Carson turned to him, his gaze slow and hard. “You’ve got issues, man.”
“Maybe.” Mitch smiled but there was little joy behind it. “It’s not easy, getting driven out of the band.”
“No one drove you away.”
Mitch snorted. “What future did I have here?”
“Before or after you burned down the equipment shed?”
The air between them grew glacial. The incident Carson referred to was one of the final nails in Mitch’s academic coffin. He’d lost it, after getting cut from the football team because his grades weren’t high enough. He’d been furious with the coach and as usual, he’d lashed out without thinking.
Derek had been livid, his firstborn son screwing up yet again. Mitch didn’t even remember Carson’s reaction. Everyone at school knew, though. He could tell by the looks in their eyes. Everyone thought he was a stupid asshole.
But not Sabrina. She’d understood how frustrated and disappointed he’d been. Mitch felt a rush of gratitude for her, even after all these years. He’d never have managed to hang in there to graduation without her.
Slowly, they bumped over the rocky ground until they found another vantage point. Carson stopped but didn’t get out of the truck. They could watch the horses longer from here, though it was difficult to distinguish them individually.
“Why did you come back, man?” Carson turned in the seat to look at him. There wasn’t animosity in his eyes, just curiosity. “Anyone can tell you don’t want to be here. Della Fontaine must be dangling one sweet deal in front of you.”
Is that what everyone thought? That he was desperate?
“She’s an excellent client,” he said stiffly. “I thought she’d get a warm welcome.”
“And she has,” Carson said. “But something’s off, Mitch. What is it?”
It tweaked Mitch on the raw to hear Carson so settled, so calm, so…un-desperate. When he was still striving so hard he felt some days that his chest would explode with the effort.
“I’m getting married,” he drawled. “And yeah, Della and I have a deal in the works. Not all of us can marry into our fortunes.”
He glanced at Carson and saw that he’d hit home. There were tight lines around his brother’s mouth, and his lips were white. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. But still, he remained in control.
Rory must be some kind of woman, to have changed him so much.
“You should have had Three River, Mitch. You were the heir, after all.” Carson spoke quietly, without making eye contact. “But you didn’t want it. Neither of us wanted it. Not the way Dad left it to us. And yeah, I’ve been so lucky to find Rory and Lulu, some days, I’m afraid to open my eyes in the morning in case it all turns out to be a dream.”
Outside, the big black stallion limped to a higher spot on the hill, keeping a close eye on the truck.
“Every time I see old Blackie out there, tossing his head, refusing to lie down and die,” he continued, “I think of how he’d have been crow food last year, except that he had a band that needed him. A stubborn mate who wouldn’t let him give up.”
“I feel like you’re trying to tell me something.”
“There’s a bit of Blackie in all us Grangers. Dad was broken. I think Mom kept him going, but without her, he couldn’t make it. I was broken until Rory found me. You’re damn near wrecked, far as I can tell.”
“Thank you very much.”
“But I think you’ve got someone who wants to watch your back for you.”
“Yeah, Bree’ll be a great wife.” Mitch’s voice sounded hollow in his own ears.
“She will. But I don’t just mean Sabrina. You’ve got people who care about you here, Mitch. This is your home.”
He heard the sincerity in Carson’s words. He saw the expression on his face, no animosity, no begrudging platitudes forced on him by Rory or Bliss or anyone.
“This has never been my home,” he said to himself.
Far off in the distance, the black tossed his head and stamped one front foot. As Mitch watched, the band wheeled around and disappeared into a valley, leaving behind nothing but dust and silence.
Chapter Seven
“So,” Mitch whispered into Sabrina’s ear, under the guise of a kiss, “have we put on a good enough show? Can we go yet?”
They were sitting in the dining room of the main house at Three River Ranch, enjoying coffee and dessert. Or that’s what he was told.
To Mitch, it was an inquisition, dressed up with cake.
“They haven’t even gotten out the thumbscrews,” she whispered back. Her breath tickled his ear, sending tendrils of warmth through his body. Almost, but not quite, enough to make him forget where he was.
