Aren’t you? taunted that inner voice, the one that never let her get away with a darn thing.
Nash actually laughed this time, with a boyish delight that made her think of Shane. “‘Snidely’? That’s your dog’s name?”
Brylee grinned, already on her way toward the screen door. She’d stayed too long; it was time to make an exit. “Yes,” she replied, glancing back over her shoulder. “For Snidely Whiplash.”
Nash looked puzzled. “Who?”
Brylee sighed, opened the door to step out onto the porch, which, like the rest of the house, had seen better days. “Don’t kids watch cartoons anymore?” she countered, in pretend despair. “Look him up on the internet.”
Nash made a salutelike motion with his right hand. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, in a passable Western drawl. “I’ll do that.”
Outside, Zane had stopped working on the fence and turned to watch the road, where a truck was slowing down to swing in at his gate, hauling a horse trailer behind it. As Brylee looked on, oddly stricken—again—by the sight of him, a slow grin spread across his face, the kind of grin that put a person in mind of a brilliant sunrise following a long, dark night.
The driver of the truck got out, opened the gate, drove through, got out again and closed it behind him.
Slim, probably figuring he ought to earn his keep somehow, barked a couple of times, which got Snidely started.
“Shush,” Brylee said, shielding her eyes from the sun-dazzle of the shiny silver trailer, and Snidely quieted and sat down obediently at her side.
Zane, meanwhile, waited, shirt open, teeth gleaming in his tanned face, his hands resting easy on his lean hips, making Brylee think of an old-time town marshal or a sheriff, there to welcome a wagon train full of trail-weary travelers yearning to settle down for good.
Brylee knew well enough that she ought to go on about her business instead of standing there staring the way she was, but she couldn’t help it. She shifted her gaze from Zane to the truck and trailer and back again—several times.
Nash fairly shot from the house—apparently he hadn’t seen or heard the arriving rig right away—and the smile on his face was downright transcendent.
“Blackjack’s here?” he called to Zane.
Zane nodded, swallowed visibly. “Blackjack’s here,” he agreed, his voice just this side of raspy.
Blackjack, it turned out, was a magnificent gelding, his shiny coat dark as coal, and as Zane and the truck driver unloaded the animal, the creature tossed its gigantic head, mane flying, and looked around as if to say, Home at last. Why did it take so long?
Zane took the lead rope from the driver and spoke in a low, easy tone as he urged the horse the rest of the way down the ramp and onto the hard, rutted ground.
Brylee knew horses; she’d been raised around them, ridden with her dad when she was barely two years old and by herself or with Walker just about every day since then. And she’d never seen a finer animal than this gelding, with his ebony coat and silky mane. His conformation was nigh on perfect, and the sight of him brought an ache of admiration to her throat and a twinge of envy to her middle.
Unable to resist, she stepped forward.
“Stay back, now, ma’am,” the truck driver said quickly. “This horse has been riding in that trailer for a long time, and he’s likely to be a mite on the skittish side.”
Zane didn’t look at the man; his gaze was on Brylee, and he didn’t hesitate to speak up. “The lady knows what she’s doing,” he said, with a quiet conviction that caught Brylee totally off guard, caused things to tip over and spill inside her, warm and thick and sweet as honey fresh from a hive.
Oh, Lord.
She could dislike Zane Sutton when he was being obnoxious or arrogant, but his obvious respect for her expertise with horses was a game-changer.
She approached Blackjack slowly, let him sniff the back of her hand before stroking his long face and velvety nose. “Well, hello there, handsome,” she said softly.
Blackjack nickered again, but he didn’t sidestep or back up.
The truck driver, reassured, gave a low laugh and said, “I bet he gets that reaction from every woman he meets. Love at first sight.” He paused, shook his head, resituated his worn-out straw hat. “Lucky critter.”
Zane handed the lead rope to Brylee to take the clipboard the other man offered and sign for the delivery.
