She watched him. She loved his hands, wide and callused from work. Strong, capable hands made a woman feel safe. Her heart seemed to flutter like the wings of a butterfly just thinking about what his hand would feel like on the small of her back as he moved her through a crowded room. Or on her face as he gazed at her with his deep, blue eyes.
Sara had seen him working in the barnyard, hauling bags of feed and hoisting spools of barbed wire onto the truck with ease. Years of working hard had given him strength, yet she knew firsthand how gentle he could be with Jonathan. He had hands built for working. And for loving. He'd transferred that same love and care to his work here, crafting his son's bed.
Sara's ex-husband had his hands manicured religiously, as did she. A quick glance at her own nails now had her curling her fingers under self-consciously. They'd been neglected since she'd come to Steerage Rock. No longer was there the time for pampering that was rarely broken back in Los Angeles. Now Jonathan took up so much of her time.
Not ready to face the quiet of the house, Sara stayed and watched Mitch. His dark brown hair was getting a little too long in the front and a lock of hair kept draping across his startling blue eyes. With a quick swipe of his hand, that she could swear he was barely aware of, Mitch pushed the hair aside while keeping his mind concentrated on his work.
Dedication. Love. It was both, she decided.
You needed dedication and love to dig in roots. That’s why she’d come home.
She'd initially come outside to ask Mitch a question. But as she heard the DJ come back from commercial and spin another classic, she settled back against the workbench and just listened. Every so often, Mitch would start singing.
She couldn’t hold back the smile when he finally glanced at her.
“What? Did I do something wrong?”
Shaking her head, she said, “You were born in the wrong decade.”
“Nah. You forget I'm not from around these parts. When I was kid, my friends and me listened to Motown and classic rock. It was considered classic from the 60's and 70's even then, but we couldn't get enough of it.”
He danced around, tools in hand, singing and smiling as if he were doing it for her entertainment. And maybe he was. He seemed to take pleasure in her laughter.
“Oh, this is one of my favorite songs,” he said, turning the radio up loud enough so the booming bass of the music bounced off the walls of the workshop. He came toward her with arms stretched open wide.
“Mitch, I won't be able to hear the baby.”
“He won't wake up. Besides, it's just a short song. Come dance with me, Sara.”
Her pulse jackhammered. Taking in his outstretched arms and the thought of having them wrapped around her, Sara shook her head, crossing her arms across her chest. “I'll pass. I think you're doing fine for the both of us.”
“Ah, come on. Just one dance. The song is half over anyway.”
Before she could stop him, he had her on her feet and in his arms, breezing her around the workshop floor as if she was dancing on air. Her heart beat strong, like a timpani keeping time to the music.
Laughing, she let herself be taken by him. It had been a long time since she'd laughed so hard, or let her guard down enough to have a little fun. Part of her, some hidden place deep inside her head, told her that it wasn't a good idea. But Sara ignored it.
Her stomach hurt from laughing so much. Her head was spinning like a disk on a turntable. When the song ended, she tried to pull free, but Mitch held her tight.
“You're not getting away from me that easy,” he said, his eyes dark filled with wild desire she felt deep inside her.
A flutter of panic raced through her. What she was thinking? What she wanted couldn't happen. When Mitch gazed at her this way, with eyes that were an endless sea of warmth and charm, with arms so strong they made all the mistakes of the past melt away like ice on hot plate, her mind turned to mush. She couldn't think at all.
She wanted Mitch to kiss her, to feel that connection of man and woman. Her mind told her that it was only because they were two normal healthy adults, living together in the same house and it had been a long time since a man had held her this way. It had nothing to do with real attraction and desire. But even she knew that was a lie. She was fiercely attracted to Mitch, and denying it didn't make it go away.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, Mitch drew Sara toward him as if they were going to dance a very intimate slow number. The music had somehow faded into the background and all she could hear was her own heart hammering in her chest, beating in time with Mitch's.
