by Jillian Hart
"Oh." Realization dawned in her eyes. "My grandfather says that, one of the best horsemen I know."
"Then I have a feeling that you and I will get along just fine."
"Does that mean you're hiring on?" She bit her lip."Temporary might be a good idea. After all, there are only three horses, four if you count mine."
She gave a soft little laugh, something so dear that it tied his chest up in knots. He used to know what that felt like, to dream, to wish and to hope.
What a sight she made with the wind snapping her ruffled hem and twirling it around her slim legs and ankles, exposing her riding boots.
"One day there may be more horses." She gave a self-conscious shrug on her slender shoulders. "You just never know what the future may hold."
"I can see what you have in mind."
"You can?"
"Don't think I can't see what you want. You've got a plan in place and hiring someone who will do what you want and not what your family wants is your first step."
"I'm not sure it's exactly something like a grand plan. I'm just taking things one step at a time and see how it goes."
"How's it going?"
"It's still just a dream, but maybe it's a step closer today." The wind gusted, and the brim of her sunbonnet bobbled, somehow making her look even more dear.
She was stunning in the kiss of the sun, framed by the green earth, blue sky, leafing trees.
"I'd say it's more than just one step. This is about the wild mustangs." His boots moved him closer when he ought to stay back.
"There is more than one herd that runs across my land all the time. They drink at the creek and the first winter I was here, I saw them pawing the ice to break it for water. So I put out a trough for them."
"And hay, huh?"
"Not just hay. Grain, too."
"That's a good thing you do."
"That might soften them up to me. I started to think that I could catch a few mares at a time and get my own herd started. Over the years, I would have a real ranch and spend my days loving up horses."
"That's a good grand plan, I'll grant you that." He thought of Orville, the big stallion as gentle as a lamb and just as sweet. Her kindness and horse skills had done that. "That mare in the barn might be a place to start."
"She's wounded." She blew out a shaky breath, chin firm, jaw set. "I'm glad she has you to help her."
The gentle Wyoming winds blew and he planted his boots. His chest felt hollow and he fought to keep from feeling anything at all. Or he would be roped in by her. Her caring nature and wishful thinking would snare him for good if he would allow himself to care that much.
But his heart wanted to refuse.
She pushed another wild, flyaway curl out of her eyes, tucking it up beneath her hat brim so she looked proper and perfect again. "Sorry, I didn't mean to imply you had to go back to the barn. You're limping pretty good. You must feel very weak and in pain after that."
Her light tone was layered with caring.
Don't be a sucker for her, he warned himself, steeling his spine. It would be easy to let down his guard. It had been a long time since he'd had anyone in his life to care about.
He wanted to be cared about and to matter, and that was a frailty, an Achilles' heel. He didn't want that kind of weakness. He fisted his hands and wished he could make sense of the need building within him. "I'm still standing, so I must be doing all right."
"Are you joking with me?" Her soft laughter rang out, just the sweetest sound. "You shouldn't be on your feet at all and you've been up most of the night. At least go lay down for an hour or something."
"Nope, maybe five minutes, that would work for me, and since it's hardly any time at all I would be better off just staying on my feet and getting the work done."
"You aren't on the payroll yet, and it's not your work to do."
"I don't let grass grow beneath my boots."
More golden wisps escaped her braid and lashed across her face on the wind, drawing his gaze. He couldn't help noticing her rose-petal soft mouth.
Desire stirred in his veins and his groin kicked with heat, but he couldn't turn away. No matter how much he tried. "I've got things to do before I lay down. When I do, I'm counting on not getting back up again."
"In other words, don't order you around, right?" Dimples bracketed her smile.
"Right. I'm trying to be as much of a gentleman as I can be."
"No gentleman walks around with a bullet wound the way you do."
"Not my first bullet wound." He reached out to brush the golden curl out of her big, vulnerable-looking eyes.
Her cheek was warm satin, heated soft silk. A lightning bolt seared through him when he lingered, his skin to hers.
She brought out the man in him.
She didn't blink or breathe, standing as if frozen while he tucked the tendril of hair behind the shell of her ear.
He knew better than to think she felt attracted to him now. She was never going to fall for a rough, loner of a horseman like him.
His only saving grace was that she might be easy to convince.
He kept walking and wrestled down the longing rising in his blood. "I've got the mare to doctor. You've got Judson to impress. You'd be wise to accept the fact that he fancies himself a courting man."
"Oh, I'm sure he is smarter than that." She plunged her hands into her coat pockets and shivered, although it was not cold. "He just needs to be discouraged. The last thing I need is for a man obviously telling lies to fake being smitten with me."
"True. He wasn't tracking anyone when I snuck up on him last night. He was watching your house and your barn. No doubt about it. Well, there is one good thing. At least the law is on your side. If I can help with that, I will."
"I never said I'd hire you for sure yet."
"Is that so?"
"You're wounded. Limping. Can't use one arm. Damaged. I'm not hiring a worker with a hole in him."
Humor looked incredible on him, putting a dimple in his smile and a twinkle in his eyes. "And who is to blame for that?"
"Not me."
