to leave,” he said, putting the cap back on.
“Just like that? You’re not going to ask me why I’m here?”
He already had a good idea. She wasn’t local; her clothes and jewelry were too fancy. She wasn’t a client, because he only worked with a select number, all personally known to him. That meant she was probably a reporter. A couple of the more determined ones had tracked him down over the years. He’d thrown them out, just as he was about to throw this one out.
“Ma’am, I’m not interested in why you’re here, only in seeing you leave. Now please climb down and get in your car.”
“Okay, but you’ll have to help me. I’m stuck.”
The muscles in his face tightened even more. “What do you mean you’re stuck?”
“Stuck as in…can’t move. The lining of my skirt is caught on something back here and I can’t pull it loose.”
She twisted and tugged at her skirt, trying to free it, but the movement only made it ride higher on her thighs.
Bret shifted with uneasiness as a long expanse of leg became visible and he caught a glimpse of ivory lace. “Lean forward,” he snapped. He nudged the horse up to the branch where he could investigate the problem. Damn fool woman. She had no business climbing trees if she couldn’t get down.
He took off his gloves and hurriedly tried to work the fabric loose, but her sweet scent filled his head and made it hard to concentrate. He had the disturbing sensation that he knew her from somewhere. Those big green eyes. That slightly crooked mouth….
Glancing up, he found her watching him. She tucked a strand of long hair behind her ear, hair that was chestnut-colored and looked as soft as the coat of a newborn foal.
“Are you really throwing me off your property?” she asked.
He yanked harder at the tangle of threads. The sooner she was on her way, the better. Strangers, even pretty ones, could be trouble.
“I guess so,” she answered for him. “And here I thought Southerners were famous for their hospitality.”
He reached in the pocket of his jeans for his knife. When he had cut away that part of the trapped material, she eased forward on the limb and pulled her skirt free.
“Climb down,” he told her.
“I will, but—” she pointed at Sallie “—can you get rid of that first, please?”
“Sallie, go to the house.” The dog ran to the porch and curled up in front of the screen door.
Bret slid from his horse, scooped up the woman’s shoes and remounted. “Here.” He thrust them at her. They were covered in dog slobber and puckered with holes.
She held them up and sighed. “Great. The next time I need to strain vegetables, I’ll know what to use.” She steadied herself on the branch with one hand and used her other to slip on a shoe, making a sound of disgust. “They’re wet.”
“Climb down,” Bret ordered again.
“You know,” she said, easing into the other shoe, a pained expression on her face, “you didn’t even ask if your dog bit me. I felt her mouth on my ankle, and I think I should go in the house and put antiseptic on it.”
“She didn’t bite you.”
“I believe she did.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“How can you say that when you haven’t looked?”
“Lady, the dog didn’t bite you. Stop stalling and get down.”
“I’m not stalling.”
“If Sallie had bitten you, we wouldn’t be arguing about it. She’d still be hanging on.”
The woman shuddered. “You’re kidding. Does she often hang on to people?”
“Always.”
“You mean she clamps down and won’t turn you loose?” When he nodded, she asked, “Did you train her to do that?”
“Of course not. She just does it. Now, I’m tired of telling you. Get in your car.”
She stared off into space, apparently deep in thought, then glanced at his horse. “I guess things like that are bred into dogs, like racing and working are bred into horses. That’s what they call a quarter horse, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve ever seen an animal so beautiful. Is he your only stallion?”
“No, I have three.”
“Three? Gosh. And I bet they’re all that healthy-looking. And how many mares do you have?”
“Sixteen.”
“So how many of those would you normally breed in a year’s time, and how many babies would you get?”
“Usually I’d breed all of them if they’re—”
He swore, realizing she had somehow dragged him into conversation. Did she know he bred horses for a living or had she made an educated guess?
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Doing what?”
“Chattering. Trying to make me forget you’re not supposed to be here. Confusing me.”
“No, I wasn’t. Are you easily confused? You know that can be one of the first signs of a serious illness. A brain tumor. Alzheimer’s. Dementia. Although I would think you’re too young to have Alzheimer’s. This confusion you have, is it like short-term memory loss or more cognitive?”
He groaned loudly. “You’re the most exasperating woman I ever tried to talk to.”
“Do you have trouble talking to women?” She clucked as if she felt sorry for him. “No need to feel embarrassed. An estimated two million men in the United States have the same problem. There’s even a name for it. It’s called Fe—”
“Stop!” he yelled, holding up a hand.
She casually plucked a pine needle from her skirt. “Are you confused again?”
He eyed her with suspicion. “Are you purposely trying to drive me crazy?”
“Why, heavens, no. Are you paranoid, as well as confused?”
He raised his arms and grabbed her before she understood his intent, lifting her from the branch and setting her sideways on the horse in front of him.
“You’re leaving,” he said gruffly, kicking the horse into a trot. His arm came around her waist to hold her. She clung to it in panic.
Bret pulled her closer, his anger fizzling the moment he felt her fear. He stiffened as he got a stronger whiff of her perfume. The fragrance was exotic, like some delicate flower. He’d
