by Nora Roberts
The Templeton horse palace was a far cry from the simple working stables that Michael had built in the hills, then watched collapse under walls of mud. Not that it had looked much like a palace when he stepped inside that first afternoon, when he ran into Laura. Then it bore more than a slight resemblance to some fairy-tale cottage long under a wicked spell, deserted by all who had once inhabited it.
He had to grin at the thought, and at the fact that everything about the Templeton estate made him think of fairy tales with golden edges.
What he found in the stables was dust, disuse, and disrepair.
It had taken him the best part of a week to ready the building. No easy task for one man and a single pair of hands, but he wasn't willing to move his horses in until their temporary home had been cleaned and organized to his specifications.
On the other hand, for that week he'd had to endure the public stables, the painfully high fee for boarding, and the fact that his own lodgings were miles away from his stock. But the results were well worth the investment of a few sixteen-hour, muscle-aching days.
It was a good, solid building, with the stylish touches that the Templetons were known for. The loose boxes had plenty of space and light and air, a more important feature to Michael than the intricately laid brick flooring, the decorative tiles around the mangers, or the ornate ironwork above them, with its center stylized T in polished brass.
Though he did consider the fancy work a nice touch.
The layout was practical, with the tack room at one end of the block, the feed room at the other. Though he was baffled by the obvious neglect and disuse, he put his back into it and dug in to correct the situation. He hauled and hammered, swept and scrubbed until every stall met his stringent standards for his babies.
He thought of them as such, secretly.
He'd had fresh hay and straw delivered that morning and had been grateful that the boy who delivered it had been willing to make a few extra dollars by helping Michael store the bales.
Now each stall was deeply bedded with wheat straw—expensive and difficult to come by, but these were his babies, after all. Some tools and some ingenuity had put the automatic drinking bowls back in working order. He oiled hinges on stall doors, replaced hooks that had rusted away.
Since he'd lost all of his supplies in the mud, he had to restock grain, electrolytes, vitamins, medicines. He'd managed to salvage some tack, some tools. Every piece had been cleaned and polished, and what couldn't be saved had been, or would shortly be, replaced.
His fifteen horses were housed as royally as he could manage, but as yet, he hadn't done more than sleep in the upstairs apartment.
"You've come up in the world, Max. You might not know it, but you are now a tenant of the Templeton estate. That is one big fucking deal, pal, take my word for it."
He slapped the horse affectionately on the flank and pulled a carrot out of the pouch tied at his waist. "I've already started designing your new place. Don't worry. Maybe we'll add a few of the fancier touches ourselves this time around. But in the meantime, you can't do much better than this."
Max took the carrot politely, and the dark eye he turned to Michael was filled with patience, wisdom, and, Michael liked to think, affection as well.
He stepped out of the stall, latched the bottom half of the door with its foot bolt, then moved down the block. The floor might have been fancy enough for a garden party, but it sloped perfectly. His boot heels clicked. In anticipation, a chestnut head poked over the adjoining stall door.
"Looking for me, baby?" This was his sweetheart, as kind and gentle a mare as he had ever worked with. He'd bought her as a foal, and now she was heavily pregnant and had been assigned to the foaling stall. He called her Darling.
"How's it going today? You're going to be happy here." He stepped inside and ran his hands over her enormous sides. Like an expectant father, he was filled with anticipation and concern. She was small, barely fourteen hands, and he worried about how she would fare when her time came.
Darling liked to have her belly rubbed, and she blew appreciatively when Michael obliged her. "So beautiful." He cupped her face in his hands as a man might hold the face of a cherished woman. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever owned."
Pleased with the attention, she blew again, then lowered her head to nibble at his pouch. Chuckling, he took out an apple—she preferred them to carrots. "Here you go, Darling. You're eating for two."
He heard the voices—young, excited, almost piping—and stepped out of the stall.
"Mama said we're not supposed to bother him."
"We're not going to bother him. We'll just look. Come on, Kayla. Don't you want to see the horses?"
"Yeah, but… What if he's in there? What if he yells at us?"
"Then we'll just run away, but we'll get to see the horses first."