"There's no one else who could be. You're at fault." His face gentled with amusement, making it easy to see the hint of a deeper, private softness in his heart. "You owe me, lady, big time. I'm working here and I'm not arguing about it."
"What about your injury?"
"It's healing up just fine. Or it will be."
Hard to argue with that. She wanted him whole and healed and out of pain. Okay, she could admit the truth. She was more than concerned about him. She couldn’t help it.
Anyone would be. He was an intensely likable man.
He squinted into the shafts of sunlight falling through the barnyard. He looked tough and hard and every inch like a man who'd survived living in the west by his might, his wit and his gun.
But now she knew his true colors, the real Brennan Mosley. And look at the horses in the corral, heads up, nickers of welcome, responding to him with trust. Of course they did.
The man radiated a strength, gentleness and calm that was a threat. If she wasn't careful he would lasso her and rope her in.
Well, that isn't going to happen. She squared her shoulders, determined. "When exactly are you going to rest?"
"I'm sure I lack the good sense to do it. I'm honest enough to admit to that fault."
"You're charming, Mr. Mosley, and I don't like it." She fought back the smile and lost the battle.
He chuckled. "If that's the only flaw you've noticed, then you and I are doing good."
"Do you mean you have other faults? I'm too impressed by your horse skills to notice."
"Exactly the kind of employer I'm looking for. This job is looking better and better." He slowed his gait and turned his attention to the end box stall. "There you are, pretty pinto mare. You're hurt worse than you want to show me, aren't you?"
The horse lifted her head off her straw bedding, fear shining in her chocolate-brown eyes. But as Brennan paced nearer, she release
d a pent-up breath, relieved and calm.
"That's what I thought." His baritone rumbled gently. "Hey, pretty mare, are you going to let me into that stall with you?"
Skye watched, a little heart struck, unable to explain the tug on her heartstrings, as his voice softened, still speaking to the wild horse. The door clicked behind him, and the granite-hewn horseman reached out to stroke the mare's neck, talking low and sweet.
The mare nickered as if with surrender and laid her head back down in the soft straw.
"Now I know your secret with the horses, why they love you." She closed the gate behind her and eased down beside the mare.
"I love horses. They judge me differently. They don't see my flaws the same way people do." His voice gentled more. The iron-hewn outlaw had an admirable soft spot in his stalwart heart. "For some reason, horses like me."
"There's no accounting for taste." She stroked the mare's velvet-warm forehead and black forelock. "I hope my touch is soothing you, pretty girl."
"It seems to be." He sorted through the pail of medical supplies. "Look at this pretty mare. She's the most beautiful girl in the room."
"Don't be taken in by him, mare. He's a charmer and a dandy, regardless of how he looks. Men like that say whatever is easy at the time. You can't depend on them to be true."
"Some men," he agreed good-naturedly. "I can't say that isn't true. But you can trust me, pretty girl. Careful, now, this is gonna sting."
He touched her raw wound with the damp cloth, and the mare startled, nickering in protest. He caught her by the neck and gently guided her head back down, so instead of bolting up on all fours, she stayed lying down, her injured shoulder visible.
"Whoa there, easy now, girl." His soothing drawl could calm the wind and it rang comforting enough that the mare seemed reassured and relaxed as he cleaned her gaping wound.
Skye kept gently stroking the horse's head, listening to Brennan talk sweet, lulled right along with the mare. Lulled, drawn in, hooked. Not exactly the reaction she wanted to have.
How did she break this hold the man had on her? She leaned back against the wall, stymied. Brennan worked, calm and slow.
"How many bands of wild mustangs do you get going through here?" Brennan might be speaking to her, but his attention remained on the mare, watching her with wonder.
"A few herds run through here regularly. The little herd she's from likes to stop and eat at my feeder."
"Because you put the food out for them on purpose."
"Well, the deer and elk come to eat there too."
"You're a big soft heart, aren't you?"
"I like to think I'm sensible, not soft."
"Soft is a good thing to be, trust me on that. I figure you watch the black stallion's herd pass on by all the time."
She nodded. "Sometimes I sit up on the porch at night, when it's summer, and watch for 'em. In the colder months, I have to catch them from my spot at the window."
"Anything else you spot out those windows?"
"Shooting stars. Coyotes. Owls. Even a few coyotes once come to drink at the creek."
"Didn't notice any human types, did you?" Brennan asked.
"I might not have noticed. I was watching for the mustangs."
The mare relaxed. He stopped working to run his big, well-shaped hands over her. Only her heaving sides hinted at her pain. At least her fear was less.
Skye rolled her eyes. It looked like she wasn't the only one falling beneath the man's spell. The mare was too.
Brennan took care to dab the salve over the open wound, and the sympathy he showed the horse put a lump in her throat.
Ka-thump, went her pulse. She couldn't resist him. Why not? She was normally tougher than this. She'd reached the point in her life where she'd given up all hope and all possibility.
Her future had become a sad but contented stretch of lonely. It would hurt too much to begin to hope now.
And to find out that she'd been wrong and would have to go back to accepting that long contented stretch of lonely again. That would hurt more than she could bear.
Even knowing that, feeling it down to her soul, the man and his tender loving kindness held her as fixedly as the earth did the moon.
