Intruder Alert

Mirabella sprawled naked in the meadow’s tall grass and let the sun warm her long limbs. She had no fears of discovery here in the mountain solitude, not by humans, shifters or anything else. Here she could relax and be her other self.

A short distance away the band of saddle horses grazed, equally unconcerned. They’d been wary of her when she’d first approached them, a horse that moved just a fraction off true and smelled of shifter to boot. At first she’d simply trailed the herd and used them for camouflage. In time their boss mare, Ripley, had accepted her—perhaps not fully as one of them, but at least as a guest. At any rate, the mare hadn’t driven her off, and Mirabella had been able to hide herself with the herd.

There’d been some tense moments when Merry, the dude ranch owner, had ridden up to the mountain pasture to collect fresh horses for her guests and found the strange roan mare among her stock. Mirabella stood still and held her breath and let Merry check her over for a brand or inner-lip tattoo or implanted ID chips. Of course she knew Merry wasn’t going to find any, let alone an owner. Those intent on recovering Mirabella were looking for a runaway woman, not a missing horse. Thank Epona she’d never disclosed her shifter nature to Wells!

The roan mare had a fiery temper but took kindly to inexperienced riders, especially young, nervous girls. For them she demonstrated unexpected patience. When an owner didn’t turn up, Merry shrugged and added the new saddle horse to her herd and put her to work. She was just what a rider with little confidence needed, a feisty but affectionate mount that would do as told and not try to buck them off. Merry had named the “mare” Vasquez. Mirabella had no idea why. Merry was a big film fan, so Mirabella assumed it must be some kind of movie reference.

Since then neither Wells nor any of his men had ever come to the ranch. She’d reached the point where she felt free enough to shift back to her human form, but only here in the isolated hills. The band, even vigilant Ripley and her stallion partner Hicks, were used to her now and didn’t even spook when a human suddenly appeared in their midst from time to time.

Only one threat to her safety remained: Merry’s boyfriend, Dash. He was also a horse shifter. Dash knew the difference between a real horse and one trying to pass. So far he hadn’t betrayed her. Was he looking for the perfect moment to strike? Or waiting for her to make her own choice to come clean?

If the latter, he had a long wait ahead of him. What had begun of necessity had turned into a pleasant existence for Mirabella. Rich grass, open skies, the protection of others who were sort of her kind and, above all, freedom. If it meant giving up her human self for long stretches, she was willing to live with the cost. Being a woman hadn’t paid off for her nearly as well as being a horse.

She rolled over onto her stomach and kicked her legs lazily in the air. The rest of the herd had drifted downslope, all but the Duke. The big, blaze-faced Clydesdale had gotten too old to pull hay wagons, so Merry turned him loose to enjoy retirement in the hills. Seeing she was in human form, he stomped over to her and bumped her with his nose for a petting. Mirabella grinned and obliged, scratching behind his ears right at the spot where he liked it. The gelding sighed into her hair. “This is the life,” she agreed.

If only it could last. But she knew better.

She rose easily to her feet and folded her arms on the Duke’s broad back while he grazed. For now she had it good. However, there was still Dash, hoarding her secret for whatever reason, and Wells, after the secrets her human self carried. Keeping track of Dash was easy; she had only to look for Merry. Wells and his agents could be anywhere.

Something moved in the grass.

Mirabella stiffened, instantly alert. Sensing her alarm, the Duke raised his head with a puzzled huhn. She pressed a hand to his nose to quiet him. The invader might not yet know he’d been spotted.

He was stealthy, whatever he was. He moved like a snake, a sinuous ribbon in the tawny meadow grass. Wolf? Too fluid. Coyote, perhaps, or a puma. Whatever he was, he bypassed the Duke and instead zeroed in on the herd. Hicks, on watch, hadn’t noticed the invader yet. Nor had the stalker noticed her, she was certain.

Using the Duke’s bulky body to hide herself, Mirabella shifted.

