by Lily Everett
Sam took a final step that brought him to the horse’s side. Andie clenched her finger on the dart gun’s trigger, but when Sam brought one thickly muscled arm up over the mare’s black neck, the horse only heaved out a shuddering snort and submitted quietly to the touch.
Andie’s attention snagged on the gentle confidence of Sam’s hands running over the horse’s quivering coat as though checking for unseen injuries. And now that the situation seemed more under control, Andie’s brain went off high alert and finally took in the details of the horse.
The sleek muscle and short-trimmed mane told Andie this wasn’t one of Sanctuary’s wild horses. And if that weren’t enough, the tight navy blue bandages that wrapped the horse’s forelegs from above the knee to the top of the hoof would’ve made it clear this horse belonged to someone.
Owned or not, this horse was still pretty wild.
As she stepped up behind Sam, the horse jerked its head, prompting Sam to tighten his grip on the halter and lean in to whisper more soothing words into the horse’s long, twitching ear.
Andie lowered the dart gun, carefully pointing it at the ground while Sam talked that crazed animal into a calm so deep, it almost seemed drugged.
“Whoever you are,” Sam continued in that same reassuring tone, “stay the hell back. I’ve just about gotten her unwound, and I don’t need any more so-called help.”
Stiffening, Andie held her ground. She wasn’t stupid enough to go barging into a situation that was already on its way to being handled, but she’d been called in for a reason.
“I’m not here to get in your way,” she told him quietly, making sure to keep her tone smooth and free of threat. The mare swiveled an ear toward her, eyes rolling until the white showed, but she stood still beneath Sam’s palms. “I’m here to make sure no one gets hurt, including that horse.”
That got him to look at her, finally. In a single swift glance over his shoulder, Sam took her in from head to toe. Andie felt the heat of his gaze passing over her skin, and she felt the moment his gaze caught on the dart gun in her hand because the dawning light in his eyes snuffed out.
Sam’s lip curled into a silent snarl, but his voice never rose above a husky whisper that sent shivers down Andie’s spine. “You shoot this horse, you and me are gonna have a big problem, Sheriff.”
“We already have a big problem, Mr. Brennan.” Andie didn’t lift the gun, but she didn’t relax her battle-ready stance either. “That animal is clearly dangerous, not just to others but to itself. And if I have to tranq your horse to stop it from breaking its own leg in a fury or lashing out at someone, you can bet I will.”
A glimmer of respect shone from the bitter chocolate depths of Sam’s eyes, but the tense line of his mouth never softened. “This mare has a heart murmur. Too large a dose from that tranq gun could kill her.”
Andie sucked in a breath and sent up a prayer of thanksgiving that she hadn’t had to shoot. “I’m sorry.”
“What for? Almost putting my horse down without so much as a by your leave?” A low growl rumbled through Sam’s words, making the horse dance nervously in place.
“No,” Andie said, gritting her teeth to keep things civil. “If you’re unable to control that animal, you have to take the consequences. I won’t have her breaking loose and rampaging around my island, injuring innocent people. What I’m sorry for is the heart murmur—I don’t know much about horses, but I understand that condition can make it hard to sell them.”
With another soothing stroke, Sam gentled the animal down and deliberately neutralized his tone. “I’m not trying to sell Queenie. I only recently acquired her, myself.”
“You bought a horse with a heart condition? I thought most horse owners got vet checks before buying, to avoid doing that.”
“I’m not most horse owners.” A half smile twisted Sam’s lips but never reached as far as his eyes. “I don’t buy horses for my own personal use, or to put out to stud or race—I take problem horses, ones who’ve been abused or neglected, and I rehabilitate them. Give them a chance at a new life.”
Andie felt a surge of admiration tighten her stomach and swallowed hard. A Sam Brennan who flouted the rules and bucked authority was dangerous enough to her sanity … but a Sam Brennan who’d dedicated his life to rescuing mistreated horses? She was in serious trouble if he planned to stick around Sanctuary for long.
“And Queenie is one of your rescues?” Andie asked softly.
Sam ducked his head in a slow nod. “She’s got spirit, and a long life ahead of her doing something useful, if I can get her to trust people again.”