Still careful to move slowly, Brylee led Blackjack away from the trailer, walking him around in a wide circle so he could work some of the kinks out of his legs and get used to the feel of solid ground under his hooves.
Nash stood at a slight distance, clearly fascinated and probably a little scared, too, and silently, Brylee gave the boy credit for good sense. After all, Blackjack must have measured seventeen hands at least, and he had a giant, warrior’s heart pumping away in that broad chest of his, sustaining well over a thousand pounds of sheer muscle—all of which meant he was a very powerful and very unpredictable animal. Even a well-trained and familiar horse could be spooked unexpectedly, and a frightened horse was a dangerous horse.
For all that, Blackjack clomped alongside Brylee, calm as a dog on a leash, and just being that close to the nearly mythic creature thrilled her ranch-kid heart through and through. She’d have given just about anything to mount that gelding, with or without a saddle, give him his head and let him fly like Pegasus, but it was too soon, of course. And even though Zane had gone up a notch in her estimation by trusting her around Blackjack, well, that didn’t mean he’d let her ride.
Some people—especially men, being famously territorial—wouldn’t share their horses, period. Furthermore, while Zane had somehow sensed her competence, he had no way of knowing that, like her older brother, she rode with the skill of a seasoned Apache on the warpath.
All these thoughts were going through Brylee’s mind when the truck driver tucked his clipboard under one arm, shook Zane’s hand in farewell and, after one last admiring glance at Blackjack, climbed into his truck, started the engine, made a broad turn and drove off, the now-empty trailer flashing aluminum-bright as it rattled down the rutted dirt driveway.
Zane appeared at Brylee’s side, gently took the lead rope from her hand and gave Blackjack an affectionate pat on the neck. Nash didn’t venture any closer, and both dogs trotted over to join the boy, evidently bored with the proceedings.
“Is it just me,” Zane asked, his voice low and a little husky, “or did something change between you and me a few minutes ago?”
Brylee’s heartbeat quickened, and so did her breathing—she actually thought she might hyperventilate—and she felt her cheeks heat up a little, too. She couldn’t look directly at Zane, for fear of what she might see in his eyes, but she wasn’t going to lie, either. “Maybe,” she allowed cautiously. Then, with more certainty, she added, “Thanks for not assuming the little lady didn’t know one end of a horse from the other.”
Zane chuckled, inclined his head in the direction of the rapidly disappearing truck and trailer. “I think that guy’s intentions were good,” he remarked. “He didn’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”
“Nice of you to give him the benefit of the doubt,” she said, miffed.
This time, Zane laughed outright. “Strange,” he said, with a shake of his head. “I could have sworn you just thanked me for not writing you off as a greenhorn. And at what point, Ms. Parrish, did you give me said benefit? Did you or did you not accuse me of starving my dog?”
She was cornered, like a queen on a chessboard with no moves open. “I can sometimes be sort of contrary,” she admitted, though it practically killed her to concede the point.
“You? Contrary?” Zane grinned down at Brylee, as at ease with her as he was with the horse, and waited for her to answer. The implication was clear enough: he could handle them both.
Brylee might have kicked him in the shins just then, if it hadn’t been for her aversion to physical violence. The discouraging thing was, she was every bit
as intrigued by this man as she was irritated by him. If Zane had tried to kiss her in that moment, for pity’s sake, she’d probably have let him.
What was wrong with her?
“Go riding with me?” he asked next. “Tomorrow sometime, I mean? I presume you own a horse.”
Brylee blinked. Of course she owned a horse—in fact, she owned several, since half of Timber Creek Ranch belonged to her.
“You could show me some of the countryside,” he said, when she didn’t speak right away. An impish grin danced in his eyes. “That would be the neighborly thing to do.”
Suddenly, Brylee’s palms began to sweat. She ran them down the thighs of her jeans, wishing she didn’t like the idea quite as much as she did. “Okay,” she said, turning to point toward home. “The ranch house and barn are a couple of miles that way. You can’t miss them.”
“Time?” Zane prompted.
“Late afternoon?” Brylee heard someone answer, using her voice. “I have to work.”
