Love in Hiding

by Diane Holiday

  “Wake up, Greg. This is Sarah.” Debbie turned to her. “Greg’s been here for a year. He works weekdays and takes classes at the community college at night.”

  Sarah smiled and held out a hand.

  He shook hers hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Nice t-to meet you.”

  Debbie waved to the stables. “I’ll turn out the horses. Sarah can help you with the barn chores.”

  “Sure.” Greg straightened and stood taller.

  The morning went fast, and Sarah busted her butt working. She mucked stalls and swept away cobwebs. Spiders. Ugh. Her dad had almost died from a bite. She hated the hairy nightmares. But not as much as threats from a delusional psycho.

  Somewhere around eight o’clock, they had the barn cleaned. The buckets to fill the troughs had taken a while to lug back and forth. She never realized how heavy water could be. Stress and a fast-food diet had sucked the energy out of her. That would teach her for eating crappy meals on the run. Hot, sweaty, and thirsty, she grabbed the hose and sprayed water on the back of her neck before taking a long drink.

  Boots scuffled through the dirt behind her.

  She whirled around.

  Bruce stopped across the aisle from her.

  If he’d accepted Debbie’s proposal, he probably couldn’t wait to find reasons to get Sarah fired. So far, she’d done everything asked of her, and Greg said the stables had never looked better. Bruce would have to search hard for grounds to dismiss her.

  His gaze dropped to the hose still gushing water, now making a muddy puddle.

  She let go of it and cranked the knob to Off. When she turned back around, he had come closer. His soap-and-leather scent wafted across the barn, distracting her the same as it had yesterday. A crisp denim shirt highlighted his clear blue eyes. Her gaze lingered on an open button where a curl of dark chest hair peeked out.

  “Working hard?” he asked.

  She glanced up. An answer didn’t come right away as she focused on the jagged scar by his cheek. Maybe he’d been in a fight. Or with his short haircut and that Wounded Warrior hat he’d worn yesterday, he could have been in the military.

  The puckered line ran from his ear to his jaw, hooking under his chin. Such an imperfection should have made him less attractive. It didn’t.

  The dancers in the company—both men and women—went to great lengths to take care of their bodies. A scar like that would have been limiting, perhaps even career-ending. Not that Bruce didn’t take care of his body. No one could argue that he didn’t take very good care of it. From head to booted toe, he was perfection. Solid, Herculean biceps. A lean stomach that would probably break every bone in her fist if she punched it. The man oozed raw masculinity.

  Her nipples, which had grown painfully taut, could attest to that.

  “Sarah?” He waved his hand in front of her face.

  “Huh?”

  A deep crease appeared between his eyebrows. “I asked if you were working hard.”

  “You did?” Shit. Focus. “I’m up to it.”

  He stared at her for a long second, and then brushed past her. “We’ll see.”

  Mr. Aloof sure didn’t waste words. She hadn’t done a damn thing to merit his disdain. He’d better not give a bad report on her. She picked up a broom and swept the aisle. Hard.

  A few minutes later, Debbie and Bruce came out from the tack room and headed in her direction. Debbie dipped her head into the stalls along her way.

  Sarah’s stomach knotted. Her work better pass the test.

  “How you doing?” Debbie cocked her head and gave Sarah the once-over.

  “I’m great.” Sarah thrust her shoulders back and thumped the broom on the ground.

  Debbie shot Bruce a look. “Bruce is going to show you how to tack up a horse in a bit.”

  He scowled like someone who picked the short straw and got bathroom clean-up duty.

  “When you’re done with that, I’ll give you a list of stuff to get from town. Add whatever you need for making meals. I’ve got dinner tonight, but starting tomorrow, assuming things work out, it’s your job.”

  Sarah nodded. Bruce didn’t look happy about having to teach her to tack up. Debbie must have made a deal with him. He probably figured he could get rid of Sarah if he had the last word.

  She glanced at Greg across the stables. Time to make a good impression. “Would Greg show up earlier in the morning for a hot breakfast?”

