Read an Excerpt

Midnight Faith

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By Gena Dalton

Harlequin Enterprises Limited

Copyright © 2002 Harlequin Enterprises Limited
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0373871961

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Chapter One

Something was definitely wrong when a man had to sneak around before daylight to ride a horse on his own place.

It added to his pleasure, though. Clint whistled a tune, very softly, as he led the tall black colt out of the barn toward the indoor arena, its hooves echoing out into the frosty air until they left the asphalt for the gravel. Then the sound lessened to a muted, homey plop.

His guess would be that sitting in the saddle on this lanky rascal would be anything but homey, though. His heartbeat sped up. This colt might be the biggest challenge of all the two-year-olds on the ranch this year.

The black snorted, shook his head and spooked at the kitten that came tumbling out of the tack room ahead of its brother. Then he kicked up behind when Clint tied him.

"Now, now," Clint said, grinning, "give me a chance to take a seat before you get to bucking, all right?"

He gave the colt a pat on the neck - which bothered him so much he pinned his ears - and went to get the saddle. The tune he kept whistling was "Two-Step around the Christmas Tree," which he couldn't get out of his head and which irritated him to no end. If it was left up to him, they'd just skip Christmas this year here on the Rocking M.

Clint slapped that thought right out of hishead with his usual skill. Right now would be the best time of his Christmas Eve and he was going to enjoy it without thinking ahead. Or back.

It added a little spice to life, having a secret vice, and it amused him every day. So far, neither of the trainer's assistants had stepped down off a colt and wondered aloud if somebody else had already ridden him.

Mainly because the idea was inconceivable. The least-skilled horsemen on the trainer's staff, the assistants to the assistant, started the colts because nobody else wanted that hard, dangerous job. They were young and their bodies could take it.

Clint grinned again. It'd blow everybody's minds, for sure, to know that the ranch's owner was doing that work, and he would surely get a kick out of telling them. He couldn't, though, because it would insult the hands whose duty it was, implying that they weren't doing their jobs. It would also insult the trainers who supervised those hands, and they'd accuse him of messing up their training programs for these horses.

More to the point, they'd all probably leave the Rocking M and go somewhere else because Clint had not respected their territory. He wouldn't take that chance - winning trainers who brought attention and celebrity to the ranch were hard to find.

His grin faded. Always, always and forever, he had to do what was good for the ranch.

Sometimes he felt he was the ranch and not a person anymore.

The colt stood, although his ears were still pinned. He let Clint ease the saddle and pad onto him and cinch him up before he kicked out again. Clint's heart made a triple beat. This one would be the liveliest of the bunch.

He'd sensed that all along, which was why he'd left him for last, he supposed. If the black dumped him and he broke a bone, he would already have had the excitement of riding the others.

He untied the colt and led him into the indoor arena, closed the gate behind them and reached over the fence for a bridle hanging on the rack. The black stood quietly while he exchanged it for the halter, then walked just as quietly as he led him farther into the pen.

After arranging the reins, Clint took hold of the horn and the cantle and lifted his weight onto the saddle, hanging off the side of the horse. No problem. The black didn't even move - forward, back or sideways.

Clint stepped up into the saddle. Both feet set in the stirrups, he shifted carefully back and forth. Nothing.

He settled his weight into the depth of the seat. No movement from the young horse. Maybe he'd been entirely wrong about him.

Clint made himself take in a deep breath and then wait, letting it out slowly. The whole, quiet, darkest-before-dawn world waited with him to see what this colt would do.

All he did was look around. Clint followed his gaze. The lighted arena made the patch of night that showed through the top half of the south door as black as the horse.

The glass wall to the customers' lounge was a dark blank. This morning there were no owners sitting in front of the fireplace talking, getting drinks from the refrigerators, or swiveling in the leather easy chairs to watch the wide-screen TV and their horse being ridden at the same time. No one at all intruding into Clint's own private world.

The black stared at the glass for so long that Clint realized he was looking at his own reflection. He probably thought it was another horse.

"You're not gonna spook at your own shadow, are you now, Midnight?"

That was the last coherent thought he had. The colt dropped his head and gave a mighty pitch so fast Clint hadn't even sensed him thinking about it. His hat flew off, the seat of his pants separated from the saddle, he grabbed for his balance, and from then on, everything he did was on instinct.

His legs clamped the colt's sides and one hand tangled in the mane as his center of gravity shifted, but he still would have gone over and off if Midnight hadn't raised his head right then and caught Clint along his neck. The steady, waiting world was long gone as fast as if it had never been, turned upside down and spun sideways.

All he knew was blurs of fence and dirt and the black's long mane, whipping around. It caught him across the face once, twice, as the jarring landings shook him looser. Finally, by a superhuman effort, using the momentum of the next jump, he fought his way back into the saddle. His balance came back, too. Sort of.

Everything turned to motion and speed, into flying jumps and hard, punishing landings. All he could do was try to keep breath in his body while he tried even harder not to come loose again.

At last, after an eternity of uncertainty, he could feel the rhythm, he could anticipate the force, he could judge how much and which way to respond, and the thrill of staying on began to pound into his blood. He and Midnight traveled across the arena and back to the other side molded together into one plunging, rising, falling animal.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Midnight Faith by Gena Dalton Copyright © 2002 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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