“Well, Sanctuary Island is a good place for that.” Andie glanced across the water churning into white froth in the wake of the retreating ferry. “I bet you were the first person to use the stall on the new ferry.”
“Yeah, I was going to ask,” Sam said. “Not a lot of ferries sport a state-of-the-art way to transport horses.”
Andie smiled, pride in her adopted home filling her belly with warmth like sunshine. “Not a lot of tiny islands are home to one of the world’s few bands of free-roaming wild horses. That stall was a big plus when the town council managed to pass the ballot measure to get a new ferry. Our local veterinarian made the argument that if he ever needed to get one of the wild horses some serious medical help, he’d need a way to transport them to the mainland. The people of Sanctuary are pretty protective of the wild horses, so that was all it took.”
“I know Ben Fairfax, I’ve brought horses to him before.” Sam glanced up. A dangerous gleam flickered in his eyes. “In fact, as I recall, you and I almost danced at Ben’s wedding the last time I was here.”
Cursing herself for the hot flush she felt creeping up her neck, Andie shrugged as nonchalantly as she could. “You have a very different recollection of that night than I do. What I mainly remember is hauling drunk party guests home in the middle of the night.”
“Believe me, Sheriff Shepard,” Sam murmured, “I remember everything about that night.”
The earth shifted slightly, as if Andie were standing at the edge of the ocean with the tide rushing out to steal the sand from beneath her feet. If she hadn’t locked her knees, she would have swayed toward Sam, drawn by the intensity of his focused attention and heavy-lidded eyes.
Pulling in a breath that smelled like clean sweat, sweet hay, and the complicated leather-and-sandalwood scent of Sam, Andie clumsily changed the subject. “Is that why you brought Queenie here now? To see Dr. Fairfax? I would have thought there’d be plenty of qualified veterinarians back where you live, in … where was it?”
Sam arched one brow to let her know he hadn’t missed her tactical retreat, but he let her get away with it. “Ben’s a great vet, really good with the skittish ones. I’ll be glad to have him examine Queenie.”
“So this will probably be a quick visit, then,” Andie surmised, unwilling to examine the bolt of disappointment that shot through her. She should be relieved Sam wouldn’t be sticking around to unbalance her and make her question her life choices! She had enough on her plate already without this inconvenient attraction to an unrepentant bad boy … who appeared to have a heart of gold under that air of danger and mystery.
“That depends,” Sam said, his gaze sliding away to land on Queenie. Quiet now, the horse stood with her head lowered miserably, as if she’d given up. “As much as I admire Ben’s medical opinion, I actually brought Queenie here hoping to rehabilitate her for work as a therapy horse. No telling how long it’ll take me to retrain her and get her safe enough to be around kids, but that’s what I’m aiming for.”
No telling how long. A wave of anticipation shivered across Andie’s skin, undeniable and unwelcome. She dredged up a professional smile from somewhere. “Well, sounds like you’ve got it under control! Is someone coming with a trailer?”
“Jo Ellen,” Sam supplied. “She texted me she’s running behind, but she should be here any minute.”
That made sense. Jo Ellen Hollister
owned Windy Corner Stables, the only commercial horse barn on the island, and Dr. Fairfax was married to Jo Ellen’s younger daughter, Merry. Convenient. So what was bugging her?
Andie went over the conversation in her head. Being suspicious—some might say paranoid—was an occupational hazard. Most of the time, nothing came of it. But every now and then, Andie’s gut knew better than her brain, and she’d learned the hard way to listen to it … especially when it came to damnably attractive men.
Something told her she’d better keep an eye on Sam Brennan. “Okay then, I’ll leave you to it. Good luck with your rehab efforts.”
“Thanks, Sheriff. I’m sure we’ll see you around.”
Andie shrugged, trying to ignore the slow smile Sam gave her, hot enough to leave scorch marks. “Not necessarily. Unless you’re planning to get on the wrong side of the law while you’re here.”
“Aw, I’m not much of a planner.” Sam turned up the heat on that grin to eleven, and Andie felt her breath catch in her throat. “I hope you and I will always be on the same side, Sheriff.”