  Debbie scratched her temple. “Dunno. Never offered.”

  “I could make one and invite him.”

  “It’s not part of the job, but I’m all for anything that gets him here on time.”

  “Sounds good. It can’t hurt to try.”

  “Your call.” She pointed outside the barn to an old red pickup in the parking lot. “You can take that when you go to town. We use it to run errands.”

  Tension eased from Sarah’s back. Perfect. The less she drove her uninsured car with stolen plates, the better. “Great. Thanks so much.”

  Debbie’s mouth set, and she muttered something as she stepped past Sarah.

  Uh-oh. She must have sounded too excited to have access to the rusty truck.

  Sarah faced Bruce, who wore a slight frown. The man missed nothing. If she didn’t keep her emotions in check, everyone would become suspicious. Like it or not, she had to make a good impression, or she’d be on the run again. She tugged her lower lip with her teeth. “We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. Is it something I’m doing?”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. When he raised his eyes, their icy blue had turned to fire.

  “Yes.”

  Her thighs tightened. No man had ever looked at her with such raw heat. Sure, she’d had her share of fans, but none who made her melt. She blinked and focused back on the issue at hand. Whatever his problem was, he needed to give her more than one-word answers. “We’ve spent less than fifteen minutes together since I got here. What could I possibly have done?”

  “I’ll be back in about an hour.” He strode away without answering.

  What bullshit. He had no right to leave her hanging. She bit back a caustic reply and squeezed her hands into fists. She’d need mind-reading classes if she continued to work around him. Where she came from men had manners and didn’t act like arrogant barbarians.

  Greg rounded the corner of the stable wall and stopped. “You okay? Your face is really red.”

  No doubt. She blew out a breath. “Yeah. What do we need to do next?”

  “Bring the grain in.” He took her out to the side of the barn and pointed to the stacks.

  A young woman led a white colt with black spots on his rump past them to the arena. She mounted as Greg and Sarah dragged the bags toward the stable entrance.

  “She’s new here.” Greg cocked his head. “I’ve never met her because she usually comes at night, but Joe said she’s training that Appaloosa. He seemed surprised since she told him she hasn’t been riding long.”

  “I guess she must think she can handle it.” Sarah mopped her brow and gazed at the open fields where Bruce and the chestnut stallion he rode flew across the grassy slopes. Graceful and beautiful, the scene could be on a postcard. “He sure looks like he knows how to ride. That horse is fast.”

  “One of the fastest here. Bruce is working him for the owner.” Greg waved a hand at the stables. “You should see him ride Batal. He’s an ex-race horse Bruce trained.”

  “He trains?”

  Greg shook his head. “Not anymore. He grew up on a horse farm, though.”

  “Really?” She squinted into the sun as Bruce and the stallion tore across another open field.

  “Yeah. He’s been around them his whole life.”

  “Huh. I guess that’s why he rides so well.”

  Greg’s eyes lit up. He leaned closer and kept his voice low. “Bruce’s family’s horse farm caught fire, and he ran into the burning barn and got every horse out. He was only fifteen, and the story made the papers and news. Between that and so
me of the wild stallions he trained, people called him the young horse whisperer.”

  “Does he talk to horses?” Because he sure as hell didn’t converse with people.

  Greg’s gaze went to the field. He clamped his mouth shut. “I think we better get back to work.” He frowned and pointed to the arena where the woman rode the spotted horse. “She left the gate open again.”

  “I’ll get it.” Sarah jogged toward the rink.

  A strong gust of wind blew over a black trash can next to the fence. The colt leaped in the air and took off running.

  “Runaway!” Joe shouted.

  Sarah gasped and sprinted to the opening. The horse closed the distance fast, leaving her no time to shut the gate. She stood in the entrance making herself as big as possible and waved her arms wide. The steed reared. She gazed up at the powerful legs churning above her.

  Her adrenaline spiked.

  In one swift move, she kicked the gate shut, pirouetted, and whirled to the right. The horse’s hooves came down inches from her shoulder as she ducked behind the end post.

