by Laura Moore
Even if Katherine had been an intermediate rider—and from the way she slouched in the saddle and held her reins, it was clear she was anything but—Quinn didn’t want her and Stephen anywhere near Josh. The other guests didn’t deserve to be treated to a marital blow-up on their trail ride.
Domino had been standing patiently while Quinn checked stirrups and cinches and adjusted the riders’ hands on their reins, urging them to relax their death grip. Each contact made her remember another pair, this one surprisingly sensitive and strong. Even now she could recall the warm weight and steady pressure of Ethan’s hands covering hers as she taught him to milk.
Quinn was the first to admit she had a tendency to act impulsively. Her suggestion that Ethan place his hands over hers was a perfect example. In her own defense, she’d believed that, given the stiffness in his injured shoulder and arm, hands-on learning would be the best way to teach him. He’d caught on amazingly quickly—but not before the heat from his body transferred to hers. Not before her body started listening to his, communicating on some level she wasn’t used to.
Even now she was feeling odd and unsettled.
Grasping Domino’s reins in her left hand, she raised her leg, placed the toe of her boot in the stirrup, and swung herself up into the saddle, finding the other stirrup with her right foot. Settling her weight in the cantle, she leaned forward and ran her hand up the crest of Domino’s neck, saying hello to her gelding.
He looked good. Josh had brushed him until his inky black coat gleamed and the white spots on his haunches stood out like giant snowflakes. Even his black ears, which had swiveled at the familiar caress, were at their glossiest.
For that alone she should be able to shake off her annoyance with Josh, irrational though it was. It wasn’t his fault he’d been unaware that Ethan had been injured in Afghanistan, especially since Ethan had discarded his sling. And though he was noticeably thin and haggard, the morning light had softened his drawn expression and the shadows in his eyes.
Nor could she blame Josh for behaving like an armchair general. If he had friends who’d been deployed in Afghanistan, he’d probably heard just enough to think he knew something about what it was like for the men risking their lives. But while she didn’t know all the details of what had happened to Ethan, she instinctively understood that he’d chosen Silver Creek Ranch as a refuge from those questions. Unfortunately, the Texan hadn’t picked up on the fact that a little discretion was in order.
For whatever reason, perhaps because he was caught up in the excitement of discussing the war, Josh hadn’t noticed how still Ethan became when asked about the soldiers with whom he’d been stationed and where they were now. No, still wasn’t the right word. He’d become frozen, locked in his memories.
Josh hadn’t noticed the change, but she had. She’d looked into Ethan’s face and known that whatever he was feeling right then, it was infinitely worse than the pain that had had him bent in half and puking his guts into the base of the airport’s potted plant.
Determined to divert Josh’s attention, she’d begun rattling off her morning list of chores, praying he’d get the hint and leave, or at the very least stop talking about Afghanistan until Ethan could escape from wherever he was trapped.
It had worked. She’d babbled on, listing everything she could think of until, from the corner of her eye, she saw Ethan relax, inch by inch. And Josh had abandoned his Q&A to offer to groom Domino for her. She’d accepted. She’d have agreed to a lot of things if it meant giving Ethan a chance to wrest free of his demons.
In a perfect world, she’d have figured out a way to be rid of both men: Ethan, who was hurting and withdrawn yet whose touch left her flustered and hyperaware of things she usually never noticed, like the dark crescent his lashes made against his cheeks, the intelligence that pierced the shadows of his gray eyes, the light brown hair sprinkling his forearms, the intensity of his focus as he’d taken over the milking, his large hands working the teats.
And then there was Josh, so handsome and comfortable with himself, who seemed intent on pursuing her with a happy and steady cheer that was making her feel like a seesaw. One minute she wanted to resist him, the next she found herself tempted to yield.
Quinn knew most women would be dancing on air to have a man like Josh paying so much attention to them. They would be counting the hours until next Friday night in the hopes he might pay even closer attention, like on the dance floor, or on one of the sofas tucked away in a corner of the bar.
