been undressing by myself for twenty-six  years now." She tossed the dress over the top of the screen, the arms  dangling in his view.

"Your nightgown's out here, Jo." He'd filched it from the hook on the  wall before he crawled into bed, concealing it beneath the covers, and  now he dragged it from hiding.

She peeked around the corner of the screen, shoulders bare except for  the narrow straps of her chemise. Her brow furrowed in a frown as she  eyed the garment he held. "I thought I'd left it here." And then she  glanced down at herself quickly, apparently deeming her attire fit for  his viewing. She stepped from the concealment of the screen and  approached him, her hand outstretched.                       
       
           



       

He sat up in bed, holding the gown from her grasp, his eyes making a  slow survey of her form, from the drawers that were tied below her knees  to the chemise that provided a scant covering of her upper body.  "You're a fine figure of a woman, Mrs. Montgomery," he told her with  unmistakable candor.

She blushed, evading his gaze, snatching for the gown he taunted her with.

But it was not to be. His hand reached out, grasping her arm and tugging  at her with a steady pull, bringing her to the side of the bed.

"Tate!" It was a warning, half in jest, half in earnest, and her head tilted to one side as she offered it.

"I don't think you need this nightgown tonight, Mrs. Montgomery." The  object in question fell to the floor, and his free hand rose to loosen  the tie at her waist, allowing the drawers to fall to her hips.