by Brenda Mott
She breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Calling Trent’s bluff had apparently been the thing to do. “Need any help finishing your chores?” she asked, trying to hide the note of triumph that lightened her tone.
“I can handle it,” Trent said.
Okay, so she hadn’t completely softened him up.
He flicked a glance her way. “I’m about done, anyway,” he said grudgingly. “But if you want, you can pour some grain to the weanlings.”
“All right,” Bailey said, matching his cool tone of voice. “I can do that.” She tethered Star to a nearby hitching post and hauled sweet feed to the foals.
“I’ll get saddled,” Trent said, edging past her.
Bailey nodded, ignoring the way her stomach did a little flip when his shoulder brushed against hers as they passed each other in the barn doorway. He got a halter and lead rope, and she fed the weanlings, then put the feed buckets back in the grain room. She watched Trent lead Dokina to the barn.
Minutes later, they rode down the driveway to the road and headed off along the gravel shoulder.
Trent frowned down at Star’s hooves. “He’s got a loose shoe. Who put those on him?” His tone sounded accusatory.
Bailey frowned back. She’d seen a farrier’s ad in the local paper and phoned about it. The young man who’d responded had told her he was fresh out of horseshoeing school and was just getting started in the business. She’d figured someone new would be eager for customers and would therefore give her horse the utmost attention. “Owen Preston,” Bailey said. “Do you know him?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of him,” Trent said, looking disgusted. “He’s barely out of high school.” He glowered at her. “I wouldn’t trust him with my horses. Why’d you call him?”
Bailey almost let her jaw drop. “Why do you think? You told me Star needed shoes, so I looked in the newspaper and found Owen’s number.” Defensiveness rose in her. “He seemed competent.”
“Well, he’s too young to know what he’s doing yet,” Trent said. “You should’ve asked me for a name.”
“Fine,” Bailey said sweetly. “Who do you use?”
“I do all my own farrier work, but I can give you the names of a couple of good shoers. Meanwhile, you can’t ride Star with his shoe like that.” He’d slowed Dokina and now pulled her to a halt. Bailey tried not to notice the way his eyes appeared even more gray in the surrounding dusk. “Let’s head back to the barn,” he said. “I’ll fix the shoe.”
He’d done enough favors for her already. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” Bailey protested.
“You’re not. I offered, didn’t I?”
She bristled, wondering if it was his gruff manner that irritated her, or simply her own reaction to him. There was something about Trent she found appealing, something that tempted her to dig beneath the armor he’d covered himself with and get to the man beneath. What was he really like? What had he been like before Sarah’s death?
Bailey told herself she didn’t really want to know. She could enjoy his company without delving too deeply. Just because she was curious about him and attracted to him didn’t mean she had to think beyond that. Yet, getting Trent to open up to her, even a little, gave her a sense of satisfaction. It made her feel she at least meant something to him, friendshipwise. After all, he didn’t seem to hang around with or talk to anyone else.
“All right, then,” she said, turning Star around.
They headed back to the barn, and now Bailey did notice the clank and rattle of the gelding’s loose shoe, which she’d previously missed. Leaving Dokina tied to the hitching post outside the barn, Trent haltered Star and led him inside, where he put him in cross-ties—a lead rope attached to each side of his halter—in the aisle.
“I’ll get my tools,” he said. “There’s a fridge in the office if you’d like a can of pop.” He gestured toward a room near the stalls.
“Thanks,” Bailey said. She wasn’t all that thirsty, but it would give her something to do. Something to take her mind off the confusion she experienced every time she was around Trent. She entered the office, groped for the light switch and froze when brightness flooded the area.
Her gaze riveted on the twelve-by-fourteen photograph of Sarah that hung on the wall over Trent’s desk. Her quest for a can of pop forgotten, Bailey stepped around behind the desk, her hand reaching out automatically to touch the oak frame.
Oh, God. Her heart fluttered, then squeezed painfully.