But other women didn’t have her miserable track record to haunt them.
The prospect of another screw-up, this time with someone she saw every day, filled her with the dread one might feel walking into an exam unprepared. It didn’t matter that she would be with Mia, Reid, Tess, Ward, and anyone else she could drag to the bar.
With a hard tug on her battered brown Stetson, she lowered the brim over her brow, shielding her expression. She had a hunch Josh would be tickled pink to know how worried she was about a simple date.
“You set over there?” she called to him. His group being bigger, he’d only just mounted Waylon.
“Ready to roll,” he answered with that disarming grin that made her want to fuss with her hair and maybe dab on some lip gloss, even as she contemplated galloping straight for the hills.
As she urged Domino forward, leading the group out of the corral, she wondered whether Ethan had ever smiled as easily or as often. And how would she feel if he ever smiled at her?
—
Ethan leaned against the pillar that supported the extended overhang of the horse barn and watched Quinn and Josh ready the group of riders. He wasn’t sure why he’d stopped at the corrals, since he was bone tired after having helped Quinn milk two more of her goats before she’d told him that milking class was over for the day.
Her horse Domino was a superb animal, as sleek and muscled as that pinto pony of hers had been shaggy and round. He saw her mount lightly and then reach forward and caress her gelding’s black mane.
A memory flashed in his brain. It was of Quinn’s bright blond pigtails flopping on either side of her pony’s brown and white neck as she laid her torso against it and combed his mane with her chubby fingers. It did something inside him to recall that uncomplicated gesture of love and to see it alive and well today. After the hatred and fear he’d seen in too many faces and the despair he’d witnessed in too many places, the simple happiness Quinn displayed around animals was like stepping into the light after the suffocating gunmetal grays and dusty camo colors of Afghanistan, where innocence and joy died too quickly.
So there was the answer as to why he was standing in the shadows of the horse barn: Quinn. She drew him. The sweet animal-crazy kid he remembered had grown into a startlingly beautiful woman who was fascinatingly different. How could there not be a magnetic pull?
Yet he would have to ignore the attraction. While he might harbor a few middling reservations about Josh and whether the Texan was good enough for Quinn, Ethan had no illusions about himself.
He’d never be the right man for her.
First off, he was too old for her. Yet even if there hadn’t been ten years’ difference between them, there were all the life experiences that set them apart, making a gap a gulf. Second, too much darkness clung to him. He’d be shade in her sun-kissed world. And finally, though he loved the beauty of Silver Creek, he didn’t belong here. He wasn’t sure he belonged anywhere—
Absorbed in his thoughts, Ethan hadn’t heard the footsteps until they were almost upon him. The realization was freaky. In Afghanistan he and the troops had twitched at the rustling of leaves, the unexpected cry of a bird. The soldiers would reach for their weapons while he prayed he survived the ambush.
“Morning, Ethan. You’re up early.” Daniel Knowles’s glance took in the cream and gray hairs stuck to Ethan’s shirt. “Quinn put you to work already?” There was a touch of concern in his voice.
“It was my idea,” Ethan told him.
<
br /> “So how did it go? She’s a hell of a taskmaster,” said a guy with shaggy blond hair and blue eyes that were almost identical to Quinn’s.
“She had me milk a few of her goats. An interesting experience. You’re Reid, right?”
“Yeah.” He thrust out his hand. “It’s been a long time. Good to see you, Ethan.”
“We’re glad you’re here,” said the third man. “I’m Ward, in case you don’t remember.”
“Sure I do,” Ethan replied. Ward was the one who most closely resembled Daniel, with dark hair and a broader frame. “No matter how hard I tried, I could never beat your time when it came to roping a steer.”
The senior Knowles laughed. “Unfortunately for the rest of our egos, Ward’s only gotten faster.”
“Hope you’ll come out and ride with us when you’re ready,” Ward said.