“And I have to fetch Cleo from the airport,” Zane said. “How about five o’clock or so? There’ll still be plenty of light, and the heat might let up a little by then, too.”
“Make it five-thirty,” Brylee said matter-of-factly, feeling as though she’d just accepted a dare to bungee jump off a high bridge instead of a simple, harmless invitation to go horseback riding with a new neighbor, “and it’s a date.”
It’s a date. She could have kicked herself for phrasing her reply that way, but there was nothing for it. The damage was done.
She blushed again.
Zane grinned that devastating grin, the one that fairly set Brylee back on her heels. “Five-thirty,” he said. “See you then.”
“Right,” she said, somewhat awkwardly. She waved goodbye to Nash, turned away and started back toward the woods, Snidely keeping pace as always.
She was barely aware of the trees towering all around her, or of the creek when she crossed it, making her way from rock to rock. As before, Snidely chose to swim to the other side.
Reaching the opposite bank, where Brylee was waiting for him, he slogged up out of the stream and shook himself mightily, showering her with shining diamonds of ice-cold water, causing her to whoop in good-natured protest and then laugh right out loud.
It wasn’t smart—or safe—to be this happy, she decided, even as her heart took wing and soared against the periwinkle sky.
CHAPTER FIVE
AFTER DOUBLE-CHECKING to make sure the warehouse and offices were secured, Brylee grabbed her handbag and car keys, and she and Snidely got into her SUV to head for home.
She felt dazed and oddly reckless. More than once, she caught herself humming some nameless tune. “It’s official,” she told Snidely, as they came to a dust-raising stop near the barn. “I’ve lost my ever-lovin’ mind.”
She spotted Walker over by the corral fence, watching from under the brim of his battered hat as one of the ranch hands tried out a new bucking horse, probably fresh from the range. The cowboy pitched skyward well before the eight-second mark and landed on the ground in a graceful somersault, rolling right up onto his feet and grinning as he retrieved his hat.
As Brylee stepped up beside her brother, he smiled and jabbed an approving thumb in the air. Like any stock contractor, he appreciated a badass bronco or bull, mainly because he loved rodeo, and they were likely to perform well. The harder the critters were to ride, the better his reputation in the business.
“I remember a time when you would have ridden that bronco yourself,” Brylee commented. “You getting old, big brother?”
Walker laughed, adjusted his dusty hat, glanced down at her with a sparkle in his eyes. “If I am,” he replied, “then you are, too.”
She gave him a mock punch in the arm, narrowed her gaze to give him the once-over. “I’ll bet Casey made you promise not to play cowboy,” she surmised mischievously. “Why, Walker Parrish, some folks might even say you’re henpecked.”
“Not to my face, they won’t,” Walker replied, unruffled. Of all the men Brylee had ever known, her older brother was one of the most self-possessed and the most confident, and not without reason. He seemed to be good at everything he did. “And it just so happens, little sister,” he continued mildly, “that my lovely wife didn’t ‘make me’ promise any such thing. She merely suggested that, since I’m a husband and a father three times over now, I might want to be a bit more careful not to break every bone in my body.”
This time, it was Brylee who laughed. “Oh, well,” she teased. “As long as it was only a suggestion...”
Walker ruffled her hair, the way he used to do when they were kids. “There’s some color in your face,” he commented. “Your eyes are sparkling, and you haven’t stopped smiling since you got here. What’s going on?”
Brylee thought of her rash agreement to go horseback riding with Zane the next afternoon, a little surprised to discover that she still didn’t regret the decision. “Can’t a woman smile around here without being asked what it’s all about?” she threw out.
Walker grinned, adjusted his disreputable hat again. “Sure,” he answered. “But you’ve got to admit, you’ve been pretty long in the face for the last while.”
“The last while”? A classic understatement. What he’d really meant was, Since Hutch Carmody left you at the altar, but Brylee didn’t get her back up. It was true enough that she’d taken her sweet time getting over the wedding-that-wasn’t, and Walker, like everyone else in her life, had been concerned about her.
