give as much of himself as Flynn needed. The family business and his vet practice would come first. It had before, it would again.
She shivered as a breeze swept over them. “We should probably head home. I don’t want to drive that road in the dark.”
He helped her to climb the slope, held her hand until she found her footing.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said at the top where their trucks were parked.
The words hung between them. If only he’d told her that a month ago, their conversation today might have gone differently. She’d still be pregnant, but she wouldn’t have so many doubts about his motives.
“All right. Evening is better. I’m working the day shift at the clinic this week.”
He walked her to her father’s truck and opened the door. Before she could climb in, he circled her waist and drew her close. It was nice to be held by a pair of strong, muscular arms, and Flynn let herself melt into his embrace. For a moment, she could almost believe everything was going to be all right.
How could she be mad at him for proposing and for wanting her to stay in Roundup? He might have had an entirely different reaction to her announcement. Told her the baby was her problem and refused any responsibility whatsoever.
Ace no sooner released her than her sense of security faded, leaving Flynn feeling alone and more than a little scared about what lay ahead.
Chapter Five
Ace liked starting every morning with a plan. Today, he intended to make headway with Midnight, somehow, someway. If he couldn’t discover what lay at the root of the horse’s unmanageableness and resolve the issue, he’d settle for behavior modification.
He gave himself one month.
If, at the end of that time, Midnight didn’t make measurable progress, Ace was going to recommend to his mother they sell him at the Miles City Bucking Horse Sale, take their losses and acquire a new stud.
Second on his list for the day was breaking the news to his family about Flynn’s pregnancy.
He’d kept the news to himself for several days, wanting to process the ramifications first. He still hadn’t decided between one big announcement at dinner or approaching each family member individually.
Their reactions didn’t worry him, he honestly believed they’d be thrilled for him and Flynn. There would be questions, however. Probing ones. He might grow less tired answering them all at once.
Carrying his favorite saddle to the pens behind the barn, he hoisted it onto the fence railing. Midnight tracked Ace’s every move, ears pricked forward, eyes alert. Ace made a second trip to the tack room, returning with a bucket of water, a sponge and a container of saddle soap. He also brought along a half-dozen carrots.
Setting the cleaning supplies on the ground, he opened the swinging panel in order to form a single large pen.
Midnight huffed and remained resolutely on his side, guarding his territory.
Ace set about cleaning his saddle, all the while maintaining a quiet conversation with the horse.
“I treated an old donkey at Angie Barrington’s animal rescue this morning. The darn thing had the worst eye infection I’ve ever seen. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t lose his sight.”
Midnight wasn’t interested. His attention had started to wander to the mares and yearlings in the distant pasture.
After a few more minutes, a few more scrubbings on the saddle and a few more casual observations about his morning rounds, Ace removed his jacket and hung it on a fence post. The weather wasn’t quite warm enough to forego outerwear, but he’d make do. Picking up the carrots he’d brought, he shoved three in each of his back pockets.
Fifteen feet wasn’t so far away Midnight couldn’t smell a treat, and he instantly honed in on the carrots.
Ace resumed nonchalantly cleaning the saddle. He could practically hear the horse’s nostrils quivering. At one point, Midnight advanced a step closer, his hooves scuffling on the hard ground. Ace didn’t turn around, just kept cleaning the saddle. With any luck, Midnight would venture near enough to snatch the carrots from Ace’s pockets.
He was prepared to wait, the entire afternoon if necessary. Of course he might have the cleanest saddle on the whole ranch.
After another ten minutes, Midnight had crept inch by inch to about ten feet away, his head bobbing with frustration. He wanted those carrots.
All at once, he emitted a loud squeal and scrambled to the far side of the pen, hind legs kicking.
Ace looked up and spotted his brother Colt ambling toward him.
Just when Ace was getting somewhere.
He flung the sponge into the bucket, creating a small splash.
“What’s up?” Colt asked, completely indifferent to Ace’s irritation.
“I was working with Midnight. Until you scared him.”
“I did? Sorry.”
“Dammit, Colt. I gave strict instructions. I wasn’t to be disturbed.”
“You need a hand?” Colt rested his forearms on the fence beside Ace’s saddle, clearly not receiving the message to leave any more than he had Ace’s original instructions.
“Are you kidding?”
The only reason Ace didn’t get angrier with his brother was because of Midnight. The horse watched them warily from the farthest corner of the pen. A shouting match would only spook him and make him even more afraid of Ace.
That, and losing his cool with Colt would do no good. His brother was immune, wrapped up in his own world most of the time.
“I said I was sorry.”
Ace exhaled, reined in his temper. “It’s going slowly. I’m more and more convinced the livestock foreman mistreated Midnight and probably the other horses, as well.”
Colt shook his head. “I don’t get people like him.”
It was one of the few things Ace and his brother had in common. Mostly they were a study in contradictions, appearance and personalitywise. Strangers might not even recognize them as being related. Ace had inherited their father’s six-foot-plus height and dark looks. Colt, with his blond hair, green eyes and boyish, devil-may-care smile, resembled their mother and was often mistaken for being younger than his thirty-two years.
A few inches shorter than Ace, he was also leaner, giving him the kind of build better suited for competing in rodeos, which he did at every opportunity. There wasn’t a championship buckle he didn’t covet, an event at which he didn’t excel. And yet, he never seemed satisfied.
There had been a time when Ace was the better bareback bronc rider, and he still participated once in a while for fun or to blow off steam. As long as it didn’t interfere with work.
Another glaring difference