Sara focused on his lips and wondered what it would be like to be kissed by Mitch Broader. It was a dangerous thought, frightening, and yet, very exhilarating at the same time.
Mitch bent his head and brushed his lips against hers, sending shock waves pulsing through her veins. It was sweet, yet controlled in a way that she didn't feel. In a way that had her body begging for more. As he pulled back, his eyes flashed with smoky passion. If he were feeling half of what she was, Mitch had to have enormous strength to keep from losing control. And then he smiled, pulling away and dancing again.
Vaguely disappointed that the music had started again, Sara let him twirl her around the dusty floor. Mitch held her, like a bunch of flowers that would bruise if he applied the least amount of pressure. Yet his strength was evident in the way he moved her with him, leading, yet not demanding she go his way.
He winked once, and then, with his arm around her waist, dipped her back so he hovered above her and she had to cling to him to keep from falling.
She laughed at the sheer craziness of dancing in the workshop with Mitch. He laughed too. A rich sound that rumbled deep inside his chest.
The lyrics had ended and the music was winding down to a stop. Mitch lifted her hand high in the air and twirled her around. By her own clumsiness, her hip caught a hammer sticking out from the workbench and pitched it over the edge of the bench, along with a small box of tool bits the hammer's edge caught. In the corner of her eye, Sara saw the movement. Her mind registered there would be a crash to the floor. What she didn't anticipate was Mitch's quick movement, quickly bolted closer to her to catch the box of tools before it tumbled and hit the ground.
And stark image flashed in her mind, vivid and blinding, and suddenly she was no longer in the workshop, but in her kitchen in California. The face she saw coming at her wasn't Mitch's, but that of her ex-husband. As Mitch advanced, Sara's breath caught in her throat and her arms flew up to her side, her fists bunching. Before she could register that she was not in her house in California, but on the Double T Ranch, she scurried away to the far side of the workshop like a cat who'd been scared by the toppled over box.
“Sara?”
As her rampant heartbeat slowed to a semi-normal pace, she saw Mitch was staring at her, his blue eyes concerned and full of questions. His gaze swept from her face, to her trembling hands.
It was all too much. Humiliation washed over her like a tidal wave, and coupled with a need to explain that her reaction had absolutely nothing to do with him. It was her. All her. What she wouldn't do to turn back the clock and be in Mitch's arms again, surrounded by his strength. But it was just too much.
His handsome face pinched into a questioning frown. “It was only a box of tools,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she said in some faraway voice. It was only a box of tools.
She ran from the workshop without another word.
* * *
What the hell had just happened? Mitch couldn't figure it out. One minute he was holding Sara in his arms, feeling on top of the world with happiness as they danced, the next she was running from him as if she were afraid he'd...
His gut coiled tight like a snake squeezing the life out of him, making it hard for him to breathe. Closing his eyes hard, he tried to even his breathing to keep from unleashing the sudden burst of anger consuming him. He took the time to cool down by gathering the disheveled tools, now scatt
ered all over the workshop floor.
As he picked up each bit and tossed it into the cardboard box, Mitch ached to go to Sara and pull her into his arms. He wanted to stop her trembling and erase that horribly frightened look from her eyes. He knew that look. He'd seen in on his own mother often enough to know what it meant.
But if what he was thinking were true, Sara wouldn't welcome him coming anywhere near her to ask for answers for why she’d run away. Still, he needed to know she was all right.
A short time later, Mitch found her in the kitchen, standing at the sink, clutching a dishtowel and drying dishes that already looked air-dried.
“Sara?”
She stilled, but didn't turn to look at him. He walked over to the cabinet next to where she stood, and reached up for a glass, placing it on the counter. She stiffened. And his gut clenched.
He wanted to comfort her, to touch her and tell her everything was all right. Whatever she feared wasn’t here in his home. She didn’t have to fear him. He brought his hand mere inches from her back and held it there, afraid of the reaction she might have to his touch. Then he pulled it away and held it stiffly by his side.