In the blink of an eye Mirabella the woman became Vasquez the mare. She loosed a piercing neigh, to both warn her companions and to startle the intruder. If this was a normal predator, he would realize his ambush had been ruined and run. If he wasn’t, she would deal with him.

Had he noticed her in her human form? She dared not take that chance.

The first part of her plan worked perfectly. The horses turned toward the sound of her neigh and instantly realized their danger. Phase Two didn’t go so well. Instead of retreating, the intruder attacked. He charged at the band in a shocking burst of speed. That was no wolf or local cat. She had no idea what it was.

She knew one thing for certain: he was not going to harm her companions.

The herd stallion leaped to intercept. The attacker zigged around him as if the horse were moving in slow motion. However, his forced change in course brought him up against Mirabella, pounding in from behind. He dodged her also, lost his footing, and skidded through the grass. Mirabella and Hicks came at him from opposing sides. The Duke stomped a huge hoof and whinnied.

Mirabella reached the invader first. An equine snort escaped her. What in Epona’s name was this doing in the wilds of Montana?

Where It's At

I came up empty today, that’s why this is late. Luckily, I’ve got a WIP set in Talbot’s Peak. In this scene, Rick the mountain lion points out where everybody lives in relation to the Peak. If you don’t agree with my geography, let me know so I can rework it. That’s what drafts are for.

# # #

Rick led them by a roundabout trail to a high rocky promontory that offered a spectacular view in all directions. Around them and below, the trees cut off in a distinct line and gave way to grassy slopes and meadows. A wide pond lay in a dip at the bottom. In the distance Nilambari could see more peaks, some with trees, some rocky and bare, even a few with snow.

“That’s where you came up from.” Rick pointed to the slopes behind them. “Zhere Ghan’s compound is back that way. There’s only one trail, and I check it a lot. I’ve got the trail and a few other spots rigged. Anything big—say, tiger sized—tries to get up here, I’ll be able to tell.

“Over there is the peak itself, the one the town was named for.” He pointed out another mountain crest opposite their own. Nilambari sat up and squinted. She thought she’d seen a flash of sunlight bounce off something halfway up the other mountain’s side. Rick nodded when she mentioned it. “Hancock headquarters. The Hancock pack are the dominant wolves in this area. Damien’s the current alpha and a major piece of work. He hardly ever comes out this way, though. Too concerned with keeping tabs on his neighbors. That’d be Ghan and the Fledermaus spread, over there on his flank. The Flying F is a cattle ranch, run by bats. Fruit bats, I think, not vampires. They might fly over, but they won’t bother us either. There’s a little dude ranch tucked off there to the right, bordering the Peak and the Flying F. Again, no threat to anybody. Talbot’s Peak—the town, I mean—is down at the foot of Hancock’s mountain. You can’t see it because of the fold of those hills. The only way from there to here is that road we were on this morning. If you follow Route 15 in the other direction you’ll come out at the interstate. It’s a whole other world out there, mostly humans. I’ll take you there sometime if you want, after the heat dies down.

“Down that way”—he pointed to the slope in front of them—“the Turkle clan has a cabin tucked away in the woods. Old Man Turkle used to run the game farm, but he retired. Do not trespass on their land. They’re turkeys, and tend to shoot anything that moves. I’ll show you where the borders are. Learn them.”

“What’s a turkey?”

“No turkeys in India? It’s … it’s like a big chicken with a head like a buzzard and a tail like a peacock. You won’t see them. You’ll just hear the gunshots.”

He went silent. Nilambari waited for him to complete his aural map, with the burned-out farmstead at the foot of Rick’s mountain and its absent owner. Was he human or shifter? What if he returned? But Rick did not continue.

She started, “What about—”

“Shhhh.” He held up his hand. His voice dropped to a hiss. “We’ve got company.”

She followed the line of his stare to the pond. A band of horses was picking a cautious path across the meadow toward the water. A brown mare scouted every inch of the way to the water’s edge. She decided all was safe and allowed the others in. A big gray stallion trailed the herd, keeping lookout.

