know oxen are cheaper and less expensive to feed, but I don’t know anything about oxen.” Craning her head back, she asked, “What about mules? Is their cost comparable with horses?”
“The price of anything, mules and horses included, is what the buyer and seller agree on,” he said softly. “Tell me what you were expectin’ to pay, and I’ll tell you if I can live with it.”
Abigail swung her head over to Charlie. She had expected Hoke to name his price. Was it foolish to tell him how much she had to spend? Would he take advantage of her because she was a woman and he wouldn’t expect her to have any sense?
On Charlie’s nod she looked back to Hoke. “I was hoping to get twelve good horses for six hundred. This is twelve mules plus two horses, and honestly, their quality is better than I had anticipated. I’m sure you can get a lot more than six hundred dollars for what’s standing in this corral.”
“I can.” Hoke nodded. “But what’s standin’ in this corral hasn’t cost me six hundred, so I’d come out ahead.”
Hoke wondered if Abigail Baldwyn knew how lovely she was, and whether she was in the habit of batting those heavy-lashed eyes at men in the hope they would work something out for her. That McConnelly woman’s voice yesterday had been laced with mockery. Were you coming to my rescue?
There was no question that Irene McConnelly used her looks for gain. Was this Baldwyn woman doing the same? And if she had a husband, why wasn’t he making this horse deal?
Hoke couldn’t really lose. He had traded horses for the mules, and the horses had been waiting for him in a little valley northwest of Washita, but . . . damn if he could think straight.
“I wouldn’t feel right giving you less than seven,” said Abigail. “And I’d still feel beholden to you.”
Hoke looked down at the ground. “Charlie, does your mother have a surplus of money she’s tryin’ to get rid of?”
Charlie laughed. “No, sir. But you know she’s right about the value of these mules and horses. You’re still selling low to us at seven.”
Hoke looked back up at Abigail. “Would you feel better payin’ eight?”
She grinned. “I can live with seven if you can.”
He moved to open the gate for her, but she slipped back through the fence railing before he could get to it. Hoke prided himself on his ability to get in the heads of most creatures, but women . . . women were a mystery. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything like peace around one.
“I’ll bring ’em to you Monday at the jumping-off spot.”
She laid a blue crocheted bag, heavy with twenty-dollar gold pieces, in his hand. He followed her eyes as they etched the outlines of his fingers.
They walked past the open door of the barn. Abigail stopped and pointed. “Whose horses are those?”
“Those aren’t for sale. They’re mine.”
“Do you mind if I look?” She walked toward the black stallion in one stall, then the white filly in the other. “She’s beautiful,” crooned Abigail, stroking the filly’s nose.
Hoke would have been irritated had he not liked watching her. Charlie showed respect for his mother, which told Hoke the husband had respected her, too.
“Are you sure you won’t sell me her , Mr. Hoke, instead of the gray?”
“I’m sure. But I’ll let you ride her sometime.”
“I’d love to, but I leave on Tuesday.”
“It’s a two-thousand-mile trip. I expect there’ll be a few chances between now and September.”
Her eyes got big. “You’re going?”
“I am.”
“Oh.”
She turned back to the filly but not before he caught the upturn of her lips. Was she hiding her smile from him or the boy? Charlie was several feet away now, admiring the stallion.
“What do you call him?” Charlie asked Hoke.
Hoke stuck the hickory stick back in his lips and took a final measured look at Abigail Baldwyn.
“My horse.”
“George Dotson’s been after me to join his wagon train,”
“The price of anything, mules and horses included, is what the buyer and seller agree on,” he said softly. “Tell me what you were expectin’ to pay, and I’ll tell you if I can live with it.”
Abigail swung her head over to Charlie. She had expected Hoke to name his price. Was it foolish to tell him how much she had to spend? Would he take advantage of her because she was a woman and he wouldn’t expect her to have any sense?
On Charlie’s nod she looked back to Hoke. “I was hoping to get twelve good horses for six hundred. This is twelve mules plus two horses, and honestly, their quality is better than I had anticipated. I’m sure you can get a lot more than six hundred dollars for what’s standing in this corral.”
“I can.” Hoke nodded. “But what’s standin’ in this corral hasn’t cost me six hundred, so I’d come out ahead.”
Hoke wondered if Abigail Baldwyn knew how lovely she was, and whether she was in the habit of batting those heavy-lashed eyes at men in the hope they would work something out for her. That McConnelly woman’s voice yesterday had been laced with mockery. Were you coming to my rescue?
There was no question that Irene McConnelly used her looks for gain. Was this Baldwyn woman doing the same? And if she had a husband, why wasn’t he making this horse deal?
Hoke couldn’t really lose. He had traded horses for the mules, and the horses had been waiting for him in a little valley northwest of Washita, but . . . damn if he could think straight.
“I wouldn’t feel right giving you less than seven,” said Abigail. “And I’d still feel beholden to you.”
Hoke looked down at the ground. “Charlie, does your mother have a surplus of money she’s tryin’ to get rid of?”
Charlie laughed. “No, sir. But you know she’s right about the value of these mules and horses. You’re still selling low to us at seven.”
Hoke looked back up at Abigail. “Would you feel better payin’ eight?”
She grinned. “I can live with seven if you can.”
He moved to open the gate for her, but she slipped back through the fence railing before he could get to it. Hoke prided himself on his ability to get in the heads of most creatures, but women . . . women were a mystery. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything like peace around one.
“I’ll bring ’em to you Monday at the jumping-off spot.”
She laid a blue crocheted bag, heavy with twenty-dollar gold pieces, in his hand. He followed her eyes as they etched the outlines of his fingers.
They walked past the open door of the barn. Abigail stopped and pointed. “Whose horses are those?”
“Those aren’t for sale. They’re mine.”
“Do you mind if I look?” She walked toward the black stallion in one stall, then the white filly in the other. “She’s beautiful,” crooned Abigail, stroking the filly’s nose.
Hoke would have been irritated had he not liked watching her. Charlie showed respect for his mother, which told Hoke the husband had respected her, too.
“Are you sure you won’t sell me her , Mr. Hoke, instead of the gray?”
“I’m sure. But I’ll let you ride her sometime.”
“I’d love to, but I leave on Tuesday.”
“It’s a two-thousand-mile trip. I expect there’ll be a few chances between now and September.”
Her eyes got big. “You’re going?”
“I am.”
“Oh.”
She turned back to the filly but not before he caught the upturn of her lips. Was she hiding her smile from him or the boy? Charlie was several feet away now, admiring the stallion.
“What do you call him?” Charlie asked Hoke.
Hoke stuck the hickory stick back in his lips and took a final measured look at Abigail Baldwyn.
“My horse.”
“George Dotson’s been after me to join his wagon train,”
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