Something tugged on her sunbonnet top and tugged hard.
She cut her gaze sideways to see the little foal standing splay-legged, adorable with his bottle brush forelock and bristled mane standing on end. Curious, adoring brown eyes studied her.
Just like that she fell in love.
"Looks like you've got a new buddy," Brennan chuckled. "And it isn't me."
She wished her attention didn't arrow over to the man still kneeling at the wounded mare's side, tending her. Any other man would be resting in bed, but, oh no, not this one.
She noticed how his hand trembled with weakness and yet he refused to comment on it. Which would be hard, considering how tightly his jaw was clamped, teeth tight together, and he grimaced, enduring the pain he was in. His face was ashen, clearly he was intent on caring for the mare instead of himself.
He looked up and noticed that she was watching him. He grinned big enough to show off that dimple. "Go on back to the house. I can handle it here."
What was it about him that had her softening, that held her spellbound? What was it about him that made her want to trust the man?
When their gazes locked, awareness charged through her like thunder clashing.
That's not awareness, but desire. Her heartbeat lurched, racing through her with the speed of a summer tornado.
The foal let go of her hat, and she gently and slowly stood up, determined to break the spell that Brennan had on her.
And couldn't.
Somehow she took a trembling step. She stumbled forward, her shoes taking her out of the stall and into the aisle, away from the majestic mare and foal and from the man who captivated her.
I won't fall for him, she insisted stubbornly.
But it was too late.
12
It had been a long day and it wasn't noon yet. Skye checked the mantle clock as she descended the stairs from remaking the bed. She had fourteen minutes to go until lunch, and already she was thinking about the barn and the mare she'd left there.
Not to mention the man who was loitering around out there somewhere. She grinned to herself and charged down the hallway.
"You're looking pretty chipper," Samantha commented as she looked up from her needlework. "Where's the handsome, mysterious wounded stranger?"
"Employee," Skye corrected, glad that decision was over and done with.
Not that she'd been the one making it.
He'd hired himself.
"I don't think our brother is worried about you out here on your own. I think this fellow, Mr. Mosley, must know about that. He's going to move in the bunkhouse, isn't he?"
"At the bunkhouse, yes. He will be on light duty, or at least maybe just rest if I can get him to do it, until he's recovered enough to do the barn work."
"Oh, good, that is a good idea. I don't think he ought to be staying in this house, although with his wound I don't know how we can deny him a comfortable bed. And in case he starts bleeding badly again."
"My thoughts exactly, but he's chosen the bunkhouse."
"Interesting. Do you need help fixing lunch?"
"Nope, you stay right where you are and keep knitting away. I've got some things to think over." That was an understatement. She whirled around, padding into the kitchen and where did her mind wander to?
Brennan. The man dominated her thoughts even when he wasn't in the room.
Whatever you do, do not think of the man. She rolled her eyes, washed her hands and reached for the hand towel. She had a perfect view of the back corral, where her three purebreds plus the little foal were enjoying the warm spring sunshine.
Her place was really starting to look smart. On the other side of the hedge the extensive lawn stretched all the way to the paddocks and riding arena. The barn was closer in, and beyond th
at the bunkhouse.
The soft green buds of spring were coloring the branches of the aspens and maples. Budding dogwoods and apple blossoms brightened the view, adding splashes of pastel and floral.
She pulled fresh slices from the breadbox and grabbed the butter bowl. The backdoor swung open, letting in the rush of a warm temperate breeze and the smell of growing grass.
She spun around searching for him. She spotted a pair of boots crossing into view from the lean-to, and as she brought her gaze upwards, she took her time taking in the crisp, new denims that could not disguise the power in his long, muscled legs.
Blue muslin hugged his lean waist and chest and emphasized the strength in his arms and shoulders. Whiskers darkened his jaw. His Stetson shaded the rest of his face.
She rocked back on her heels, unable to get her crazy pulse to calm down. She resisted the urge to touch him. Was he as hard everywhere as he looked?
I'm just curious, that's all. Nothing more. And that was the story she was gonna stick with.
"Howdy, there." Brennan swept off his hat. "It smells good in here."
"It's the bean soup. You timed it perfectly. What's a man like you doing in my kitchen?" She meant to be funny, but the words stuck in her throat, rasping with an emotion that surprised her. And she was better off denying.
"I was going to come beg for some food. It worked this morning." He hung his hat on the peg and shrugged out of his jacket. Winced when he moved his injured arm out of the sleeve. "I was hoping you would feed me since I've decided to work for your horses."
"I suppose it can be arranged." She reached for the ladle and dished up a steaming bowl of bean soup. "How's the wild mare and her colt doing?"
"Better than me," he quipped.
"You would be smart to take it easy and rest so you can heal. Would it do any good if I ordered you to go lie down?"
"I wouldn't advise trying it, if I were you." He took the bowl she handed him. "This looks tasty. Great. At least you're a good cook."
"Typical man. At least you have skills I need, and not just with horses. At least you're good for something."
"Too true, I can't argue." He set his bowl on the table, unable to hide the pain etched on his face at odds with the humor in his eyes. "At least the mare looks better."