“Damn,” Rick muttered. “I know this bunch. They belong to that little dude ranch. Sometimes they wander over here, following the grass. Merry’s man Dash’ll be over in a day or two to herd ‘em back. Until then, no hunting. They’re off the menu.”

Nilambari eyed the horses. She judged their condition, the height of the grass and the available cover. “But I could—”

“So could I, but I have an arrangement with Merry. I don’t kill her horses, and she doesn’t shoot me.” Rick flashed a grin. “I don’t much care for horse meat anyway.”

Nevertheless, he seemed most interested in the big gray. “There’s a new face,” he murmured. “That’s no mustang. Didn’t think Merry could afford a new stud.” He shucked his poncho in one smooth motion. “Stay here.”

Before she could protest he was gone, a tawny lion bounding down the slope. He made no attempt at stalking or silence. The horses couldn’t help but notice him.

And they did. The stallion bugled an alarm. The brown mare cut between Rick and the others. She bunched her nervous band together and started them away from the pond, while the stallion high-stepped and tossed his gray mane and whinnied threats at Rick.

For his part, Rick simply sat and commenced washing a paw. Don’t mind me, go about your business. Except he was their business now. Nilambari didn’t like how the stallion’s prance-and-weave brought him and his hooves ever closer to Rick, or how the mare had circled back to flank him from the left.

Nilambari ripped off her moccasins and flung her poncho aside. In tiger form she raced down the slope to Rick’s defense.

Her roar was drowned by the stallion’s scream. He half-reared, started a charge, then broke off and fled. The mare had already bolted, as had the rest of the band. In seconds the last flailing horse-tail had disappeared from the meadow.

Rick shifted to human and stood. “What was that about?”

Nilambari circled him, snuffling. He was unhurt. She also shifted. “They meant to attack you.”

“G’wan. It was a bluff. I know that mare. She’s got a temper, but she isn’t stupid. She knows the difference between a hunting cat and one just passing through. That big boy, though, him I don’t know.” He gazed thoughtfully toward the stallion’s last visible location. “No brand on him. Good lines. Too well-bred to be wild. Wonder if he came off the Flying F? Be a smart move on Brand’s part.”

“Who?”

“Brandon Fledermaus. He owns the Flying F. He can afford a whole herd of horses that classy. Wouldn’t surprise me if he let one kind of wander over to Merry’s. The dude ranch isn’t much, but it makes a good buffer between Fledermaus and Hancock. Damien would just love to gobble it up, put pressure on Brandon’s borders. But Merry won’t sell.” Rick bared his teeth, sort of like a smile. “Brand likes Merry and Dash. He sends a lot of rich clients their way. He probably sent the horse too. Wherever that feller came from, he sure as scat doesn’t like tigers.”

Different Strokes

“Ready or not,” Dash called, brandishing his quirt, “here I come.”

He entered the stall. And stopped dead.

Merry crouched in the hay on all fours, hobbled and waiting. She wore only a horse blanket, pinned in front to keep it from sliding off. She’d scrounged up an English saddle from somewhere and cinched it to her back. An old bridle, complete with bit, had been modified to fit her human face. She wore her long hair in a pony tail.

They stared at each other. The moment stretched and went on stretching.

Dash swallowed. He pawed at the hay with a booted foot. His spurs jingled. Merry said something unintelligible. “What?”

She rolled her eyes, Merry fashion, reached up with her hobbled wrists and removed the bit. “I said, I thought we agreed on no spurs.”

“I was gonna take ‘em off before we got going.” He cleared his throat and pawed the hay some more.

Finally Merry said, “This isn’t doing a thing for you, is it?”

“Well, it’s making me mighty uncomfortable. I know that ain’t what you were aiming for.”

“Yeah.” She sat back on her haunches. The saddle slid over her butt. “The whole master/slave role play thing is supposed to be such a hot deal in town right now. I thought it would kind’a perk things up, y’know? I mean, this is horse slave gear, right? Bondage stuff?”

“You got the costume right. That part’s fine. Just … on you, it just don’t look right.”