Turns out, Bliss was making the most of the secret knowledge and found amusement in playing along with Della, at Mitch’s expense.
“Show Della the ring, Sabrina,” she said. “It’s quite something.”
Mitch winced as Sabrina pinched his thigh beneath the table.
“You’ll never believe it,” she said brightly, though her eyes shot daggers at Bliss. “I brought it with me to work this morning, and then I left it there! People are going to think I don’t have one!”
“Now that’s just ridiculous.” Bliss laughed gaily.
“We have to go,” Mitch said.
“Tired of discussing wedding plans already?” Della said.
“You know young lovers. They can’t wait to be alone.” Bliss pushed the dessert platter closer to Della. “Have some more flapper pie, Della. It’s made with local goat’s milk.”
Bliss was enjoying this way too much, and Della was just biding her time. This was what he got for lying, thought Mitch.
Carson was out at a meeting. Rory was putting Lulu to bed. Paris had left for the guesthouse immediately after supper. There was no one to save them.
“I’ve got a place in Turks and Caicos that would be perfect for a honeymoon!” Della punctuated the idea by stabbing the quivery-custardy pie with her fork. It was delicious, but it looked like pus. “You like to fish, Sabrina?”
Mitch sucked in a breath. He loved deep-sea fishing, but Sabrina wouldn’t know that. Plus, she got seasick on the lake.
But before she could answer, Rory came to the door, a worried expression on her face. Mitch leaped to his feet. Time to get out while they could.
“It’s the sanctuary hotline,” Rory said. “Can you go check it out? Sounds like a seizure situation. Carson will meet you there with a trailer as soon as he can.”
“Where is it?” Mitch was at the door in a flash.
“If you’re going, I’m going with you,” Sabrina said, lasering a smile at him. “Since you have to drop me off in town anyway, right, honey?” She put her hand on the small of his back, hooking a finger into his belt loop. Letting her thumb dip beneath his waistband again, where it tickled. Again.
“Of course. Darling.”
Rory, oblivious to their hidden conversation, touched him lightly, her face tight with worry. “Hard Tack. It was Hailey.”
He and Sabrina drove in silence down the rutted path to Hard Tack. Gus Harding’s daughter Hailey was just a kid. Ten? Twelve? He remembered her from before he left, so maybe she was more like fourteen.
“They don’t come around town much. Are your families close?” Sabrina asked.
Mitch shrugged. “Dad and Gus were always rivals. Harding ran beef when I was here, mostly Black Angus, a few Herefords. Doesn’t look like he’s got much left now. Although according to Hailey, he’s got at least one mustang.”
“What does that have to do with the sanctuary?”
“Carson’s focus is the wild Spanish mustangs, preserving the original gene pool.” He felt an unfamiliar rush of pride at his younger brother’s accomplishments. “Unfortunately, not everyone appreciates their historic value. The Bureau of Land Management does periodic roundups of ‘nuisance’ horses for auction. Most are slaughtered, but sometimes people buy them, hoping to get a good saddle ho
rse for next to nothing.”
“But are they even trainable?”
“Sometimes. Takes a lot of skill and patience, though.”
When they reached the Harding house, it was dark, and the sharp beam of the yard light spilling onto the hard-packed earth made the shadows even blacker. Somewhere, a dog barked twice in a thick, disinterested way.
“Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.” Sabrina leaned closer to the windshield, peering for signs of life. Her hair fell in a golden curtain and she reached up one hand to tuck the strand behind her ear. “Now what?”
They jolted to a stop. Mitch shut off the engine and opened his door.
He scanned the property, wondering where they should go first. According to Rory, Hailey’s message had been that her father was drinking, upset, and taking his frustration out on the horse.
“Keep everyone calm until Carson gets here, I guess.” Panic rose and with it, anger. “What kind of idiot thinks that wild horses go better with whiskey? The guy must be suicidal.”
“Easy,” Sabrina said, squeezing his hand. “Probably all we need to do is talk. It’ll be okay.”