Amused, wondering if Laura had painted him as an ogre or a recluse, Michael stepped out of the shadows of the stables and into the sunlight. If he'd been a poetic man, he would have said he'd encountered two angels.
They thought they were looking into the face of the devil himself. He was all in black, with shadows behind him. The hard, handsome face was unsmiling and dark with stubble. His hair reached almost to his shoulders, and he had a black bandanna tied around his forehead, like a wild Indian, or a pirate.
He seemed big, huge, dangerous.
Her heart jittering, Ali put a hand on Kayla's shoulder, both to protect her sister and to steady herself. "We live here," she stammered. "We can be here."
He couldn't resist playing it out a little. "Is that so? Well, I live here. And I don't look kindly on trespassers. You wouldn't be horse thieves, would you? We have to hang horse thieves."
Shocked, appalled, terrified, Ali could only shake her head vigorously. But Kayla stepped forward, fascinated.
"You have pretty eyes," she said, dimpling into a smile. "Are you really a troublemaking hoodlum? Annie said so."
All Ali could do was whisper her sister's name in mortification and fear.
Ah, he thought, Ann Sullivan, sowing his youthful reputation ahead of him. "I used to be. I gave it up." Christ, the kid was a picture, he thought. A heart melter. "Your name's Kayla, and you have your mother's eyes."
"Uh-huh, and that's Ali. She's ten. I'm seven and a half, and I lost a tooth." She grinned widely to show him the accomplishment.
"Cool. Have you looked for it?"
She giggled. "No, the Tooth Fairy has it. She took it up into the sky to make a star out of it. Do you have all your teeth?"
"Last time I checked."
"You're Mr. Fury. Mama says we have to call you that. I like your name, it's like a storybook person."
"A villain?"
"Maybe." She twinkled at him. "Can we see your horses, Mr. Fury? We won't steal them or hurt them or anything."
"I think they'd like to see you." He offered a hand, which Kayla took without hesitation. "Come on, Ali," he said casually. "I won't yell at you unless you deserve it."
Biting her lip, Ali followed them into the stables. "Oh!" She jolted back, then giggled at herself when Max stuck his huge head over the stall door. "He's so big. He's so pretty." She started to reach out, then stuck her hand behind her back.
"You can pet him," Michael told her. The older girl was a little shy, he decided, and pretty as a picture in a book. "He doesn't bite. Unless you deserve it." To demonstrate, he hauled Kayla up on his hip. "Go ahead, meet Max. He's a Southern gentleman."
"Our uncle is a Southern gentleman," Kayla announced. "But he doesn't look like Max." Delighted, she stroked the soft cheek. "Smooth," she murmured. "Hello, Max. Hello."
Not one to be outmatched by her kid sister, Ali stepped forward again and touched Max's other cheek. "Does he let you ride him and everything?"
"Yep. Max and I have fought wild Indians together, been wild Indians together, robbed stagecoaches, jumped ravines." Looking down into two pairs of wide eyes, he grinned. "Max is a Hollywood st
ar."
"Really?" Enchanted, Kayla touched one velvet ear, giggling when it flicked under her fingers.
"Really. I'll show you his press clippings later. Come meet Darling. She's going to have a baby soon."
"Aunt Margo just had one." Kayla chattered gaily as they made the new acquaintance. "His name is John Thomas, but we call him J. T. Do horses have babies the same way people have them?"
"Pretty much," Michael murmured and skirted the issue by distracting the girls with the mare.
They met Jack, the dignified gelding, and Lulu, a frisky mare. Then Zip, the fastest horse—so Michael claimed—in the West.
"Why do you have so many?" Suspicion of the man couldn't hold out against delight with horses. With shyness outmatched by curiosity, Ali dogged Michael's every move and peppered him with questions.
"I train them. I buy them, sell them."
"Sell them?" The very idea had Kayla's lip poking out.
"All but Max and Darling. I won't sell them, ever. But the others will go to people who'll appreciate their talents and take good care of them. They all have a destiny. Now Jack here, he's going to make someone a good saddle horse. He'll ride forever if you ask him. And Rash, he'll be a hell of a stunt pony when I'm finished with him."
"You mean he'll do tricks?"
