A Love of Her Own by Maggie Brendan Page B

night in town, a rare luxury he allowed himself, he urged his horse down the grassy slope in the direction of the creek where the laughter came from. He knew of no ranch close by. Probably just travelers stopping to water their mounts.
    As he drew closer, a young boy and a woman, both fully clothed, were splashing each other in the creek with great frivolity. What appeared to be laundry was strewn across the bushes to dry. Wait a minute .   .   . That yellow dress, now sodden and clinging to the shapely woman who was wet up to her waist, looked very familiar. Wes pushed his hat back and folded his arms across the saddle horn, quietly watching the two of them totally unaware of an outsider’s presence. His eyes narrowed to be sure, but he realized that the woman was Josh’s sister April. It was the same Miss High and Mighty who’d tried to tell him how to tame Lars’s wild mare.
    They looked to be having a good time, and for a moment Wes wished that he was a part of the fun. He had never had that kind of fun, even as far back as he remembered when he was a little boy. His father would have skinned him alive if he’d slipped away to play in the creek. There were always chores he had to do, and though his father could’ve helped out with some of the work, he chose not to. He’d said he was better at giving orders.
    Wes shook his head. No point in going back over that again now.
    Suddenly, April stopped splashing water on the young lad and stared up the hill at him. The kid turned around, and Wes touched his finger to the tip of his hat. Hmm . . . maybe the lad was her son. She didn’t seem old enough, though. He tapped Dakota lightly with the reins, and he tossed his mane and picked his way down the path to the creek bed. Wes slowly slid off the horse’s back.
    “Y’all havin’ a party of sorts? Or is today just laundry day?” He watched as April’s face flushed all the way to the widow’s peak at her forehead, making her even more attractive.
    She motioned to the lad. “Billy, we need to get going.” She started sloshing through the water toward the edge of the creek, her clothes plastered to her slender form.
    Wes tried not to stare and held out his hand to assist her back onto dry ground. He firmly pulled her up the slippery grass and over the rocks covered with algae. The boy she called Billy hurried up behind her. Without much ado, April released Wes’s hand and crossed her arms over her chest. Droplets of water dripped from her hair onto her shoulders and slid into the secret place between the swell of her breasts. Tearing his eyes away, Wes looked at the boy, who couldn’t have been much more than thirteen or fourteen. “Miss April, is this your son?”
    April laughed. “Hardly. I’m not that old. Billy, meet Wes Owen.”
    Billy pumped Wes’s outstretched hand. “I’ve heard about you.”
    “You have? Well now . . . what have you heard?” Wes grinned at the boy.
    Billy wrung out his shirttail as he spoke. “Just that you’re about the best horse trainer in these parts! According to Mr. Kincaid.
    ” Wes saw April roll her eyes upward. Now, why’d she do that? She knows nothing about me. Nothing! “I don’t recall seeing you around Lewistown.”
    “I came on the stagecoach late last night, and that’s how I met Miss April. I was looking for a job, and Mr. Kincaid who runs the stage line said he’d give me a chance helping out doing odd jobs for him.”
    Billy’s eyes were bright and held a pure zest for living. Wes knew he himself had never been that happy as a kid. Billy seemed all right. “Good for you, Billy. I’ve known Morgan Kincaid for a long time. He’ll treat you fairly.”
    Billy looked down at his bare toes as a brief shadow of sadness crossed his face. “I hope so. I’d like to hang around here. I really need the job.”
    April started picking up clothes from the bushes, turning to Billy. “If you’re finished jawing with Mr. Owen, I’d appreciate it if you could