Robin Lee Hatcher Read Online Free Page A

human grunted in unison.
    Hawk heard Rand’s yell of encouragement as the wild horse took flight again. The stallion echoed the sound with a shrill neigh as he dropped his head between his legs, back arched. Hawk’s body flowed with the animal’s movements rather than against them, his free arm acting as a balance as the stallion bucked and twisted and spun around the corral. Dust filled Hawk’s nostrils and stung his eyes. Sweat poured from beneath his hatband and down his back.
    Fight all you want. I’ ll win in the end.
    As if he’d heard, the horse stopped bucking and stood dead still in the middle of the corral. Surprised — he’d expected this to take more time — Hawk looked at Rand, who shrugged in response. In that same instant, the animal threw his back legs toward the sky, his nose almost touching the ground.
    Hawk parted company with the saddle and somersaulted toward the corral fence before hitting the dirt. The force of connecting with the ground knocked the air from him as he tumbled onto his back. He lay still, eyes closed, trying to drag a full breath into his lungs.
    Rand laughed. “You took wing on that one. A flyin’ hawk if ever I seen one.”
    Ignoring his friend, Hawk painstakingly sat up, his gaze turning toward the quivering horse.
    One of us is the boss here, and it isn’t you.
    With a grimace, he pushed himself up from the dirt and brushed off his trousers as he strode across the corral. The stallion’s breathing was labored; white rings circled his eyes as he watched Hawk’s approach. Tension passed between them.
    “Easy,” Hawk crooned, picking up the rope and reaching for the saddle horn. “Easy, boy.”
    As soon as his leg swung over the animal’s back, the twosome went airborne again.

    As Bethany and Ingrid rode around the side of the barn, a wild scene met their eyes. The man they’d seen with Hawk Chandler outside the Plains Saloon sat on the corral fence, shouting encouragement and waving his hat. In the corral, Hawk rode a horse that looked as if it meant to kill both the rider and itself.
    Bethany nudged her mare forward, drawn by the drama of man against beast. Reaching the corral, she dismounted, then stepped onto the bottom rail of the fence. Her gaze never wavered from Hawk. She forgot Ingrid and the man on the fence, too captured by the battle of wills taking place inside the corral to notice anything else.
    The struggle between horse and rider continued for a long time before the exhausted animal accepted defeat. The fight gone out of him, the stallion stood in the center of the corral, dragging in noisy gasps of air. Hawk Chandler waited a few moments before he nudged the horse with the heels of his boots, moving him forward at a walk, then a trot. He didn’t look at her as he rode by, yet she sensed his awareness of her presence. A tiny thrill raced along her spine.
    “He’s good, ain’t he?”
    She looked at the man on the fence. “I’ve never seen a wild horse ridden before.”
    He hopped to the ground and stepped toward her, putting his hat back on his head as he did so. “I’m Rand Howard.” His brow lifted in question.
    “Bethany Silverton. And this is my friend, Ingrid Johnson.”
    “The new preacher’s daughter. Pleased to meet you, Miss Silverton. Miss Johnson.”
    Bethany returned her attention to the corral.
    Hawk Chandler had drawn the lathered stallion to a halt. Without haste, he stepped down from the saddle, all the while speaking softly to the horse, his voice but not his words carrying to the observers. His hand stroked the sweaty black neck. Then he placed his foot in the stirrup once again and remounted. The stallion’s ears twitched forward, then back, listening to the soothing murmur. Several more times, Hawk guided the horse in a wide circle around the corral. When he dismounted again, he gave the stallion another pat on the neck before loosening the cinch and removing the saddle and pad.
    It was a pleasant thing, watching him