"Yeah." Michael grinned at Kayla. "He's already got a few up his sleeve. But Max—now Max knows them all. Want a show?"
"Really, can we?"
"It'll cost you."
"How much?" Kayla demanded. "I have money in my bank."
"Not money," Michael said as he led them back to Max. "If you like the show, you have to come back and work it off."
"What kind of work?" Ali wanted to know.
"We'll talk about it. Come on, Max." Michael took a bridle and slipped it on. "You've got a couple of ladies to impress here."
At five, Max was a veteran performer. He high-stepped it outside, pleased to have an audience. Michael led him to the small paddock beside the building. "You girls stay at the fence there. This could get hairy. Take your bows, Max."
Max gracefully bent his front legs and lowered himself. When the girls erupted with applause, Michael could have sworn that Max grinned.
"Up," he ordered.
Using voice and hand signals, Michael took Max through his routine. The big horse reared, pawed the air, let out a high whinny. He pranced, sidestepped, danced, circled. Then when Michael swung up onto his bare back, he repeated the routine with variations.
"Now here's his 'we've been walking in the desert for three days without water routine.' " At the signal, Max drooped, his head fell limply, and he plodded along as though each step would be his last. "Now, look out, rattlesnake." Max leapt back, bunched up, cowered. "God almighty, the posse shot my horse right out from under me. Dead horse, Max."
For his finale Max wheeled, cantered to the left, and dropped to the ground. Michael tumbled off, rolled. As he got to his feet, he caught sight of Laura, racing in skinny little heels across the yard.
"Oh, God, are you all right? How did it happen? Oh, your horse!"
Though he started to speak, Michael found himself too involved in watching that nifty length of bare leg as she vaulted the fence in her neat little lady's suit.
Max lay dead, hardly flicking an eye when Laura knelt at his head. "Poor thing, poor thing! Is it his leg? Who's your vet?"
At the sight of the horse lying with his big head nestled in the lap of Laura's pretty blue skirt, Michael tucked his tongue in his cheek. "Looks like it's curtains for old Max."
"Don't say that," Laura snapped back. "He might have just bruised something." But what if he hadn't? She pushed back the hair that curled flirtatiously at her jaw. "Girls, go back to the house now."
"But, Mama—"
"Don't argue." She couldn't bear the idea of either of them witnessing what might have to be done.
"Laura," Michael began.
"Why are you just standing there?" Worry and temper warred in her eyes. "Why aren't you doing something? The poor thing is suffering, and you're just standing there. Don't you care about your own horse?"
"Yes, ma'am, I do. Max, cut."
On cue, and to Laura's astonishment, the big horse rolled again, then got to his feet.
"It was a trick, Mama." Kayla laughed gaily at the shared joke while Michael pulled Laura up. "Max does tricks. He was playing dead. Like a dog does. Isn't he wonderful? Isn't he smart?"
"Yes." Under a ragged cloak of dignity, Laura brushed off her skirt. "He's certainly talented."
"Sorry." A wise man knew when to smother a grin. Michael rarely chose to be wise. "I'd have warned you if I'd seen you coming. Then you were off and running." He scratched his cheek. "Seemed a lot more worried about my horse than about me. I could have broken my neck."
"The horse was down," Laura said primly. "You weren't." But everything faded into admiration as Max bent his head to her. "Oh, he is beautiful. Aren't you gorgeous? Aren't you clever?"
"Max has been in tots of movies." Ali moved closer. "So has Mr. Fury."
"Oh?"
"Stunts," Michael explained. He took a carrot out of his pouch, handed it to Laura. "Give him that, he's your slave for life."
"Who could resist?" As she offered the treat, she spoke slowly. "Didn't I tell you girls not to pester Mr. Fury?"
"Yes, but he said we weren't." Kayla smiled hopefully up at Michael. Standing on the rail of the fence, she lifted her arms, confident.
"Because you weren't." He hauled her up, fit her so naturally on his hip that Laura frowned. "I like the company," he said to Laura. "So do the horses. They get tired of looking at me all day. The kids are welcome to come by anytime. If they're in my way, I'll tell them."