Sarah had been a beautiful child, even more so than Macy. As a matter of fact, she really didn’t look all that much like Macy beyond the way she was dressed and the way she wore her pale blond hair. Twin braids lay over the shoulders of her sequined purple western shirt, her big blue eyes shadowed by the brim of a cream-colored cowboy hat. Dimples creased her cheeks as she smiled for the camera.
The photo had obviously been taken at a horse show, and Sarah’s little hands gripped the end of a fancy leather lead attached to a pale gray Arabian that Bailey didn’t remember seeing on the ranch among Trent’s other horses. It had never occurred to her to wonder if he still had Sarah’s horse.
The photo was a head shot of Sarah and her gray, and she wore a banner of some sort across her shoulder, like the ones donned by rodeo queens. Her smile was enough to have won the heart of any horse show judge—or anyone who so much as looked at her. It was the happiest, most genuine smile Bailey had ever seen on a kid. Not a fake, posed for the photo.
Bailey’s heart twisted. Trent’s loss of his daughter had saddened her before, but now that she had a face to put with the name, she felt even more deeply for him than ever. Such a horrible tragic waste of a short vivid life.
She blinked back the burning sensation behind her eyes and turned her attention to the huge blue ribbon fastened to the outside corner of the picture frame. Slowly, she reached up and ran her fingertips over it. First Place—Halter Class—Peewee Division.
Happier times.
That he was able to leave Sarah’s photo hanging above his desk, a daily reminder of the little girl who’d been taken from him, told Bailey just how strong he really was. Put in his position, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to do the same.
“She was the princess.”
Trent’s voice startled her, and Bailey swallowed a gasp as she swung around to face him. Sadness filled his eyes, and the guarded look he usually wore was gone.
Bailey felt much the same way she had that day he’d caught her at Sarah’s grave—like an intruder. “She was beautiful,” she said, meaning it. “Inside and out, I’d bet.” She looked once more at the photograph.
“That was her favorite picture of her and Misttique.” Trent’s eyes took on a faraway look, but a smile underlay his words. “It was taken two years ago, at her first horse show.”
Impulsively, Bailey moved around the desk and reached for his hand. “I know how you must miss her,” she said.
He swallowed, blinked, then squeezed her hand. “Yeah,” he said, his voice husky. “Yeah, I do.”
“I’m sorry,” Bailey said, lowering her voice to a near whisper. “Really, truly sorry.” She choked back the tears brought on by seeing the moisture in Trent’s eyes.
He said nothing but continued to grip her hand.
She sensed this wasn’t the time to push him. It was simply a time to let him know she was here if he needed her. And she felt she’d done that with this small gesture.
She gave their clasped hands a little shake. “So, did you think I’d gotten lost?” She forced a smile, willing her voice not to tremble. “Figured I couldn’t find the refrigerator?” She’d obviously been in his office longer than she’d thought, longer than it would take simply to get a can of pop.
For a moment, he seemed surprised by her light comment, as though he’d expected her to probe, instead, about his little girl. He squeezed her hand once more, then released it.
“The thought had crossed my mind, banker woman.” He gave her a sad little half grin, then lef
t the office.
Bailey moved to the mini fridge in the corner and extracted a can of pop without even noting the flavor. Her thoughts were elsewhere.
Something had happened between them just now. Something had passed from her to Trent, a form of understanding. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Bailey popped the top on the soda can, not entirely sure what to make of that feeling of closeness.
CHAPTER NINE
WITH STAR’S SHOE INTACT, Trent rode beside Bailey through the trees, toward a trail that led to the river. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just fixed the horseshoe and called it a night. It would have been easy to tell Bailey he’d changed his mind, that the ride would have to wait until another time.
But the damn fool woman had no business going out on the trail in the moonlight, much less on Star, with his one eye, when she barely knew how to handle a horse. While it wasn’t Trent’s responsibility to take care of her, he somehow felt the need to look after Bailey and make sure she didn’t end up getting herself in trouble. Besides, he’d actually begun to enjoy her company, though he knew he shouldn’t. That she hadn’t pressured him into talking about Sarah tonight meant a lot.