“It doesn’t feel right, either. The damn saddle keeps sliding around. And the bit … Jiminy Christmas. How do your folk stand these things? I’m never making any horse I ride wear a bit ever again.” She looked ruefully at the hobbles. “Well, the mood’s spoiled now. Reckon I might as well take this garbage off. You want to give me a hand with these things?” She held out her bound wrists.

Dash didn’t move. “In a minute.”

“Dash!”

“Okay, okay.” He chuckled. “Bossy little filly. Should’a left the bit in your mouth.”

“Don’t make me kick you.”

Still chuckling, Dash knelt beside her. He removed the bridle and saddle as slowly and tenderly as if he were undressing a bride. Unpinned, the horse blanket puddled in the hay. He undid the hobbles last, kissing her fingers and toes as he did so. His whicker was soft, low and ragged. “There y’go. Whole worlds o’better.”

Merry dug her freed fingers into his long, thick mane. “Doesn’t seem fair,” she murmured. “Me like this and you all dressed. You gonna do something about it?”

“I was hoping to. This shirt’s too dang tight anyway. Why do humans wear these things?”

“’Cause too much bare male chest on display gets the girls all het up. You know if you paraded around like this all the time, I’d never get a lick of work done. Ow! I think I just cut myself on your blasted spurs.”

Immediately Dash yanked off his boots. He chucked them into a corner of the stall. His jeans followed. “There. Now we’re even up again.”

“Mmmm, yeah. Who needs that slave stuff anyway, when you got a stall full of fresh hay and a big, strong stallion? All of a sudden I’m itching to go for a ride again.”

“Just what I was thinking. I suppose you want to be up top.”

“Only way to ride a horse.”

“You want my quirt?”

“Don’t need it. I got hands.” She slapped his bare flank. “Giddyap.”

He bore her down into the hay. “Ride ‘em, cowgirl.”

Horse Whispering

“Dammit, lost my place again.” Dash added a second, equine swear to the first while he flipped through the thick paperback. “Why don’t you get one’a them Kindle thingies?”

“I like to save my batteries for more useful gizmos.” Dash looked at her. “Flashlights. Portable radios,” Merry clarified. “What did you think I meant?”

“Nothin’.” He and Merry had decided to take a break from chores in an empty box stall. Dash was always bugging her about the romance novels she read, so today she’d brought one along. With each page completed, Merry removed another piece of clothing. Dash had started out naked, but draped a horse blanket over his “tack.”

They cuddled together in the clean straw with the door to the stall at their backs. Dash read in whispers, punctuated with giggles from Merry, alert to the sound of hands and horses moving in and out of the barn.

“‘Riordan’—am I pronouncing that right?” Dash said.

Merry shrugged. “Hell if I know. Call him Rick or something if that makes it easier. Now read.”

“You’re the boss. ‘Rickets swept Melody into his brawny arms. ‘I’ve waited so long for this moment,’ he rasped.’ Yeah, you and me both, ya dang dawdling twit. Two hundred pages and he ain’t even kissed her yet. Any stallion farted around that long, the mares’d up and leave him. With a few swift kicks to his dangly bits as an hasta la vista.”

“Human women like to be romanced. Just getting jumped and mounted doesn’t do it for us.”

Dash smirked down at her. “No?”

“You get that look off your face right now. Fine. Sometimes quick is good, okay? Other times, slow and steady wins the race. But yeah, Riordan’s been diddlin’ around for way too long. C’mon, man, pick up the pace a little or Melody’s gonna leave you. Again.”

Dash flipped ahead. “Let’s see if he ups his game in the next chapter. If he don’t, I’m gone.”

Merry held up a pair of hobbles. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“You want to keep a horse, honey, you know what to do.”

She muttered and shed her work shirt. She was now down to bra, panties, socks and her checkered bandana. “This is the most you get until Rickets gets off his ass.”

“I better find a good scene, then. Here we go.” He leaned in close and whisper-read, “‘Rickets threw her down on the bed. His powerful hand ripped away her flimsy silken blouse. For a moment he stared transfixed at her lacy black bra, which just barely contained the heaving swell of her perfect breasts.’” Dash made a face.