Andie felt her instincts kick into high gear. What was it about this man that roused her suspicions as quickly as he aroused the rest of her?
*
Sam held his breath as Sheriff Andie Shepard’s ocean blue eyes sharpened. Why the hell couldn’t he stop himself from taunting her? The last thing he needed was the law poking around, asking questions and giving him—and his mare—suspicious glances.
Even if the law on Sanctuary Island came in a tall, slim, lightly freckled, redheaded package. And even if the universe saw fit to test Sam’s resolve to keep to himself by outlining every subtle line and curve of the sheriff’s body in mud-streaked khaki.
It wasn’t his fault. There was no way he could stop himself from reaching out and pulling a piece of straw from the chestnut braid lying over her shoulder. The satiny rub of her dark red hair across his callused fingertips made everything low in Sam’s body tighten in a rush. “Why, Sheriff. You took a roll in the hay and didn’t invite me? I’m crushed. Who’s the special guy?”
He loved how fierce she looked when she frowned. “A roll in the … oh. His name is Pippin, actually.”
But somehow, she was even sexier when she smiled. The dimple that winked to life in her right cheek was almost enough to distract Sam from how much he suddenly wanted to hunt down this Pippin and knock out his front teeth.
“What the hell kind of name is that? Sounds like an orphan kid in a Dickens novel.”
Andie smothered a laugh. “I’d be careful talking like that, if I were you!”
“I think I can take some loser named Pippin,” Sam huffed, flexing his shoulders.
“I don’t know,” Andie said, eyeing Sam’s arms and chest doubtfully. “Pippin is a pretty hefty guy with a lot of pent-up rage.”
It didn’t matter how competent he knew Andie was, or that she could likely take care of herself. Sam’s protective instincts rushed to the fore. “Has he threatened you?”
The low, dangerous tone of his voice set poor Queenie on edge. Andie’s eyes widened as the horse spooked sideways and Sam cursed himself silently. Turning all his focus back to the mare, he let all traces of aggression flow out of him and into the weathered boards of the pier.
“I’m sorry,” Andie said quietly. “That’s really not something to joke about. No one has threatened me. Pippin is a bulldog, his owner is one of my most frequent callers.”
Sam stared straight ahead at his own hands gentling the skittish horse. “Okay, now I feel like an idiot.”
“Don’t, please. I shouldn’t have teased you. I just didn’t realize your rescue service extended to humans.”
When he chanced a glance over his shoulder, the small, guilty smile that quirked her lips went a long way toward making Sam feel better.
His heart squeezed strangely when he and Andie locked stares. All he wanted to do was stretch out his fingers and skim the warm silk of her skin, to trace the outline of her ribcage down to the lean curve of her waist. But he couldn’t, even if the breathless moment of crackling electricity arcing between them said she might not mind.
He didn’t need to draw any more attention to himself and Queenie than he already had. If Sam were smart, he’d be pushing her away, not reaching out to pull her closer.
On the other hand, no one had ever accused Sam Brennan of being smart.
“I’m glad to see you again,” he said, hearing the rasp of hunger in his own voice.
Drifting closer, almost as if against her will, Andie looked up at him. “Me, too.”
It sounded like a confession dragged out of her after hours of interrogation. Sam couldn’t blame her for not wanting to be attracted to him. He knew it was a bad idea for both of them—but as he lifted his hand from Queenie’s neck to take Andie’s chilled fingers in his, he couldn’t care.
Tugging her gently closer, Sam raised their joined hands until the backs of Andie’s knuckles skimmed along Queenie’s glossy coat. The mare quivered but held still, her head low and her sides heaving as she calmed under their combined touch.
“That’s amazing,” Andie breathed. “When I first drove up, I thought she was going to kill someone. But you … all you did was talk to her.”
Sam shrugged, hiding the way her words warmed him from the inside out. “I’ve got a way with the broken ones.”
“You put them back together.” She smiled to herself, like she’d learned a secret about him.
This was wrong. He had to stop this—for her sake, as much as for his and Queenie’s. Stepping back, he disengaged their hands, leaving Andie petting Queenie with a surprised look on her face.