  The colt bolted, and the rider’s eyes bulged as she gripped the reins. With the gate now closed, the horse raced inside the arena.

  Bruce came galloping in from the field, sprang from his horse, and jumped over the fence. He called out instructions to the rider, who bounced and bobbed in the saddle.

  Joe, Debbie, and Greg appeared beside Sarah. Bruce spoke in a calm, low tone, walking in circles inside the middle of the rink until the horse slowed to a trot. The rider pulled on the reins, and the colt halted. The woman dismounted and bent over, holding a hand to her chest. Bruce patted her on the back, leaned down, and spoke to her.

  “Holy shit, Sarah. You could have been killed,” Greg said.

  Her pulse still cantered. “I had to do something.”

  “That was ballsy. Coulda ended up ugly,” Debbie said.

  Greg sucked in a breath. “You’d think she’s the one who’d been a Navy SEAL.”

  “Why don’t you see if you can help with the runaway?” Debbie frowned at him.

  “Oh, right.” He jogged into the arena.

  A Navy SEAL. So she’d been right about Bruce and the military. It might explain why she couldn’t read him. Maybe they’d trained him to conceal his emotions. If so, he must have aced that class.

  Greg took the reins of the runaway horse. The woman shuffled out with him and stopped to sit on a bench in front of the barn. She removed her helmet and rested her head against the wall. Her pale face glowed in the sun. The poor thing was still shaking. Sarah fished out a water bottle from one of the coolers. “Here, maybe this will help.”

  The woman placed a hand on Sarah’s arm. “Thank you. I can’t believe what you did. You probably saved my life. If he’d gotten into the open fields, I’m not sure I could have stayed on.”

  Sarah shrugged. “Everything happened so fast. I didn’t have time to think.”

  “Well, I can’t thank you enough.” She took the bottle, her hands still trembling.

  “Let me help you.” Sarah twisted the cap open. She glanced up to find Bruce standing beside her.

  “You okay now?” he asked the woman.

  “Yes. I don’t know what I would’ve done without the two of you.”

  “Glad you didn’t get hurt. Be careful with that colt. He’s young and skittish.”

  She nodded, her eyes wide. “I will. Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Bruce gave Sarah a long, unreadable look before he headed back to his abandoned horse, grazing in the field beside the arena.

  Sarah sighed. Whatever Bruce thought of her actions, he clearly didn’t intend to discuss it with her. Not exactly a news flash, him keeping her in the dark.

  Bruce mounted the horse he’d been working and rode him back to the fields. Away from Sarah. He could wring her neck for that stunt she’d pulled, regardless of the guts it took. His heart had false-started at the sight of her under the rearing, wild horse. The only thing that had saved her life was the crazy, gymnast-like move she’d made to get out of the way at the last second.

  With no helmet, one good kick to her head and she’d have been toast. In mere seconds, a person could be gone.

  God, he missed Emily. The early morning rides they’d shared when the dew-covered grass glittered under the rising sun. Her challenging smile as she nudged her horse faster, ever the competitor. His chest constricted.

  Four years since she’d died in the car accident. With no other choice, he’d learned to cope. The days weren’t so bad now. He kept busy with the therapy program. But dreams of his wife haunted him at night. In the morning, he’d wake to her empty side of the bed. The scab would rip off again, leaving his wound fresh and raw. The same painful pattern, for years.

  Until last night.

  His hands tightened on the reins as he spotted Sarah near the barn with Greg. She had snuck into his dreams where Emily belonged. Sarah roused emotions he didn’t want to relive with another woman. The hole in his heart would never heal. Best to keep Sarah far from it.

  Urging the stallion faster, he focused on his connection with the horse. As always, a calmness soothed him as they sped across the meadow together.

  After a long ride, Bruce brushed the stallion and shot a glance at Sarah when she entered the stables. Despite his resolve to keep his emotional distance, every cell in his body tuned in to her presence.