“C’mon, stud.” Merry tugged on his arm. “I’m getting hot and bothered here.”

“Yeah, okay. Just … ‘heaving swell’? I’m not even into breasts. Horse, y’know? Leg man.”

“Well, then.” Merry unhooked her bra and tossed it aside, atop the discarded hobbles. “Maybe I can change your mind. If not … ” She stretched a long leg toned by hard work and riding across Dash’s lap. Her heel just happened to dislodge the horse blanket from his middle. Dash shook his mane and snorted.

Before he could begin to explore Merry’s heaving swell, a voice called out, “Merry? You in here?”

Bootsteps clomped across the barn floor, straight for the box stall. “Shoot,” Merry hissed.

“I got it.” Dash got up, shifting as he rose. By the time the nosy hand reached the stall, a big chestnut stallion stood there to greet him. “Hey there, big guy,” the man said. “You seen the boss lady?”

The horse shook his head. “Where the hell’d she get to?” the man muttered. “Ah well.” He tromped out again.

Dash shifted back and crouched down beside Merry. She giggled against her own hand pressed hard to her mouth. “Sounds like you’re needed,” he grumbled. “Guess we better wrap this up.”

He reached for the paperback, but Merry kicked it away. “Forget that. Rickets is taking too dang long.”

“Jump and mount?”

“We’re pressed for time here.”

“Fine by me.” Dash eased her down to the floor. He whispered hurriedly against her cheek. “‘Rickets ripped her panties off and knelt between her legs. He muffled her passionate cries with his big hungry mouth.’”

“That ain’t in the book.”

“Is now.”

“I like your version.” Merry hooked her long, strong legs around him and guided his big hungry mouth to her own.

Happy Ending

Merry prided herself on her ability to deal with her own weaknesses. When she’d taken over running the dude ranch she’d turned her office desk toward the wall so she wouldn’t be tempted to stare out the window at the woods and mountains and their many alluring trails. Lately, though, she’d turned it back, to give her a view of the yard. Dash crossed that yard often, both in human form and as a horse. Some weaknesses Merry was happy enough to indulge in.

She was gazing out the window when Dash appeared, a big chestnut stallion with longer legs and a broader chest than a regular horse. A gray stallion, its lathered neck bent with weariness, plodded behind him.

Merry shot out of the office into the yard, and hustled both horses into the barn before any hands could interfere. The gray was no shifter; she’d learned to tell the difference, and spotted him right off. She guided him into a box stall and brought him a bucket of water. He slurped gratefully.

“Okay.” She whirled on Dash. “Who is he, where’s he from, and how’d you get a hold of him?”

The chestnut glanced around, then shifted. He tucked a horse blanket around his middle to fend off any comments from the hands. “A friend of mine called me up and asked me to take him on. Or maybe he’s a relative. Horse-shifter bloodlines tend to get a might tangled.”

Merry ran her expert hands over the horse’s body and legs. She noted every nervous ripple of hide her gentle touch evoked. Nor did she miss the old scars, or the more-recent bare patches on his flanks. Her eyes got stormy. “Somebody’s been mighty mean to this animal.”

“Not just somebody,” Dash said in the same ominous tone. “Your human nose ain’t up to it, but I can smell his last rider on him. You remember that Ravi Khan from down in Talbot’s Peak?”

“The one tried to wreck the haunted trail ride? This is his horse?” She laid her hand protectively on the stallion’s neck. The stallion nosed her hair. “No, he’s not. Not any more. I wouldn’t even hand over a scrub pony to that stripe-assed bastard.”

“Not asking you to. We got a big spread here, with the mountains next door. A horse could hide hisself out here for months. Years, even. And look, no brand. Can’t say for sure this is Ravi’s horse. He could belong to anybody.”