“Or not.” He should never have volunteered to come. Now, whatever went wrong would be his fault.
Mitch shone his flashlight over the rough ground, green with summer growth. A group of coal-black cattle shuffled and blinked at them from behind a listing, patched-together board fence. Hard Tack had been walloped hard by the economy.
Lights went on in the house. A door slammed and they heard footsteps.
“Carson?” called a breathless, youthful voice. “Sorry, false alarm. I shouldn’t have called you out, I’m really sorry.”
A thin girl came into view, still in that coltish adolescent stage of knees and elbows that even sweat pants and a long, loose T-shirt couldn’t hide.
“It’s Mitch, Hailey. Carson’s brother. You probably don’t remember me. You were really little when I left.”
“Oh, hey, Mitch, thanks. But you can go. It’s nothing. I’m fine here. Everything’s fine.” Hailey gripped her arms tightly against the night air, stepping back and forth on bare feet. Clearly everything was not fine.
“Hailey, what’s going on?” Sabrina spoke calmly, but with authority. “Mitch and I were there when Rory took your call. Carson’s on his way.”
The girl blinked too fast, and she couldn’t stand still. “Nothing, I overreacted, that’s all. Dad had a bit too much. He’s sleeping now. Everything’s fine. Sorry about the call.”
“Hailey?” Sabrina reached out her hand, but the girl backed away, smiling desperately.
“I should go check on Dad, make sure he doesn’t need me. Thanks for coming. Tell Rory and Carson thanks too, okay?”
She disappeared back into the house and they saw the flicker of blinds being snapped shut.
“Something is off,” Sabrina said.
“Oh yeah.” Mitch punched Three River’s speed-dial number to pass on the info. “But she doesn’t want our help.”
Rory told them she or Carson would pay a visit to Hard Tack shortly to make sure they were okay. Mitch hung up, worry growing in his gut for this kid he barely knew.
He and Sabrina didn’t speak on the way back to town, and when he reached her little bungalow, he leaned toward her automatically, as though they’d been together for years and rarely parted. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, the kiss somehow still caught him off guard.
As their lips met, Sabrina put a hand out and touched his cheek with the tenderness of a lover. Her lips were warm and pliant beneath his and he thought he heard her breath quicken. It lasted perhaps two seconds, but thoughts and sensations went zipping through him at warp speed. Shock, desire, gratitude, terror; memories, hope, and bitter regret all boiled together. One part of his brain knew it was happening, while the other part was yelling, What are you doing, you monumental moron? He reveled in the intimacy of the touch, so unexpectedly sweet.
So unexpectedly real.
After all the earlier contact, fake though it was, a good-night kiss seemed appropriate, a social nicety, even. But Mitch saw the instant she recognized their mutual lapse. This was no ordinary good-night kiss. This was a thank-you-for-understanding kiss. An I’m-glad-you’re-with-me kiss. Not a dinner-and-a-movie kind of a kiss but a for-better-and-for-worse kind of kiss.
Sabrina’s eyes widened and she dropped her hand as if burned.
“Uh, sorry, good night, b-bye,” she stammered. She wrenched open her door and bolted up the steps to her house as if she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
Mitch watched until she was safely inside, then lingered a few minutes more as lights went on behind closed curtains. Her home was cozy, snug, and inviting. But except for her dog, she was all alone inside.
He brushed his cheek with his knuckles, where he could still feel her touch. What was that?
He thought of her solitude again as he tiptoed into his room at Three River Ranch. All day long, they’d been bantering back and forth, touching and caressing. All for show, of course, but his body didn’t know that. And now, after coming close to…something…they hid in separate rooms, alone in the dark.
He lay back on the king-size bed in his room, grateful to be able to lay down the mantle of deceit. But it was a long time before he slept.
Chapter Eight
Mitch was mucking out stables for Rory, who’d taken Lulu to town for some kind of mom-and-tot fitness class. It looked to him like they already got plenty of exercise chasing after each other, but he was glad for an hour or two of solitude. He was glad for the work, too; anything to keep his mind off Sabrina. Something had changed between them after stopping at Hard Tack. That kiss had unintentionally reset the bar. Now he couldn’t stop wondering whether the person he was lying to most of all might not be himself.