She stood on tiptoe to plant a light kiss on her brother’s beard-stubbly cheek. “That was then,” she said mysteriously, “and this is now.”
With that, she and Snidely made their way around the barn, toward the plot of land where the tamer horses were pastured during the day.
Reaching the fence, Brylee gave a low whistle, and her black-and-white pinto gelding, Toby, lifted his head at the sound, approached her at an eager trot.
She smiled and nuzzled his nose with her own, reaching up to rub his ears. “Hey, boy,” she said, choked up because of the way he’d hurried toward her, with a gleeful whinny. It had been too long since she’d ridden Toby, or even paid much attention to him. “You up for a little spin around the pasture?”
Toby nickered and tossed his head, as if to say yes, making Brylee laugh and, though she quickly blinked back the tears, cry a little, too.
She climbed over the fence, while Snidely shinnied underneath, agile as a trained soldier low-crawling to avoid a barrage of bullets zipping by within inches of his hide.
Toby allowed her to check all four of his hooves; he was a patient horse, but young, and, as Walker liked to say, full of piss and vinegar.
When she found no stones or little sticks that might make him go lame or simply cause him discomfort, she looped her arms around Toby’s thick neck and swung up onto his bare back, settled there and entwined the fingers of one hand in his gleaming black-and-white mane.
He sidestepped, tossed his head again, and when Brylee touched his sleek sides with the heels of her shoes, he took a few hesitant steps forward, looked back at her as if to confirm that she truly wanted to ride and then leaped straight into a gallop, which quickly became a run.
Brylee, leaning over his neck, holding on with her knees more than her hands, gave a shout of pure joy.
The other horses in the pasture watched with casual, grass-munching interest as Toby shot past like a spotted cannonball, soaring over the low barbed-wire fence on the far end of the five-acre pasture and landing with the grace of a private jet on automatic pilot. Without so much as a stumble, he raced onto the open range, while Snidely ran alongside, full-out, a furry blur.
Gradually, Brylee slowed Toby down, with just the lightest tug at his mane and a practiced motion of her knees, turning him around to head back toward the pasture at a leisurely walk. Breathless with the exhilaration of riding again, she pressed her face down into the sweaty hide of his neck and whispered, “I’m back,
old buddy. I am finally back.”
It was true, Brylee realized, with a wild rush of happy relief. She hadn’t just come back to her horse, either—she’d returned to her life, to the person she’d been before she’d fallen for Hutch. She’d come home to herself.
* * *
“ARE YOU GOING to ride him?” Nash asked, indicating Blackjack. Though still cautious, the boy had ventured a little closer, no doubt reeled in by his fascination with the creature, like a fish on the line.
The delivery man had set Blackjack’s saddle, bridle and blanket atop a nearby fence rail after the horse was out of the trailer, and as a reply to his brother’s question, Zane inclined his head toward the gear. “Yep,” he said. “A little, anyhow, just to get him used to having a rider on his back again.”
Nash’s eyes widened slightly, and he drew in an audible breath. “How long since Blackjack’s been ridden?” he asked, looking wary and interested, both at the same time.
Zane patted the horse’s neck, in part as a tacit apology for their lengthy separation. “The outfit where I boarded him was top-notch, and daily exercise was part of the deal, along with veterinary care and the rest. Most likely, somebody saddled him up and took him out the same day he left the stables.”
“Still,” Nash said, looking doubtful, “he’s been shut up in that trailer for what, two days? Three, maybe?”
Zane ran a light hand over Blackjack’s side, his back, his flank, letting him get used to being touched. “Three, probably,” he answered distractedly. “That’s why we’re going to take it real easy today. He needs time to get used to being free of that trailer, but he also needs to work the kinks out a little.” He nodded toward the gear propped on the fence rail. “Get me that bridle, will you?”
“Sure,” Nash replied eagerly, already on his way. “But don’t you want the saddle and blanket, too?”
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