“I try.” Sam shrugged again, feeling the stiff tension in his shoulders. “It’s not always possible. Some things, some people, are too broken to save.”
Andie’s clear blue eyes, the same color as the ocean behind her, watched him. Sam scowled, hating the feeling that she could see right through him.
“I don’t believe that,” she said quietly, her fingers gentle as they tangled in Queenie’s mane. “No one is too broken to save.”
From bitter experience, Sam knew exactly how wrong she was. Memories gave a raw edge to his voice. “Lady, don’t ever leave Sanctuary Island. You’d never make it as a cop anywhere else with that soft heart.”
Chapter Three
The flash of pain in her ocean eyes brought him up short. Regret pulsed through him, making him want to haul her into his arms and bury his face in her neck, apologize for being a jerk. Then Andie’s gaze shuttered, locking him out, and Sam knew he’d pushed her away for good.
It was better this way. Better that she hated him than that she start liking a guy who could never give her anything but trouble.
A cloud of dust and the crunch of the parking lot’s gravel under heavy tires broke their staring contest. Andie turned to watch as Jo Ellen wheeled her pick-up truck and the attached forest-green trailer past the guardhouse and down the hill with practiced ease.
“Looks like our ride is here,” Sam said, finally reaching down to gather Queenie’s loose lead rope and saying a quick prayer that the horse would stay calm through the process of loading into the trailer.
“Hey, Jo Ellen,” Andie called out in a friendly voice, as if she hadn’t just been half a heartbeat away from either kissing Sam or punching him in the face.
“Sheriff!” Jo swung down from the cab of her pick-up and landed lightly on her booted heels. “And Sam. How are y’all doing?”
Strands of silver shot though Jo’s dark brown ponytail and there were laugh lines radiating out from her eyes. When she smiled and held out her hand to the sheriff, Sam couldn’t help but contrast the easy, comfortable-in-her-own-skin woman with the strung-out alcoholic he’d first met more than a decade ago.
Having witnessed her struggle with addiction and recovery up close and personal, Sam respected the hell out of Jo Ellen Hollister. If his own parents had been half as gutsy and determined to get clean—bu
t there was no point in thinking about that.
Behind Jo, a teenaged girl climbed down from the passenger side of the truck and gave him a quick smile. Trying to hide her obvious nerves with a toss of her dirty blonde hair, she called out, “Hey, Matt’s Uncle Sam.”
Sam blinked, recognizing her as Taylor McNamara, the kid who’d convinced his cousin’s son, Matt, to sneak out to a protected piece of beach with a bottle of rum, and nearly got them both arrested for trespassing. “Technically, I’m Matt’s cousin Sam,” he told her, trying to keep the growly disapproval out of his voice. No need to go upsetting Queenie again when he’d just about gotten her calmed down. “How are you, Taylor?”
“Okay,” she said vaguely, her attention zooming in on the horse at the end of Sam’s lead rope. “She’s gorgeous. Steeplechase?”
Every nerve in Sam’s body prickled to high alert at her casual mention of one of the main classifications of horse racing. “Nah, this girl’s not from the tracks. She is a Thoroughbred though. Good eye.”
Taylor frowned, staring at the stallion, and Sam caught the sheriff watching the exchange with interest out of the corner of his eye. As if sensing the rising tension, Jo Ellen clapped Taylor on the back and said, “Come on, kiddo, help me get the trailer open and ready for him.”
Grumbling, the sixteen-year-old stomped around to the back of the trailer and Sheriff Shepard watched her go, an enigmatic blankness settling over her pretty features.
Not for the first time, the enormity of what he was attempting here, the absolute nightmare of a mess he’d gotten himself into, crashed over Sam’s head. How the hell did he think he was going to pull this off?
The same way you’ve gotten by this far in life, he reminded himself firmly. By trusting yourself—and no one else.
“Is it safe to have a violent horse out at Windy Corner?” Andie asked abruptly. “Now that you’re about to get the therapeutic riding center up and running, I’d think you’d only want the gentlest, most predictable horses at your barn.”