bought me a ring. He was going to ask me at Christmas.”
And that had been a lifetime ago.
His gaze flicked over her, as if assessing her for damage, too. When their eyes locked again, there was an expression in his, one that made her face come back to life, her skin blazing with color.
Get the hell out of here, Alana.
“Dial zero if you need to reach the main house.” She crossed her arms in front of herself, for some reason uncomfortable with this new and more friendly version of Trent Anderson. “Breakfast will be brought to you around eight, unless you think you’re capable of making your own.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Good. Your refrigerator is fully stocked. We have a cleaning service that comes in once a day. Just hang out the sign on the door if you’d rather we leave things alone.”
“Is that why you stick around? Is this your therapy?”
Go to hell.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Anderson.”
Because, no, this wasn’t her therapy. She was here for Rana, a girl who needed her mother, but who’d lost her instead. She might be a poor substitute, but she loved Rana like a daughter. The therapy? That was just a job, a good job, one she enjoyed. Helping people was her calling in life, always had been. Of course, she’d assumed she’d use her degree working for the Professional Bull Rider’s Association or something. How ironic that she might find herself treating the very type of athlete she’d originally trained to help.
“I guess I’m not the only one with old wounds,” she heard him call out.
“Good night, Mr. Anderson.”
Ignore him.
She was over Braden. She had been for years.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
Chapter Three
She dreaded the coming day.
The moment her eyes popped open, Alana groaned.
Trent Anderson.
The good-looking son of a gun was going to be a royal pain in her behind. She could tell. Normally, that wouldn’t pose much of a problem. She’d dealt with her share of unpleasant clients over the years. They were rare. As she’d told Trent, most people came to New Horizons Ranch of their own free will, but every once in a while someone would come along who would try her patience.
Yeah, but they weren’t good-looking...like Trent.
She shoved her pillow over her head and groaned. And, okay, she could admit to herself that over the years when she’d spotted Trent on TV once or twice, maybe she might have noted to herself that he was a good-looking man. With his cocky cowboy attitude, he was the kind of guy most women drooled over—herself included—although never in an ooh-I-wish-I-could-date-him kind of way. Nope. Never.
She whipped the covers off, determined to begin her day even though a part of her wanted to stay in bed with the covers firmly over her head.
A half hour later she stepped onto the tiny porch built off her home. The little house was blue with picture windows and trim that matched the main homestead. Cabe and Rana had wanted her to stay with them, but tongues had started to wag in town over their sleeping arrangements, especially after a year had passed, so Cabe had built her the cabin. It was perfect.
“Brrr.”
Chilly. Go figure. The black poufy jacket did little to keep her warm this time of morning. That was the problem with living at a higher elevation, she thought, stepping onto the gravel path that led to the barn. Nights and mornings were always cold, thanks to a snow-cooled breeze that blew in from the mountains. One learned to dress in layers, because by noon it’d be warm again. But nothing could beat the view, she admitted, passing beneath a thick stand of pine trees that surrounded Cabe’s backyard. Gray mountains in the distance. Meadows nearby. And a sky so blue it looked almost purple. Paradise.
Her breath misted as she stepped beneath the trees’ canopy. Soon enough, she spotted the arena. To her left was the barn, a state-of-the-art facility with room for twelve horses, an office above that featured windows across the front and side, and a board-and-batten exterior painted white. It looked as though the barn was made out of wood, but it was really made out of an artificial compound resistant to fire, not that you’d ever guess.
It looked so pretty sitting there this early in the morning, diffused sunlight painting the outside a pale orange, steam rising off the dark green roof above. The weather vane pointed west, she noticed. That was why it was so cold. Wind coming in from the hills, just as she’d suspected.
A horse spotted her. Its neigh echoed across the stable yard between the barn and the arena.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.”
Behind the barn was the main pasture, the ranch horses that they used for guests grazing in the distance, and behind them a faint line of trees that signaled the Bureau of Land Management’s property line. Cabe had the grazing rights.
A horse nickered impatiently, its knee bumping the stall door. “All right,” Alana said, less patiently. She turned toward an open area to her left filled to the brim with grass hay. “Sheesh, you guys.”
It wasn’t her job to feed the horses, not really. Cabe usually took care of it, but when she was up early enough and she had no guests to attend, she didn’t mind lending a hand. She enjoyed feeding the horses, loved the smell of a freshly opened bale of hay. Alana inhaled deeply as she grabbed a flake, then turned around. She couldn’t help but smile at the horses’ looks of anticipation.
“Hey,” Cabe said from her right. Alana paused, a flake of oat hay in hand, the rich, loamy scent filling her nose. The horse she’d been about to feed stamped its foot in impatience, sending up a flurry of dust that caught the early morning light, particles swirling through the air.
“What are you doing up so early?”
Gray eyes and dark blond hair flashed into her mind.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she said. Trent’s handsome face had haunted her all dang night.
“Oh?” Cabe teased as he walked toward her. “Guess he really got under your skin, too, huh?”
It bugged the you-know-what out of her that Cabe could read her so easily. She thought about denying it, but she knew better than to try to con her best and oldest friend, so she frowned, shaking her head a bit.
“I have a feeling he’s going to be a real pain in the rear.” She tossed the flake of hay through the feed door, much to the bay gelding’s delight.
“He’ll settle in.”
He’d stopped in front of her—Cabe Jensen, one hundred percent cowboy in his dusty brown Carhartt overalls, with a dark green button-down shirt beneath.
“You make him sound like a new horse.”
Cabe pressed