“I’d cut off my hand before I’d ever raise it to you, Sara,” he whispered. “I don't want you to ever fear me like that.”
“I don't,” she replied, her voice so very small it reminded Mitch of himself when he was a child.
“Okay.” He sighed as he walked to the door, abandoning the glass of water he'd intended to have. “I'm going to go down to work the horses for a while before it gets too dark.”
Sara simply nodded. He waited by the door until she turned to look at him. Her rich brown eyes were wide and glassy, and she nodded again.
As Mitch lumbered to the paddock, he called her ex-husband every despicable name he could think of. And himself the same for making Sara feel that vulnerable again.
* * *
From the kitchen window, Sara watched Mitch stroll out to the paddock in a stride that was much more carefree than he must have felt.
They were tools! Lousy tools fell to the floor. That was all.
But as soon as Mitch came at her, it was as if she were in Los Angeles again, feeling all the fear and humiliation she'd felt whenever Dave came at her.
Her ex-husband had never struck her physically. He considered himself much too refined for that. Instead, he would charge at her and use intimidation to keep her where he wanted her. He spat words at her that both stung and ate at the very marrow of her soul, depleting any confidence she had in herself.
In the beginning, it was easy to go along with him. Dave was ten years older and seemed so worldly compared to the young and naïve girl she’d been. He had told her how to dress to be sexy, what to say at parties to help him get promotions, and who to be friends with in order to further their position in the community. They dined every Friday night at the most exclusive restaurants with Dave's colleagues and had brunch every Sunday with friends. The life he gave her in Los Angeles was something out of a glamorous Hollywood movie. And Sara had wanted so much to fit in.
For a long time, she did. Sara had allowed Dave take the lead and mold her. That was her biggest mistake.
He’d once told her that no wife of his would ever work. It would only mean that he couldn't provide a suitable home if Sara had felt the need to have a job outside the home. After years of playing tennis and having superficial lunches with people who had nothing to talk about but vacationing in Europe or remodeling yet another section of their house, Sara decided she needed more. Volunteering at the daycare had been a compromise only after endless arguments.
It was there, as she sat with the children, telling Native American stories she'd been told as a child, that Sara's world changed. The piece of herself she'd thrown away to be with Dave reemerged among the children and the stories, filling a gap that had grown wider with the years.
It was only then that Sara realized what a facade her life had been. Friends she thought cared for her didn't want to hear about the heartache of what went on behind the closed doors of what appeared to be a perfect home. Sara learned to keep her mouth shut and to go along if she didn't want to be on the bad side of one of Dave's tempers.
She'd become her husband's personal rag doll and it shamed her. Her cheeks flamed even months after their divorce was final, to think of how she'd allowed her ex-husband to manipulate her.
Mandy's surprise visit to Los Angeles had been a miracle. Sara recalled the humiliation she felt when Dave had come home and found the two of them laughing in the living room over bowls of Heavenly Hash ice cream. On the outside, she seemed strong and confident and had learned to assert herself. As long as Dave wasn't around. And as soon as he'd had come home and done a once over look at Mandy, Sara had turned inward again.
Ashamed at her own reaction and what she'd become, she'd given Mandy the excuse she had a migraine and needed to lay down. Mandy had called her the next day to check on her. Sara had let the answering machine pick up the call, and because of that, Mandy dropped by before heading to the airport on her way back to Texas.
“You have family and friends who love you in Texas,” Mandy had said, looking past all the excuses Sara had given her. She'd hugged Sara fiercely at the door. “I'm not letting go of this friendship.”
It had been the beginning of the end of her marriage, although in looking back, it had never been much of a marriage at all. Even though Sara hadn't been ready to leave Los Angeles, Sara held to Mandy's words and knew that she'd have the strength to leave eventually. And when she finally did have the courage to leave, there'd been no visible wounds for anyone to see.
But the scars were there, deep down, and one of them reared its ugly head at her tonight in front of Mitch.
She let out a heavy sigh and felt tears stinging her eyes once again. She could only imagine what Mitch must be thinking.