“Thanks.” Due to the shrapnel that had been buried in his shoulder by the IED blast, there was no way he’d be able to ride like his usual self, or even like the lucky kid who’d learned to gallop over these rolling hills. He’d have to get a lot stronger if he wanted to climb into a saddle and stay there once his mount moved forward. And he wanted it. Wanted to feel the powerful flow of a horse beneath him again. Which meant he would have to do significantly more than milk goats to regain his strength and mobility. He remembered the soldiers’ workouts. Endless push-ups, sit-ups, squat jumps. The floor of his cabin was a hell of a lot nicer than any spot on the army base. He had no excuse.
“So she introduced you to the goats,” Reid said. “Don’t let them or Quinn drive you crazy. Believe me, they can.”
Ward nodded in agreement. “Quinn’s like a force of nature. She leaves most of us reeling.”
“But we’re rooting for you,” Reid told him. “Right, Dad?”
Daniel smiled. “We are indeed.”
What would her brothers and father think if they knew that, far from driving him nuts, there was something about Quinn that helped beat back the madness, the darkness in his soul?
If they cared as much about her as he suspected, their laid-back geniality would vanish. They’d do whatever was necessary to keep him the hell away from her and her herd of goats.
And they certainly wouldn’t be rooting for him.
AS THE SPECTER of her group date with Josh loomed larger, Quinn found herself increasingly enjoying the time spent in Ethan’s company. His prickly monosyllabic reserve was the perfect antidote to her pre-date jitters. And as her dread increased, his complete disinterest in her as a woman was like chocolate buttercream frosting on a perfectly baked cake.
Every morning he arrived punctually at the goat pen to help feed and then milk the does while she supervised and carried the pails full of milk into the storeroom’s refrigerator for George Alston, cheesemonger extraordinaire, to pick up later.
The routine lasted until the fourth day, when he announced, with the steel-jawed determination she’d come to recognize, his intention to start mucking out the pen for her. Naturally, they’d argued.
“I want to work, damn it. You’ve got to give me more to do.”
“You don’t need to do more. Why don’t you rest?” Sure, he was moving better now, not in that frighteningly stiff way he’d carried himself at the airport when she’d first seen him, but that didn’t mean he was ready to take on more.
He looked at her as if she had the wits of a slug. So very refreshing. “I rested in the hospital. You want me to sit around on my ass from nine A.M. on?”
“Of course not. But that doesn’t mean you need to shovel goat droppings. Why don’t you take some photographs?”
The second she uttered the suggestion, his expression closed tighter than a sealed vault.
“I’m finished with photography.”
Clearly this was dangerous territory. She ventured into the minefield nonetheless. “But why? You’re really good—”
“Leave it alone, Quinn.”
She was learning Ethan-speak. What he actually meant was leave him alone, and that was something she wasn’t going to do—until she looked and saw the depth of pain in his eyes. “Fine. Go ahead and pick up the droppings in the pen if that makes you happy. It’ll give Hennie extra time to trail after you like Mary’s little lamb.”
His glower made her feel better about having caved to his demands. She much preferred it to the shuttered look he’d worn earlier or the bleak light in his eyes.
And if he was going to shovel shit, at least her goats’ leavings were a lighter load than horse or cow manure. She didn’t want him straining his injury.
And Hennie was overjoyed. The doe had taken an instant shine to Ethan. After Ethan finished milking her, she stuck like a shadow as he led the other goats from the feeder to the milking stand. When he bent over to position the pail and began working, she’d sidle up and begin nibbling on his collar. Never once did he push her nose away. It was cute as anything.
Ethan was also the first person outside of her family to be able to distinguish the goats.
When she mentioned this to him, he looked at her for a long moment, long enough that she succumbed to temptation and bit into the pear and cinnamon muffin she’d filched from Roo—the one she’d given Ethan having disappeared within seconds.
“Yeah, well, I generally make an effort to remember a female’s name once I’ve put my hands on her teats.”