He tossed another forkful of soiled straw onto the growing pile, relishing the forgotten satisfaction of old-fashioned physical work. Bliss had resurrected someone’s forgotten cowboy hat and it fit him well enough to keep the hair out of his eyes. His shirt was damp with sweat when the door banged open, announcing Della’s arrival.
“I want you to take us out on the range. A proper cowboy campout,” she emphasized. “Tents, bedrolls, the whole works. Maybe this weekend. What do you say?”
“Ha-ha,” he said, kicking fresh clean bedding over the concrete floor.
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m serious.”
He straightened up and lifted the hat to wipe his face. “As I recall, the first ride nearly crippled you. A whole weekend on horseback? Overnight and all? In a tent? Not a good idea.”
“Why the hell not?” Della propped her fists against denim-clad hips and glared pitchforks at him. “For an entrepreneur, you have a remarkably closed mind sometimes. You think I can’t sleep without a featherbed and warm milk in a crystal mug? I’ve already peed behind a bush! This is part of the experience and I intend to have it.”
Another image he’d have to bleach from his brain. And he didn’t appreciate her not-so-subtle jab about his business acumen.
“I just meant,” he said, forcing his voice to remain steady, “that I’m not sure you appreciate how rough it’ll be in the high country. Why do you want to go that far, anyway?”
“I want to see the view.” Her chin stuck out. “You only gave us a taste before.”
“Well. I’ll see what I can do.” No one wanted an unhappy Della, least of all him. “But no tents. I’ll ask Herb about the cabins. There used to be a few around, for longer cattle drives or checking traplines. But I have no idea if they’re still there, or what shape they’re in.”
“As long as I get a view of the whole valley.” She sounded suspicious.
“You will,” he said. “And trust me, at the end of the day, you’ll be grateful for cabins—and outhouses.”
“You might have a point there,” she conceded. Then her face brightened. “Of course, you’ll bring Sabrina.”
“Sabrina?” He reacted without
thinking. “Why?”
“Why not? Of course,” her voice grew crafty, “Paris and I might enjoy having you all to ourselves.”
This was a woman who understood how to twist a knife. “She’ll be there, don’t worry.”
“Excellent!” Della beamed at him. “I’m sure Bliss will have plenty of suggestions for camp food. This will be such fun! The perfect mix of business and pleasure.”
With that cryptic comment, she left the corral, her still-new boots—red leather this time—stomping little dust puffs in the dry dirt.
Mitch pulled out his cell phone and hit Sabrina’s number. She was being such a good sport about all this. But two whole days of Della and Paris might stretch even her sunny nature.
Not to mention, they’d be sharing a cabin, if not a sleeping bag.
“Are you expecting any babies this weekend?” he asked.
“I’m all caught up for the moment. Why?”
“Looks like we’re going camping.”
…
Sabrina couldn’t remember the last time she’d been camping. The fire crackled and popped, sending sparks up into the night sky. They’d had baked beans and homemade pork cracklings followed by something Bliss called Wet Bottom Shoofly pie that Della had eaten without a word.
The waxing moon shone above them, throwing soft dark shadows across the ground. In the distance, coyotes yipped, then fell silent, leaving only the chirping of frogs and the trickle of the creek behind them.
“It’s so beautiful,” Paris murmured. She poked a stick into the fire, and another shower of sparks danced upward. The horses, corralled behind the pair of log shelters, nickered and shuffled their feet.
Della had already hobbled off to their cabin, and without her stepmother, Paris appeared far more relaxed.
Which couldn’t be said for Sabrina. Mitch’s hard thigh rested against hers as they sat side-by-side watching the flames. And the heat she felt had nothing to do with the crackling fire. Sooner or later, Paris would tire as well, and they’d be left alone. If only Herb had agreed to join them, then they could have divided the sleeping quarters down gender lines. Nothing suspicious about that.
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