They rode in silence, and Bailey seemed content simply to enjoy the scenery. Dusk had all but given way to darkness. “There’s a nice trail through here,” Trent said. “It leads to the banks of the Colorado.” The river wound alongside the frontage road, past Ferguson and its surrounding towns, cutting through private property here and there.
“I love the way the river looks in the moonlight,” Bailey said. “When I drive alongside it, I often find myself pulling over for a closer look.”
Trent nodded agreement. Like an oil painting, the Colorado spread out before them as they broke from the trees. Moonlight spilled across the water, turning everything around it surreal, glowing with a brightness akin to early-morning light. He watched as Bailey sucked in her breath and pulled Star to a halt, taking it all in.
“What’s wrong?” he teased, turning in the saddle to see the expression on her face. She looked like a kid viewing Disneyland for the first time.
“God, but I love this part of the country!” Bailey said, shaking her head in awe. “How many people are blessed with a sight like this in their own backyard?” She gestured to include the expanse of land and river. Then she spoke as though thinking out loud more than talking to him, her gaze still on the river. “How many of life’s simple pleasures have I missed by living in the city all these years?”
He smiled. “I don’t know, city girl. You tell me.” He kept his voice soft and even. But his heart pounded and he couldn’t help wondering what he himself had missed out on before he’d met her. He tried to shake off the thought, but it wouldn’t go. He swung down from the saddle and offered her his hand. “Want to see it close-up?”
She hesitated but a moment, then took his hand and eased from the saddle. Heat snaked up his wrist from where their palms linked, and the urge to take Bailey into his arms and kiss her washed over him like the river that flowed below. Instead, he held the reins of his horse in his free hand and walked with Bailey toward the water’s edge.
They let the horses drink while they stood on the banks and stared across the river. “Look.” Trent pointed. Two mule deer had come down from the mountain to drink, and they lifted their heads and gazed with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension at him and Bailey and the horses.
“Oh,” Bailey whispered, gripping Trent’s arm with excitement. “They’re gorgeous! I’ve never been this close to a deer before.” She smiled. “Except in a zoo.”
“Not quite the same, huh?” He grinned back at her and, from the corner of his eye, saw the deer bound up the riverbank and disappear into the trees and brush.
“Not even close,” Bailey said. “That was incredible.” She smiled and squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you brought me here.”
So was he, and he could no longer resist the urge to kiss her. He pulled her against him so fast it made her gasp. The impulsive action took him by surprise, as well. But before Trent could give it a second thought, Bailey was in his arms, her lips soft and warm beneath his. She groaned as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, and the sound brought heat rushing to his groin. From the moment he’d seen her, he’d wanted to make love to her, and that had not changed. No matter what his better judgment told him, he wanted Bailey in the worst way.
He needed to get himself under control.
“We’d better go back,” he murmured. Unable to resist, he traced kisses along her earlobe, her jaw, then found her mouth again. Her hands laced behind his neck, her mouth eagerly responding. Her tongue wrapped around his, warming his blood, making it hard to stop.
He did so with effort.
Bailey’s eyes sparkled in the moonlight, eager, alive. She made him feel alive for the first time in over a year, and he tamped down the guilt that feeling brought him.
She licked her lips, sending his pulse into a frenzy, and nodded. “Yes, I suppose we’d better.”
They rode back toward Windsong, and Trent could barely focus on keeping his horse on the trail in the moonlight. He wanted to relish this moment with Bailey, and try as he might, the longing to make love to her would not abate, though it scared him. He’d been with no one since his breakup with Amy, and even then it had been a long time since they’d had an intimate relationship. Sarah’s illness had put such stress and strain on their marriage that Amy had moved out of his bed weeks before she’d moved out of his life.
