The Borrowed Bride by Susan Wiggs Read Free Book Online

known Dan Black Horse possessed a special magic. The critics and music fans knew it, too; in a matter of a few short months, they had boosted him from obscurity to stardom. And then the rest of the country discovered him—on the covers of trade and fan magazines, on CD and concert posters.
    Even those who had never heard his music were drawn to him. It was that aura he had, a subtle yet wrenching wounded look that made people stare and wonder and ache for him.
    “I can’t do this,” she said in a choked whisper.
    His hands rested easily on the top of the gate on either side of her. He wasn’t touching her, but he was like the electric fence—falsely benign, waiting, ready to administer a hot shock if she dared to touch.
    “Can’t do what?” he asked.
    “This… Be with you, damn it! Be near you.”
    “Why not?”
    “I can’t think straight,” she blurted out. “You’re playing games with me, and it’s not fair.”
    He didn’t move a muscle, but his eyes and mouth hardened almost imperceptibly. “I wish you’d listen to yourself, Isabel. You’re standing there admitting you still have feelings for me.”
    The words hit her like a punch in the stomach. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, and her eyes watered as a tearing pain swept through her. His image blurred and softened, and she felt as if she were drifting towardhim, closer, her hands already anticipating the rough-denim, hard-muscled texture of him.
    But before she could move or speak or make sense of what was happening, Dan shoved back from the gate and stalked away. Stricken, she stared at his long, slim, retreating form. Then she saw that Gary Sohappy was riding into the yard on the horse called Petunia. He and Dan spoke for a moment. Gary held a parcel wrapped in a hooded sweatshirt under his arm. He handed it to Dan and dismounted.
    Isabel left the garden to say hello to Gary and to thank him again for finding her last night. When she reached them, she stopped short and gasped, spying the bundle in Dan’s hands.
    “What happened?”
    “Not sure,” Gary said. “I found her on the way up here.”
    She was a bald eagle. Only her head was visible, sharply defined in line and color. The great hooked beak was vivid yellow, the eyes bright obsidian, the distinctive head sleek and white.
    Gary’s hands were covered in scratches. “She was pretty hard to catch,” he said with a grin.
    Dan held the bird under his arm. “Get inside and wash up, Gary. Use the disinfectant soap. We’ll be in the barn.”
    Isabel picked up the trailing reins of the horse and followed Dan.
    He stared at the bundle. “Ever seen a bald eagle close up before?”
    “No.” She was riveted. The bird was watchful, almost brooding. “I had no idea they were so large. How did Gary know it was a female?”
    The bird pecked at Dan’s arm. He winced. “Her temperament?”
    “Sexist,” Isabel muttered.
    In the barn, she tethered the mare in cross ties and went with Dan into a small tack room. Barrels of feed stood along one wall beneath an array of reins. Dan set the bird carefully in a dry sink. The eagle struggled, fighting the makeshift bandage. There was something heartbreaking about seeing such a majestic creature floundering and helpless in an alien environment.
    But apparently Dan’s voice worked on the bird, too. “Shh,” he said, and spoke a patois of English and Yakima in a mesmerizing singsong. He used his hands with a light, knowing touch, stroking the smooth feathers and even the sharp beak with one hand, while the other hand unwrapped the bird. She still acted edgy, as if ready to explode into flight at any moment.
    Except that she couldn’t fly, and as soon as Dan set aside the sweatshirt, they saw why. One wing hung limp. Isabel could see a little blood.
    “Must’ve been wounded in the storm,” Dan said. “I don’t think the wing’s broken, so that’s something.” He kept up his singsong patter as he opened a metal wall chest to reveal a