Silently Merry completed her examination. The horse stood docile and patient beneath her hands. Whether that was his temperament or due to Dash’s presence, Merry didn’t know and didn’t care. He wasn’t going back to the tigers. That was already a given. “He seems pretty sound,” she said. “Good breeding. Khan knows his horseflesh, I’ll give him that.”

“He should. He probably eats enough of it. Gray might make it as a saddle horse. Or a top-flight stud. The herd’s been needing one of those.”

“That isn’t up to me,” Merry said with a grin. “Let’s see what Ripley thinks about him.”

She gave the horse a rubdown and some grain. After he’d rested up they bridled him for a trip to the upper pasture. Merry mounted Dash bareback and let him set the pace, with the gray following along on a lead rope.

They found the saddle herd with little trouble. The gray’s ears pricked and he thrust his nose into the air. His whinny sparked a response, two parts curiosity, one suspicion.

Every head in the herd was turned toward the spot where Merry, Dash, and their guest emerged from the trees. Ripley, the band’s boss mare, tossed her raven mane. The stallion called a greeting. Merry slid off Dash’s back and tugged the bridle off the horse. Dash shifted and gave him a slap on the rump. “Go get her, cousin.”

The gray took off like a shot for the herd. Ripley stopped him with a warning neigh. They circled briefly and sniffed at each other before Ripley turned her back on him and nudged her band downslope. The stallion followed. They repeated their dance for the better part of an hour. By the fifth go-round the stallion was permitted to graze at the edge of the herd, though Ripley kept a wary eye on him.

Dash nodded, satisfied. “Bet you a carrot he’ll be running that band by nightfall.”

“Don’t be too sure. Looks to me like he’s already figured out who’s in charge, and he’s good with it.” Merry thought it over. “We should call him Hicks.”

“Not Bishop? He struck me as more of a Bishop.”

“Take another look. That’s no gelding.”

“Hicks it is.” Arm in arm, they watched the herd get to know its new addition. “I doubt Khan’ll make it up this far,” Dash said. “If he does, Ripley’ll handle him. I wouldn’t wish her on my worst enemy.”

“I would.”

“That’s because you’re a bloodthirsty ape. How about we camp under those trees for a spell and put that energy to good use?”

“Then you’ll be too tired for the ride back.”

“As usual, you underestimate a shifter’s stamina.” Dash lifted her easily into his arms and carried her toward a massive fir with heavy, drooping branches. “You didn’t bring a blanket, did you?”

“Got my jacket.”

“Good enough.” He ducked them under the tree.

That's Show Biz

Rare was the day when Merry could be persuaded to take a well-deserved night off. Her foreman, hands and staff could order, argue and wheedle all they liked, for all the good it did. Running a break-even cattle and dude ranch took a firm hand and constant attention. Merry hadn’t been raised a shirker, and saw no point in starting at this late date.

Of course, this was before Dash came to the ranch. A bit of sweet-talk from the persuasive were-stallion and Merry was liable to find herself delegating tasks so she could kick back and relax, usually in Dash’s arms. Or on Dash’s back, or in his bed. Or that one time in the box stall …

But not tonight. Dash had the DVD player fired up in the living room and twin bowls of snacks all prepared—popcorn for Merry, creamed corn for himself. Merry hopped onto the old comfy sofa beside him. With one hand in her popcorn she held up the disk jacket. Her eyes brightened. “Frontier Justice! With Toby Garner as the Rover. I used to watch reruns of this show after school when I was a kid.” She sent a dubious look at Dash. “A little vintage for you, isn’t it?”

“My cousin Rachael sent me this. She knows I know Ed. His grandsire’s in it. She thought I’d get a kick out of it.”

“Ed? The photographer?” Merry said. She knew Mr. Ed had a number of talents. In addition to his photography studio he worked part-time at the Equine Education Center. He was also rumored to provide “riding lessons” to well-built, athletic young men. Merry had learned not to ask too many questions where shifters were concerned. “He’s from a Hollywood family? Well, that explains a lot.”

“I guess.” Dash shrugged. “His grandsire was a contract player for one of the smaller studios. He must’ve made a ton of Westerns back in the ‘50s and ‘60s. Let’s see how good an actor he was.” He hit “start” on the remote.

