A Vote of Confidence Read Free Page B

visit the ranch every Thursday. She loved the drive that took her north through
     a narrow canyon, across the river on a wooden bridge, and into the dense forest until the road broke through into a long,
     wide valley where cattle and horses grazed in belly-high grass. Even more, she loved the time spent with Cleo and their father.
    Griff Arlington was a tall man, lean and whipcord strong, with an easygoing smile and a quick mind. At fifty-one, his features
     had been leathered by years spent in the sun and wind, and his once golden blond hair — so like Gwen’s own — had turned white.
     He was a man with a gift for storytelling, and since the day Gwen arrived in Bethlehem Springs seven years before, he had
     entertained her with countless tales of Indians and cattle drives, forest fires and drifters, even about how he met and fell
     in love with her mother. She never tired of listening to his stories.
    But above all that, Griff Arlington was a man of wisdom. He didn’t make rash decisions. He had the ability to look at something
     from all sides and only then choose the side he would take.
    Today she felt in great need of that wisdom.
    The bridge that would carry her across the river had just come into view when the putter of a motorcar’s engine reached her
     ears. The gelding pulling the buggy snorted and tossed his head. Knowing the animal’s fear of automobiles — thankfully there
     weren’t many of them in the area — Gwen drew back on the reins, slowing the horse to a walk.
    “Easy, Shakespeare.”
    The automobile rounded a bend a moment later — a black Ford touring car with a gentleman behind the wheel.
    Shakespeare tossed his head and nickered a complaint, and Gwen tightened her grip on the reins. “Easy, boy.” She wondered
     if she was about to see the elusive Mr. McKinley. That is, she might see him if she could get her horse to stop dancing in
     the traces. “Calm down, Shakespeare. It’s okay.”
    The motorcar slowed when the driver saw her, but before the car rolled to a stop, the engine backfired. Shakespeare reared
     and started to bolt. Thankfully, Gwen had twisted the reins around her hands, prepared for this very thing. She pressed her shoes into the footboard of the buggy and pulled back for all she was
     worth.
    “Whoa, boy. Easy there. Whoa.”
    Shakespeare stopped before they reached the bridge, but the horse wasn’t appeased. He continued to fight her firm hands on
     the reins.
    “Are you all right, miss?”
    She glanced to her left and saw the driver of the automobile as he shot past her to take ahold of the reins up close to the
     bit. “What are you doing, sir?”
    “I saw your horse was frightened by the backfire and about to run off with you.” The man looked Shakespeare in the eye, saying
     softly, “Easy there. Easy.”
    “There was no need for your aid, sir. I had him under control.” Why was it men thought women needed to be rescued? Gwen found
     it an irritating trait, to say the least. “Please let go of the reins, so I may be on my way.”
    He didn’t oblige immediately. “I’m sorry about the noise startling your horse. It was entirely my fault.”
    “I doubt that you intentionally caused your automobile to backfire, sir. As I understand it, all motorcars do so on occasion.”
    “True enough.” He released his hold on the reins as he removed his hat with his other hand. “Morgan McKinley, at your service.
     I’m glad you weren’t injured. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if you had been.”
    Injured? She’d had her horse under control in a matter of seconds. He seemed to think his presence of much greater importance
     than it was.
    Perhaps sensing her irritation, Morgan McKinley took a step away from her horse.
    She gave him a nod, then clucked her tongue. “Walk on, Shakespeare.”
    “Good day, miss,” the man said as the buggy pulled past him.
    Gwen resisted the impulse to look over her shoulder. Instead she slapped the reins against