Blocking the thought, Trent focused only on the moment. He’d had every intention of pushing Bailey from his life, and certainly had never thought—not seriously, anyway—to take her to bed. But maybe he should. Maybe it would be the one way to get over what he felt for her. He told himself it was purely a sexual thing. Hell, he’d gone so long without sex that he’d probably just reached the end of his rope. He was only human. He’d met a beautiful woman he liked and was attracted to, and now he wanted to have her. It was nothing more than that.
Right.
He knew that was a lie. Deep down, he also knew that Bailey turned him inside out and upside down, and that if he’d just allow himself a little slack, he could fall in love with her. But that wasn’t going to happen. He couldn’t let it. Making love was one thing; falling in love was another.
Lost in thought, Trent let his horse move along the trail automatically, barely aware that Dokina veered onto a fork in the path that they usually took as a route home. Bailey’s sharp intake of breath caused him to look up, and only then did he fully realize where they were. The narrow trail branched away from the main path, flanked by tall mountain grass, wildflowers and Russian olive and cottonwood trees. Just above it, on the overlooking hill, was the cemetery.
The expression in Bailey’s eyes as she met his gaze was enough to shock him into shame. Here he’d been letting wanton thoughts of her fill his head, not even realizing that he now rode on the trail he usually took when he wanted to think about his daughter. He’d made weekly visits to the cemetery without fail ever since Sarah’s death. He often chose this trail, too, on his way back from a ride to the river, so that he could look up and see Roth Hill and know that Sarah had been laid to rest in the shelter of these mountains. She suffered no more and was now in a far better place than this earth had to offer, though he missed her so much he thought his heart would surely shrivel up into nothing.
“I didn’t realize you could see the cemetery from here,” Bailey said. Sadness filled her pretty eyes. “It’s so peaceful.”
Trent pulled Dokina to a halt, and Star automatically stopped, bumping Bailey forward in the saddle. She quickly regained her balance, loosened her reins a little and let the gelding stand. Though he couldn’t see Sarah’s grave, Trent focused his gaze on top of the hillside. A few of the headstones and marble crosses stood in view, shadows in the moonlight.
“It’s close to home,” he said, “where I can visit often.” He sighed and leaned forward, res
ting his crossed wrists on the saddle horn.
He’d never talked to anyone except his parents about Sarah’s death, and even then he’d held back. Because sharing his pain meant exposing his heart, and that he could not bring himself to do. He still wasn’t sure he would ever be able to talk about Sarah’s death at length, but something about Bailey let him feel comfortable in talking a little.
“Amy’s only visited Sarah’s grave once since the funeral. I guess she just can’t handle it. She didn’t want to help me plant the blue spruce or decorate it.”
“Why did you?” Bailey asked, her voice a near whisper.
He noticed she was holding her breath, as though afraid that if he realized he was telling her these things, he might stop. Normally, he would have. Only three people besides him knew the reason behind Sarah’s tree: Amy, his mother and his father. But somehow he didn’t mind including Bailey.
“Sarah loved Christmastime,” he said. “We had a routine we’d followed since she was real small. On Christmas Eve day, I always took her sledding. And that night, weather permitting, we’d go for a short horseback ride.” He smiled softly in remembrance. “I used to carry her on the front of my saddle when she was real little, then behind it as she grew bigger, until finally, she could ride her own horse.”
“That sounds like fun,” Bailey said.
“Yeah.” The memories folded around him, taking him back to a snowy day with his little girl. “After our ride, we’d have hot chocolate, then we’d each choose one present to open.” He let out a small laugh. “Sarah never could decide which one until the last minute. She’d pick one, then change her mind and pick another.” He looked at Bailey and found she was smiling, though her eyes had misted over.
Trent swallowed to ease the constriction of his throat. “She’d be up at the crack of dawn on Christmas Day, and we’d have a huge dinner with my family. By bedtime, Sarah was so worn-out she could hardly hold her eyes open. But she always made me read her the story from the Bible of how baby Jesus was born in the stable. And just before she dropped off to sleep, she’d say, ‘You know what I wish, Daddy?’” His voice thickened, and he fought the tears that burned his eyes. “‘I wish every day could be Christmas, because it’s just like magic.’”