The movie, a compilation of several TV episodes, was a typical 1950s Hollywood Western with all the cliché trimmings: black-hatted bad guys versus an upstanding Texas ranger and his faithful Native American sidekick. The Amerind was a better actor and a much more skillful rider, Merry noted. The plot was as corny and simplistic as she remembered. She snuggled contentedly against Dash, lost in nostalgia.

“There!” Dash sat up so fast he almost spilled his creamed corn. “There he is!”

“Where?” All Merry saw was the Rover galloping over the plains. “Ed’s granddad was Toby Garner?”

“’Course not. Toby’s riding him.”

Merry straightened and took a long, hard look at Toby’s mount, a handsome red chestnut with a blaze face and blond mane and tail. And a chest too broad and legs too long for any breed she knew.

“Copper the Wonder Horse?” she exclaimed. “He was a shifter?”

“We have to put hay on the table too,” Dash said. “Ed’s family had a ranch up in the Hollywood hills. When they needed cash, they’d hire themselves out as laborers, in whatever shape was needed. When movies got big, they’d sign on as extras. Jordy—that’s him there—was the only one who ever got billing. Most of the rest were stunt mounts. Y’know all those scenes where the horses get shot? Those are shifters. They knew how to fall without hurting themselves.”

Merry stared at the screen. The Rover had been ambushed by the bad guys. Copper carried his rider to a water hole, then went back to fetch his fallen rifle. She looked for the subtle clues of the horse glancing at its trainer off-camera and saw none. She recalled an old jokey publicity still that showed Copper supposedly reading a script. Maybe it hadn’t been a joke after all.

“Did the studio know?” she asked.

“Doubt it. Jordy’s wife Nancy acted as ‘wrangler’ and ‘trainer’ for the studio remuda. Even real horses did what she told ’em. She was a tough little mare. She did a little acting too, when some extra needed a mount. I don’t know if she’s in this one. I think Ed said she was a pinto.”

The bad guys had gathered to discuss their evil plan to drive the peaceful Indians off their gold-rich land. Merry found herself watching their horses. Two in the background kept nudging each other, nickering and laughing. Yes, laughing. There was no mistaking those equine headshakes and whickers. She pointed it out to Dash.

“Yeah, I see ’em. They’re making cracks about the dialogue. The one just said, ‘Who writes these road apples?’ And the other one goes, ‘I’m doing a Civil War movie next week.’ I wonder if Ed’s dad is in this? I know his mom was the palomino in the family. She worked in the commissary. Somebody had to make sure the shifters in the cast got the right kind of food.”

Merry shook her head. “I’ll never be able to look at a Western in the same way again.”

“I know what you mean. I get watching the horses and laughing at their comments and miss half the plot. Not that plot matters much in these things.”

“Did any of them ever meet John Wayne?”

Dash pursed his lips sourly. “Ed told me stories. Wayne was a big guy. Heavy. Nobody wanted him on their back. They always made sure a real horse carried the Duke. At least he could actually ride, so they tell me.” Discovering his bowl of corn was empty, Dash shrugged and set it aside. “Too bad Westerns fell out of favor. All that work dried up. The ‘80s were tough on Ed’s family.”

“That’s a shame. Ed’s really handsome in his horse form. I’ll bet he would have been a star.” She nuzzled Dash’s chin. “You too.”

Dash grinned and slid his arm around her. “Don’t need to star in any of that Hollywood hooey. I already got the girl.”

Merry shouldered him playfully. “Watch the movie.”

Say It With ...

“Now what’s he up to?” Merry wondered, eying the kitchen door. Dash was not a cook. Heck, all he ate were grains, fruits and vegetables, raw when he could get ‘em. A man who could switch to horse form and graze in a pasture didn’t need a kitchen. So why had he shoo’d out the staff and told the hands to keep Merry occupied for a couple of hours?