She coughed her muffin halfway across the pen. Maybelle beat the other girls to it, scarfing down the crumbs.
When she recovered, she swiped the back of her hand across her lips to wipe away any stray muck, and noticed that the corner of his mouth was tilted up. “That’s real big of you,” she said tartly. “No wonder Hennie’s smitten. She’s probably got you confused with Romeo—the buck she and the girls visited a couple weeks ago.”
There, she thought. That would show him she wasn’t thrown by the idea of his fondling other women’s breasts. And please God, don’t let him guess that she still remembered the weight and warmth of his hands over hers.
And what would it have felt like if Ethan had slid those hands up her body until he reached her breasts, caressing them and then teasing her nipples with his long fingers?
With a convulsive jerk, she pulled herself up short. Where had that thought come from? The reason she liked hanging out with Ethan was because he wasn’t interested in her. Never once in the time they’d spent together had he acted as if he was mentally undressing her or figuring out the quickest way to get her to a place where he could do so literally.
“Very funny. Listen, I need you to assign me some more jobs.”
She had trouble switching gears, still embarrassingly stuck on the hands-fondling-breasts fantasy starring a guy who exuded indifference the way others did Old Spice. And wasn’t that proof that she was the only creature in this pen thinking about sex? Except perhaps Gertrude, who was a little slutty.
“Seriously? You’ve already taken over the goats’ care. I know this is a working ranch, but it’s also a resort—you know, a place where people relax.”
“I don’t do relaxed.”
No kidding. He specialized in intense and brooding.
She scrambled to come up with something else that would allow him to exercise but not overtax his shoulder. “Can you groom a horse? I can help pick out the hooves—or you can manage yourself,” she tacked on quickly when Ethan’s lips thinned to a flat, irritated line. “Frank and Mel, two of our hands, went to visit family now so they could be back here for Thanksgiving, so we’re understaffed. And Dad, Ward, and Reid are spending the morning stacking a new load of hay that’s come in, so I’m sure our foreman, Pete, would appreciate your help.”
Her dad would be fine with the suggestion. Ethan could use his good arm to brush off the horses if need be, and honestly, she couldn’t think of any other tasks to give him. She doubted he’d be too thrilled at the prospect of picking squashes and kale or spreading compost around the rows. Besides, working the garden was solitary—the last thing Et
han needed. He should be in the company of men. And animals. Along with dogs, horses were some of the best medicine in the world.
“When you’re finished mucking out the pen, come on over to the corrals. I’ll introduce you to the herd. Oh, and can you do me a favor?” she added casually.
“Yeah.”
“Keep Sooner here with you. I’m going to be grooming Tucker, and I don’t want him getting nervous.” It wasn’t an outright lie, just a taffy-like stretch of the truth. Her rescue gelding did get nervous, but it was men who made his eyes roll back and his hind leg kick out in fear, not dogs. And her Sheltie was well trained. She could have asked him for a down/stay at fifty paces during the entire time she worked with Tucker. But the germ of an idea had sprouted.
In response, Ethan eyed Sooner, who was sitting with his head cocked now that she’d spoken his name. Then he looked back at her.
She held her breath, waiting for Ethan to call her out on her BS request. But he merely shrugged with his good shoulder. “Suit yourself.”
She intended to, especially as her idea had taken root and she was beginning to see its potential. It could be perfect. Epic. Not to brag, but she had a genius for these things.
“Stay,” she told Sooner. Then, flashing Ethan a bright smile, she said, “When you’re done here, just tell him to find me.”
—
The sheltie was like a mini Lassie. Or maybe he was just another male who’d fallen under Quinn’s spell. Either way, after Ethan had finished shoveling the goats’ pen and kicking around a scuffed-up soccer ball for a few minutes with Hennie—the real reason the nanny goat liked him—all he had to do was open the gate and say, “Find Quinn,” and the dog rose from his alert crouch and shot off like a bullet toward the horse barn.