would have a session with the girl, named Kelsey Cameron, this morning. Jewel had official therapy sessions with each child twice a week, but at the Hopechest Ranch therapy never stopped. Every activity, every conversation provided therapy to heal wounds, buoy self-confidence and get the children on the road to happy, healthy lives.
As Jewel showered and dressed for the day, her mind wandered back to those minutes in the woods with Quinn. Even though she was relatively new to the town, she knew Quinn’s story. Clay had told her about how several years ago Quinn had diagnosed one of Clay’s horses with a disease that had threatened the rest of the stock. Clay had been forced to put down the prized stud. At the time most of the other local ranchers had thought Quinn’s diagnosis was wrong.
Ultimately, Quinn had been vindicated, but not before both his reputation and his practice had taken major hits. Clay had stood by his friend and never missed an opportunity to tell Jewel that Quinn was a great guy.
So what was that great guy doing skulking around the woods last night? If he’d gone to Clay’s to take care of a sick horse, why hadn’t he driven his truck over instead of making the long trek by foot from his place to Clay’s?
Once she left her room, there was no more time for thoughts of Quinn. Breakfast was followed by the counseling session with Kelsey Cameron. The young teenager had come to Hopechest Ranch after four years of being shuttled from family member to family member. Her mother, a drug addict, had just awakened one morning and decided she didn’t want to be a mother anymore. One of Kelsey’s aunts had contacted Jewel. She was worried about the girl, who had become more angry and withdrawn with each passing day.
Jewel got little from Kelsey, but hadn’t expected much in the first session. Besides, today was ridinglesson day, something the children all enjoyed. It was a perfect way for Kelsey to start feeling like a member of their “family.”
After lunch, when the children all piled into the minibus, Jewel drove next door to Clay Colton’s ranch, the Bar None. As she went the short distance, the kids chattered with excitement, talking about the horses they would ride and Burt Walker, their instructor. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that Kelsey sat, staring out the van window, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere else.
The three-hundred-acre Bar None ranch was one of the most successful horse ranches in the area. Clay Colton was one of three illegitimate children of Graham Colton and a pretty rodeo rider named Mary Lynn Grady. Clay was a solid, responsible man and since coming to town Jewel had grown to love him like a brother.
She drove past the two-story ranch house and headed toward the stables. Her stomach did a crazy two-step as she recognized Quinn’s black pickup parked nearby. She raised a hand to her hair, momentarily wishing she’d taken more time with it that morning. The thought irritated her and she quickly dropped her hand and parked the bus in front of the stables.
As the children piled out of the bus, Burt walked over to greet them. He was a slender man who’d once been a champion barrel racer. He now worked for Clay and conducted the riding lessons.
“The horses have been waiting for you,” he exclaimed to the kids. “They told me last night how much they were looking forward to giving you all a good ride today.”
Barry Lundon, a ten-year-old with anxiety issues, widened his eyes. “They talk to you?”
Sam Taylor nudged Barry with his shoulder. “Don’t be a baby,” he said with his twelve-year-old wisdom. “Horses don’t talk.”
“Of course they do,” Burt said. “They just don’t use the same kind of language that we do. Come on, let’s get inside and get you all saddled up and I’ll tell you about horse language.” He winked at Jewel, then led the kids to the second stable.
They’d all just disappeared when Clay, Tamara and Quinn walked out of the building directly in front of her. “I thought I heard the chatter of little voices,” Clay said with a warm smile.
“We were just headed to the house for some lemonade,” Tamara said. Tamara Brown was Clay’s exwife. They’d divorced five years ago and she’d become a CSI agent in San Antonio. They’d reunited when a body had been found in a ravine on Clay’s ranch and Tamara had been part of the investigating team.
“How are you, Jewel?” Quinn’s deep voice evoked memories from the night before when his strong, warm fingers had touched her chin and she’d felt the ridiculous need to jump right into his arms.
“Fine. Just fine,” she replied. He looked as attractive this morning as he had the night before in the moonlight. The sun shimmered on his long, thick brown hair finding blond highlights that looked warm and soft. Jewel knew that he was forty-four years old, five years older than she was, but he had an underlying energy that made him seem younger than his years.
“Beautiful day,” he said.
“Yes, it’s lovely,” she replied.
“Before you know it, winter will be here.”
Tamara released a tiny sigh of impatience. “You two can stand out here in the heat and talk about the weather until the cows come home. I’m going up to the house for a glass of lemonade.” She turned on her heels and headed for the house.
Clay stared after her with the eyes of a man who loved what he saw. Andrew once looked at me that way, Jewel thought. She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready to pursue a relationship with another man, but she had to admit there were times she missed having somebody look at her that way, as if she were the most important person on the face of the earth.
Clay turned back to face them. “You two coming?”
“I can’t,” Quinn said as he glanced at his watch. “I’ve got an appointment in about fifteen minutes. I’ve got to get going.” Once again he turned his gaze to Jewel. “It was nice seeing you again.”
She nodded, those crazy butterflies taking wing in her stomach once again. “You, too.”
She and Clay watched as he got into his pickup truck. She was grateful Quinn hadn’t mentioned their midnight meeting. She didn’t really want Clay to know that she often walked the woods between their places because she suffered nightmares. Her job was healing. She didn’t want anyone to find out that she couldn’t heal herself.
“He’s such a nice guy,” Clay said as Quinn’s pickup headed down the gravel lane. “And such a talented vet.”
“Speaking of vets, I heard you had a horse down last night,” she said.
He frowned at her. “A horse down last night? I don’t know where you heard that, but it’s not true. My stock is all healthy.”
He’d lied. Quinn had lied to her the night before. The warmth of the sun on her shoulders couldn’t quite warm the chill that suddenly gripped her.
What had Quinn been doing in those woods the night before, and why had he lied?
From the moment Jewel had first stepped inside Clay’s white wood-frame, two-story home she’d felt the warm welcome it offered. She followed Clay into the wide entry hall and to the rear of the house where a farm-style kitchen opened into a family room.
The