The sun was deep in the west when she'd climbed the stairs to check on Jonathan. The bedroom was filled with a golden hue of burnt orange and red. Heat hung heavy in the air, but the baby seemed content enough sleeping in a cool cotton sleeper that fit snug. Turning the baby monitor on, she grabbed the speaker and tucked it into the pocket of her light linen jacket.
She had to talk to Mitch and explain her reaction. The last thing she wanted was for him to think he'd done something wrong.
Midnight, the new mare Mitch had been working, was dancing rings around Mitch as Mitch stood in the center of the corral. The light evening breeze coming in over the pasture was soothing. Sara pushed up the sleeves of her jacket to mid-arm and then hugged her middle as she approached the corral.
Nerves skittered through her veins as she absorbed the distance. Mitch isn't Dave, she reminded herself. No two men were more different. She had nothing to fear from Mitch.
Marveling at the power of his gentle touch with this horse, Sara watched for a few minutes, not wanting to break the spell. For days, Sara had watched Mitch work his magic with Midnight. In the beginning, the mare wanted no part of being bound in an enclosure. Mitch approached and Midnight ran away. But Mitch didn't give up.
The other day, she and Mandy had sat beneath the cottonwood tree in front of the main house while Jonathan napped on a blanket. In between the conversation, Sara's attention was drawn to Mitch and Midnight. For a long time all she could do was watch them. When it seemed as if Midnight would never give an inch, she did, and the smooth, gentle strokes Mitch gave her in reward made tears spring to Sara's eyes. The man gentling the beast.
He'd made great strides since them. Now, even as skittish as Midnight was, Sara could see the difference, the growing of trust. She envied it.
Still dancing in circles, Midnight eyed Mitch, seemingly aware of his every move. Mitch turned his back to the mare and played with the bridle, as if ignoring the horse. Finally, Midnight stopped running and with cautious steps, she moved forward, stopping every so often and taking a side step, bobbing her head or giving a neigh, as if calling Mitch to pay att
ention. Eventually, she stepped up alongside him and gave him a quick nudge with her nose. Then another until she was settled alongside Mitch.
Ever so softly, Mitch stroked her head and neck and front legs with long, easy strokes. He smiled his pleasure and crooned softly.
Without even realizing how he'd done it, the bit was in Midnight's mouth and the bridle was around the mare’s head. Mitch let the reins fall and allowed Midnight to get use to the bit.
Such trust.
“That's amazing,” Sara said quietly. Feeling like an intruder, she turned to leave.
“Not really,” Mitch said, glancing up at her as he kept his attention on the mare.
She stopped and turned to him. Mitch was looking at her, his eyes filled with the same questions she’d seen in the kitchen.
Then he said, “She still could bolt at any time.”
Sara gripped the splintered rail. “But she hasn't. She came to you when she could have easily just kept running in circles.”
“Trust isn't an easy thing for her. She still doesn't know what to think.”
“She let you put the bridle on her. You didn't have to chase her. She came to you.”
“I have to win her trust. And when I have it, I can't abuse it or she'll never give it up again.”
Mitch carefully took the bridle off Midnight and took a few steps away. Midnight followed like a stray dog. Amazing.
“Does she trust you now? Enough to ride her?”
With his head low, Mitch shook his head. “We still need a little time together before she'll allow me put a saddle on her. Right now, she's letting me know her boundaries.”
“She let you put a bridle on her as if she didn't even know you were doing it.”
He chuckled and glanced up at Sara, his face bright with a smile. “Oh, she knew. But she's still making up her mind. She wants to trust me. I can tell. And maybe one day she will.”
“Mitch?”
He looked up at her again from across the corral. He was incredibly handsome. His dark hair was the color of mica in the fading light, and his eyes had turned from blue to a smoky gray. He stood tall, his weight shifted to one hip as he held the reins of the bridle.
His Heart for the Trusting (Book 2 - Texas Hearts (Contemporary Western Romance) Page 6