Lariat, a Western Romance

"Well, you've made your point," she managed. "And I'm heading back to the house.  Only an idiot would remain in this heat unless totally necessary," inferring that he was an idiot if he remained.

He watched her through hooded eyes as she mounted the frozen horse then lit across the meadow.  "Little hellcat," he drawled, the horse kicking up all four legs - two to the south, two to the north and breaking wind in the process, the sound echoing over the meadow.

One thing for sure, the sheila could ride.  Blind as beans about ranching, though.

The redwood ranch house with the wrap-around porch came into view, Diandra guiding Featherloom towards the stables where Bret met her, beaming a toothy smile at her immobile face.

It was with a rod of cautiousness that she acknowledged him as she was still upset with him - as well as the other cowboys for committing mutiny against her.  When they had been informed of the temporary change in managers, their so-called loyalty had quickly shifted.  A bunch of no-good brown nosers, she went on to decide amid her boiling fury.

"Let me give you a hand with that," Bret offered, stretching toward her but she dismounted and tugged Featherloom alongside of her before he had completely forged the gap.

A short silence followed, Diandra making out the sound of Bret's nails scratching the back of his neck, then his stressful sounding sigh.

How could she ignore that?  Sure, she was angry, but she did have a heart.

Gazing at the wrinkled contours wedged into the cowboy's ageing face only played upon her emotions and her cold-shoulder was becoming more and more uncomfortable.

With a bent plea he tossed out, "Now don't you go sour on me, missy!  Mister Jackson handed down strict orders before he left on his honeymoon - and promised that there would be hell to pay if we didn't follow Rainwater's commands to the tee."

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