“You know why.” Lacy giggled and elbowed Merry in the ribs. Lacy’s dad was one of the wranglers here on Merry’s dude ranch. Lacy groomed the horses and made sure the tack was in fit shape for guests to use. “It’s Valentine’s Day. He’s cooking you breakfast.”

“Little late for that,” Merry said. Her breakfast had been several hours ago, before sunrise. “Man’s next to useless in a kitchen. What’s he think he can do in there?”

“Something that'll make you happy, I’m thinking. You know how men get when they’re in love.”

“Sure, I know. How do you? You’re fourteen years old.”

Lacy grinned up at her. “Three older sisters, one married. Look, whatever he’s making—”

“Smile, bat my lashes, and pretend I love it. I know how to handle a lovestruck man.” Or a stud horse, which had come in handy since she’d hooked up with Dash. She gave Lacy a gentle push toward the door. “You get your tail back to the barn and keep out of trouble. I’m going in before he burns the house down.”

“Don’t forget to—”

“Smile. Got it. Now git.” Giggling, Lacy danced out the door.

Dang little brat, Merry thought. Fourteen going on thirty-six. Though given the choice, Merry’d rather deal with her than with a man in a kitchen. Even worse, a boss stallion in a kitchen. He could boil water for oatmeal, she figured he had that much sense. Anything beyond that was asking for disaster.

Best to deal with it quick. Fixing the necessary smile to her face, Merry pushed into the kitchen.

The warm, welcomy smell of baking greeted her. She stopped and stared around, astonished. Nothing burning? No grease fires? No big mess on the table or in the sink? The man was all hoof when it came to something as simple as brewing coffee. And here he’d gone and made her—

A pie?

Dash stood by the oven and stared at her, maybe just a touch less startled than she. He had a cook’s apron protecting his brawny body from the perils of flour and butter. Apple cores littered the cutting board on the counter. He hadn’t bothered to throw them out. He’d been snacking on them while he worked.

“Merry,” he said, his voice several shades off his usual hearty neigh. “You’re supposed to be out riding fence.”

“Jerry took over for me. He said you were acting weird and you’d barricaded yourself in the kitchen.” She stared at the pie. “Well. I guess you’re not making bombs or setting fire to anything.”

“No.” Dash shook out his mane. Lord above, Merry realized, her big boss stud was embarrassed. He thrust the pie at her. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Merry picked up a washcloth and took the still-warm pie plate from his hands. She pulled in a long, hearty sniff. It smelled heavenly. The aroma called up distant memories of winter afternoons helping Mama peel apples to help make fritters for the hands. “Apple?”

“’Course it’s apple.” Dash tossed his hair again, like a nervous horse. “I know it’s different for you humans. Chocolate and flowers and that. With us, it’s apple pie. Sometimes a bouquet of alfalfa and timothy. I didn’t think you’d go for that, though.”

“No, the pie’s a good choice.” Her mouth watered like a dog’s at sight of a biscuit. Suddenly something occurred to her. She set the pie on the table. “When you first showed up at the ranch, I offered you lunch. I served you apple pie.”

Dash nodded, with a touch of a grin. “Uh-huh.”

“You must’ve thought I was a slut.”

“I thought you were just another stuck-up, bossy human filly, until you served me up that pie.” Dash’s grin widened. He ambled over to her to rub her cheek with a flour-dusted thumb. “It made me re-evaluate my attitude toward humans, and got me curious enough about you to want to stick around. I’m happy now I did. How ‘bout you?”

Merry nodded mutely. The world, and a woman’s happiness, turned on such tiny events. She’d come a slice-of-pie’s width away from missing out on the best thing to ever enter her life. She looked up into his eyes and could see he was saying the same thing to himself.

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard as she could. Dash’s strong arms crushed her to him. You find a man this good, she thought, you hang on and don’t let go.

“So anyway,” Dash said when they finally broke free, “happy Valentine’s Day. We gonna eat that pie or what?”

“You bet.” Merry grinned. Who needed candy anyway, when she had the sweetest man-horse in the world right here in her kitchen? “I think there’s ice cream in the freezer.”