been purchased only two days earlier, he hadn’t actually been named yet. But Trace figured why not go for the obvious, the Spanish word for devil.
Matt walked out of the barn with a young hand and more bottles of water. Trace had lost track of how many he’d gulped down just in the past hour alone. A drop of sweat trickled into his eye. He squeezed it closed and used the T-shirt to stop the sting. When he could open his eye again he looked toward the house and saw Nikki standing at her window.
She moved back, and he pretended he hadn’t seen her. He wondered if Matt knew about her fear of horses. Trace didn’t think so. If he did, it wouldn’t be like Matt to let his sister come anywhere near an untamed mustang. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been in danger. Seeing the stallion’s wild-eyed look wouldn’t win her over.
And her living on a ranch of all places? Man, no wonder she hightailed it off the Lone Wolf every chance she got. Matt had mentioned he thought her skittishness was about Wallace. Since she obviously hadn’t spoken up about her phobia, Trace wouldn’t say a word, either. Not to Matt, anyway. But he fully intended on having a talk with Nikki. She’d never give the Lone Wolf a shot if she didn’t figure out that a horse was harmless if you treated it right. And Matt really wanted his sister to stay.
Truthfully, Trace wouldn’t mind, either. Hell, if he really wanted to be honest, he’d outright admit he wanted her to stick around. Admit it to himself, anyway. No one else needed to know he was getting a little soft.
Diablo sure knew. Reading Trace’s sudden energy shift like a book, the stallion tossed his head and stamped the ground. Rotten timing. Matt and the hand had just reached them, and the poor kid looked as if he might pee his jeans.
“He’s okay,” Trace said, stroking the mustang’s neck. “It was me. I got him a little jumpy. I’ll take him back to the stable and give him a good brushing. All will be forgiven.”
“No, you won’t,” Matt said. “You’ve worked hard enough. Lester is gonna take him.” Matt passed Trace a water. “I got beer inside if you want.”
Holding on to the lead, Trace eyed the young man. “You’re Morgan’s boy, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I’m the oldest.”
“I thought you were still in high school.”
“Graduated last month.”
“Sorry,” Matt said. “I figured you guys knew each other. Things have changed in the ten years since I moved away.”
“Not so much.” Trace held out the lead, which Lester seemed reluctant to take. “I doubt he’ll give you trouble. Just stay calm, keep your voice low.” Trace let go once he saw the boy had him. To Matt, he said, “By the way, I think this one needs to be called Diablo.”
Lester groaned. “Great.”
Matt and Trace both laughed.
Trace clapped the kid on the shoulder as he turned slowly toward the stable. “Son, I wouldn’t let you take him if I thought he’d be too rowdy for you.” He watched Lester and Diablo move toward the stable, then caught Matt staring at him. “What?”
“Son?” Matt chuckled. “He’s what…seventeen? You’ve got only ten years on that kid.”
“You have been away too long. Hell, I call Jesse son and he’s five years older than me.” Trace downed more water but kept his gaze on the boy and the mustang. He wasn’t necessarily worried, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious. If he had to make a dash, he was ready. “You remember Lester’s father, right?”
“You said Morgan?” Matt frowned, shaking his head. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been so busy with Wallace and straightening out payroll, I don’t even know all the men who live in the bunkhouse, much less the day hands. Duke is still the foreman. He’s been running things.”
“Morgan Dunn was a year ahead of Cole in school. He stepped in as quarterback at the last minute and took us to finals.”
Matt swung a stunned look at Lester’s retreating back. “That Morgan? He has a son that age?”
“He knocked up his girlfriend senior year. They’re still married and running her dad’s ranch. It’s a small operation but they haven’t gone under and that’s something.” Trace rolled his left shoulder. It was getting stiff again and he was tired of the sun beating down on him. He often worked without a shirt when he was mending fences but not at this time of day. He started for the gate, and Matt walked along with him.
“Man, do I feel old.”
“You are old.”
“Thanks.” Matt snorted. “Tell your sister she’d better hurry and marry me while I can still get it up.”
“Nah, she’s gotta wait for Cole to tie the knot with Jamie, then Jesse has to marry Shea. It’s a McAllister tradition. Oldest to youngest. Everyone’s gotta wait their turn.”
Matt stopped and gave him a panicked look.
Trace laughed, scooped up the mug he’d left on the railing and looked at Matt. His expression hadn’t changed. “Tell me you aren’t that damn gullible.”
“You’re older than Rachel,” Matt said with a straight face. “That’s gonna be a long wait. Who the hell would marry you?”
Trace automatically glanced up at Nikki’s window. He didn’t know why. She wasn’t there, but that didn’t matter. That he’d looked was stupid.
Matt started them walking again. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
“What?”
Matt just smiled, then nodded at the T-shirt Trace had balled in his hand. “I owe you a shirt.”
“I’m not messing around with your sister.” Trace kept his eyes on the ground. He’d never been more confused over a woman in his life. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t seem to get her out of his head. Staying away from the Watering Hole hadn’t helped. The only thing he knew for sure was that if he made a move, he’d better be serious about her. Matt was a friend and soon he’d be family. “I know better.”
“Hey, not my business. Nikki’s a big girl, and she knows her own mind. If she doesn’t want you messing with her, she won’t be shy about letting you know.” Matt grinned. “If I need to worry, it should be about you. Cross her and she’ll chew you up and spit you out.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” Trace laughed, because that’s what Matt expected, but he wondered if Matt really believed his own words. Nikki might not be as tough as he thought.
But then Trace was starting to get the feeling she was a little mixed up about how tough she was, too. It wasn’t just about her being afraid of horses. She’d told him about the gang violence in her old neighborhood, so he understood she’d needed to come off hard as nails. That didn’t mean she hadn’t been scared a time or two. She liked to pretend nothing bothered her. But he’d seen her feeling defenseless and uncertain, and trying her damnedest to hide it.
Maybe that tug-of-war between vulnerability and bravery had gotten to him, because something sure was preventing him from keeping his distance. He wasn’t the
