Pete quickly stepped to the mare’s side to glare at Carol over the animal’s back. “Now wait just a damn minute. Clayton loves those kids.”
She stopped brushing and rested her forearm along the mare’s spine. “Yes, I think he does,” she said, meeting his gaze levelly. “But the sad part is, he doesn’t know how to express it.”
“And you’re a professional when it comes to dealing with relationships head-on, aren’t you, Carol?” He knew the blow was low and well aimed. But he didn’t care. She’d hurt him when she’d disappeared from his life, and the need for revenge was strong.
He watched her face pale, then she took a step back, dragging her hand from the horse’s side. Turning away, she tossed the brush into the tack box. “Don’t go there, Pete.”
“Why not?” he asked, rounding the horse to confront her. “You don’t seem to mind talking about other people’s relationships, their feelings. Why can’t you talk about your own?”
When she angled her head to look at him, the eyes that met his were emotionless. “Because where you’re concerned, I don’t have any.”
Taking the mare’s lead rope, she opened the gate and led the horse out into the alleyway. Pete caught up with her just outside the barn. He grabbed her arm and whipped her around to face him, his fingers digging into the flesh above her elbow. “Yes, you do,” he said, his voice tight with suppressed fury. “You loved me once. I know you did.”
“No,” she said, trying to pull free. “I never loved you.”
He grabbed her other arm and forced her to face him. The mare shied away from the scuffle, jerking the lead from Carol’s hand, then trotted over to graze on the grass growing at the side of the barn.
“Yes, you did,” he growled and gave Carol a shake, determined to make her admit it. “I tasted it every time I kissed you. Felt it every time you put your hands on me. I saw it in your eyes when we made love.”
Panic filled her green eyes, and she frantically shook her head, denying his claim. “No. I didn’t love you. I didn’t.”
He jerked her up hard against him. “Yes, you did.” Then, as if even now he could prove it, he crushed his mouth over hers. He felt her resistance, tasted the denial on her tightly pressed lips…and was even more determined to make her remember what they’d once shared.
He swept his tongue along the seam of her lips and, when she kept them stubbornly pressed together, wondered if he’d been wrong. Maybe she didn’t love him. Maybe she never had. But then he felt a shudder pass through her, and her lips parted beneath his on a low moan of surrender while her hands climbed up his chest to curl around his neck. He felt the dig of her short, blunt nails in his skin as she drew his face closer, the fullness of her breasts as she surged against him, the desperation of a long-suppressed need as she mated her tongue with his.
Carol. Oh, Carol. What happened to us? he cried silently.
Tightening his hold on her, he lifted, drawing her to her toes, and thrust his tongue between her parted lips, deepening the kiss. The early morning sun bored down on his back, and a rivulet of sweat trailed irritatingly down his spine. A memory pushed itself into his mind of another time when he’d held her just this way, the sun warm on his back. Drawing her down to a quilt spread beneath the shade of the old live oak tree that grew on the rise just above her house. Watching the dappled sunshine play over her bare breasts. Feeling the heat of her body burning beneath his. Tasting her. Filling her. The mindless pleasure of losing himself in her, making her his.
But she wasn’t his. She’d cut him out of her life, refusing to see him and never returning his calls.
Remembering that, he pushed her from him, his chest heaving as he stared down into her flushed face. Her lids fluttered up until her gaze met his. He saw the passion that glazed her eyes, the brief flicker of disappointment that he’d ended the kiss…and he knew he was right. She did love him. Or, at the least, she wasn’t as unaffected by him as she tried to pretend.
Slowly her hands slipped from around his neck, and she dropped them to her sides. She took a step back, then another, the heat in her eyes giving way to a cool indifference.
She swept her tongue lazily across her upper lip. “You still know how to kiss a woman, Pete. I’ll give you that.” Turning her back on him, she strode for the side of the barn where the mare grazed.
Two
“Who’s that man?”
Carol glanced down at Adam, her first student of the day, then followed the line of his gaze to where Pete was riding away from the barn, Clayton’s cow dog trotting closely behind. The straw hat Pete wore was old, stained and pulled low over his forehead, shadowing his face. But she could tell by the way he sat in the saddle—shoulders square, spine as straight as an arrow—that he was still angry with her. Even the way his fingers curled around the lariat he held against his leg—knuckles white against his tanned skin and digging into his thigh—was an indication of his dark mood.
With a sigh she turned back to the mare she was saddling and pulled the cinch tight. “That’s Pete Dugan.”
“Is he a rodeo cowboy?” Adam asked, squinting up at her.
“Yes.”
“Is he a roper like Clayton?”
Chuckling, Carol squatted down, putting herself eye level with Adam. At six, his heroes were all still cowboys. “No, he’s a bronc rider.”
His eyes, already magnified by the thick lenses of his glasses, grew even larger. “For real?”
Laughing, Carol tapped the brim of his cap, knocking it down over his eyes. “Yes, for real.” She rose, drawing her hands to her hips. “Now, are you ready to ride this old bronc?” she asked, nodding toward the horse she’d just saddled.
Adam shoved up the cap and scowled at the mare who stood placidly at the arena fence. “Honey’s not a bronc. She’s just a horse.”
Carol bent over and cupped her hands, offering Adam a boost up to the saddle. “That’s what you think, buster. Honey may not buck now, but when she was younger, there wasn’t a cowboy around who could ride her.”
Adam planted a boot in her hands and swung a leg over the saddle as she hefted him up. “No foolin’?”
“No foolin’.” She gathered the reins and passed them to him. “Warm her up, okay? Three laps at a walk. Two at a trot. And remember your posture. Head up, back straight, heels down.”
“You think she can still buck?” Adam asked hopefully as he turned the mare for the arena gate.
Carol bit back a smile. “You never know,” she called after him. “Better keep a deep seat and a tight rein, just in case she takes a mind to unload you.”
She laughed softly as she watched Adam grab for the saddle horn. Shaking her head, she turned and glanced back in the direction where she’d last seen Pete. He was still in sight and, judging by his posture, he was still angry.
With a sigh she stooped to pick up the tack box and set it alongside the fence and out of the way. She’d purposefully