  He blew out a breath. The oversized jacket she’d shown up in had done a good job of hiding her body. Muscles, sleek and toned, lined her arms and legs. Tight jeans accentuated her pear-shaped bottom. He forced his attention back to his horse. Two brushstrokes later, he glanced again at Sarah. She'd stopped sweeping and stood with the broom handle pressed against her cheek, staring in his direction. Only her gaze wasn't on his face.

  For chrissakes, were they back in middle school? He cleared his throat and she jumped, dropping the broom.

  Enough of this. He had work to do. "When I'm done here, a word?"

  Her face turned crimson. She nodded and snatched up the broom. “Of course.”

  His gaze followed the graceful way she moved as she glided down the aisle. He tried not to focus on her sweet ass. And failed. Muscles bunched at the back of his neck. Best to get it over with. He’d teach Sarah how to tack up a horse, give her a ride, and be done.

  He untied the stallion, led him back to his stall, and approached Sarah. She probably wouldn’t last the day. Images of the close call with the runaway rushed back, and his ears burned. She could be dead instead of standing in front of him with those pink, pouty lips and eyes that mirrored the grassy slopes. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” She set the broom aside and brushed her hands together.

  “Follow me.”

  He led her down the corridor between the stalls. With each step he took, the recklessness of her behavior and the danger she’d put herself in sank deeper. No matter she’d risked her life for someone; she had no business being on the farm if she knew nothing about horses. And whatever had driven her to take such a job had to mean trouble. This wasn’t the place for her, and the sooner she realized it, the better.

  When they reached the tack room, he crossed his arms and faced her. “Do you have a death wish or something?”

  “What?”

  “What you did out there earlier? You could have been killed.”

  Her brows drew together, and her nose wrinkled. “I didn’t have time to think about it. I just reacted.”

  “Never step in front of a wild horse. You’re damn lucky he stopped. If they’re spooked, they’ll run right into a person, a tree”—he tapped the wall with his hand—“even a building.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “Well, he didn’t, and no one got hurt.”

  Damn her stubbornness. He shook his head. “You have a lot to learn.”

  “I’m more than willing.”

  He rubbed a hand down his face, picked up a saddle, and pointed to Misty’s name above a set of peg
s where her gear hung. “Could you grab a bridle and girth from there?”

  Sarah’s gaze flitted to the wall. She bit her lower lip.

  He tensed and forced his gaze away from her mouth. “Is there a problem?”

  “I…uh…” She tugged again at her lower lip.

  Christ, she needed to stop doing that. He huffed and shoved the saddle back on its stand. “What?”

  Her eyes flashed. “I don’t know what a bridle and girth is. I didn’t grow up on a horse farm like you.”

  He bristled. “How do you know that?”

  “Greg mentioned it.”

  Bruce never discussed his past with anyone.

  A coldness settled in his breast. He’d been away at college when Joe had shown up at his door and broken the news that Bruce’s mom and dad had died of carbon monoxide poisoning. If he’d stayed and taken over the horse farm like his father expected, they might still be alive. Instead, he’d gone off to college and let his family die with the house closed up one winter night.

  He shut his eyes for a second and opened them to find Sarah staring at the eagle tattoo high on his upper arm with his team number. The brothers who became his new family. So much blood and pain. His gut churned. He’d returned in one piece. Others weren’t so lucky. He couldn’t give the amputees back their limbs, but he sure as hell could help them adapt and recover.

  “So you do some sort of therapy here?” Sarah asked.

  He nodded, relieved to derail the trip down misery lane. “It’s called hippotherapy, and it’s working with horses to help patients with their mobility and balance.” He crossed to the wall, grabbed Misty’s gear, and handed it to Sarah. “My clients are veteran amputees.”

  Sarah’s eyes softened. “That’s really special. When you mentioned therapy yesterday, I thought you meant psychotherapy or—”

  “Most people don’t know about it.” He held out a carryall filled with various grooming tools. “Can you bring these?”

  “Sure.”

  He picked up a saddle, placed a pad on top, and carried them out of the tack room.

  Greg led Misty down the aisle toward them. His gaze never strayed from Sarah. When he stopped, his face flushed pink.