To Kayla's delight, and Laura's momentary horror, he plunked Kayla onto Max's wide back.
"It's high. Look how high up I am."
"I'm trying not to," Laura said, her hand automatically going to the bridle. "He's a stunt horse, not a saddle pony."
"Gentle as a lamb," Michael assured her, then lifted Ali over the fence and put her behind her sister. "He'll carry the three of you if you want. He's also strong as a bull."
"No, thank you." Her heart settled as she looked into Max's eyes. They were indeed gentle. "I'm not exactly dressed for it."
"So I noticed. You look good, Ms. Templeton. And you looked damned good climbing over the fence."
She looked back, into Michael's eyes. Gentle? No, indeed, she thought. But just as compelling. "I imagine I made quite a picture."
"You don't know the half of it, sugar."
She stepped back. "Okay, girls, party's over. You need to wash up for dinner."
Ali started to complain, stopped herself. She didn't want to risk being told she couldn't come back. "Can Mr. Fury come to dinner?"
"Oh." Discomfort and manners. Manners always won. "Of course Michael, you're welcome to come."
And if he'd ever received a cooler and less enthusiastic invitation, he couldn't remember. "Thanks, but I have plans. I'm heading over to Josh's to meet his son."
"Well, then." She reached up, lifted Kayla, then Ali to the ground. "We'll get out of your way."
"There were a couple of things I wanted to run by you. If you've got a minute."
"Of course." Her feet were killing her. All she wanted was to take off those damn heels and sit down. "Girls, tell Annie I'll be in shortly."
"Thank you, Mr. Fury." Her mother's daughter to the core, Ali offered a hand.
"You're welcome."
"Thanks, Mr. Fury, for showing us the horses, and the tricks and everything. I want to tell Annie." Kayla started to race off but stopped at the fence. "Mr. Fury?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
She giggled at that, then sobered. "Can you teach dogs, too? If you had a puppy, or somebody did, could you teach him tricks like Max?"
"I expect I could, if he was a good dog."
She smiled again, wistfully, then hurried away behind her sister.
"She wants a dog," Laura murmured. "I didn't know. She never said. She asked years ago, but Peter… Damn it. I should have realized."
Intrigued, Michael watched the varied emotions play over her face. And the weightiest was guilt. "Do you always beat yourself up this way?''
"I should have known. She's my child. I should have known she wanted a puppy." Suddenly tired, she dragged her hands through her hair.
"So get her one."
Her chin set. "I will. I'm sorry." Shaking off the guilt, she looked back at Michael. "What did you need?"
"Oh, I need a lot of things." Casually, he draped an arm around Max's neck. "A hot meal, a fast car, the love of a good woman—but what we both need is a couple of mousers."
"Excuse me?"
"You need some barn cats, Laura. You got rodents."
"Oh, God." She shuddered once, blew out a breath. "I should have realized that, too. We used to keep some when we had horses, but Peter—" She broke off, shut her eyes. No, she was not traveling down that road again. "I'll be making a trip to the pound, it seems. I'll get a couple of cats."
"You're going to get your kid a dog from the pound?"
"And why not?"
"No reason." He led Max toward the fence. "Figured you for the purebred type, that's all. That's the way some people are about horses. They want Arabians, Thoroughbreds. I've got me one of the prettiest fillies you could want in that stable. She's smart as a whip and quick as a snake. She's what you'd call a mongrel, though. Always liked mongrels myself."
"I prefer character above lineage."
"Good for you." In an absentminded movement, he bent down, plucked a struggling buttercup out of its patch of grass, and handed it to her. "I'd say you've got both in those girls of yours. They're beauties. Heartbreakers. The little one's already wrapped her fist around mine. And she knows it."
"You surprise me." She stared down at the sunny yellow flower in her hand, baffled. Despite fatigue and aching feet, she followed him into the stables. "You don't strike me as a man who'd take to children. Little girls."
"Mongrels are full of surprises."
"I didn't mean—"
"I know you didn't." He settled Max in his stall, latched the door. "The little one's got your eyes, smoke and storms. Ali's got your mouth, soft and wanting to be stubborn." He grinned then. "You breed good, Laura."