they’d cut, Lee had gotten the home and security she’d desired and Buck had gotten himself a built-in maid and baby-sitter.
And Whit had gotten the Tanner name.
A rivulet of sweat coursed down between his eyes and dripped from the end of his nose. Shoving back his hat, he dragged a sleeve across his face. But looks and blood weren’t all that distinguished him from the Tanners, he thought wearily as he settled his hat back over his head. Tanners didn’t have to sweat out a living beneath a broiling sun.
Not unless they chose to, at any rate.
Puffing his cheeks, he blew out a breath, then reached beneath the horse for the cinch. But things could be worse, he told himself as he threaded the leather strap through the rigging ring. He could be stuck behind a desk in some office, shuffling papers, or trapped in some windowless factory putting together widgits. Few men were able to work at a job they enjoyed…and Whit purely loved working with horses.
He supposed that was one thing he had Buck Tanner to thank for, as it was while working for Buck on the Bar-T, the Tanners’s ranch, that Whit had discovered his affinity with horses. But that was all he’d thank Buck for, he thought bitterly. The man had made a lousy stepfather and, according to Whit’s stepbrothers, a lousy father, as well.
He paused to frown. But was there such a thing as a good father?
He snorted a breath and fed another loop through the ring. How the hell would he know. His own had lit out just shy of his third birthday, leaving him and his mother to fend for themselves. He had thought the two of them were getting along just fine without a man around the house when one day, out of the blue, his mother had announced that she was marrying Buck and that he was going to adopt Whit. That Buck had agreed to adopt Whit had surprised some, as Buck had seldom had time for his own four sons. Whit soon learned he’d had even less for a stepson.
Scowling at the reminder of his stepfather’s less than benevolent attitude toward him, he gave the cinch one last tug, making sure it was tight. The horse he was saddling—a green-broke sorrel mare—flattened her ears against her head and danced sideways at the increased pressure. He stroked a hand along the sorrel’s neck.
“It’s just a saddle, darlin’,” he soothed. “I know it feels strange, but you’ll get used to it in time.”
Murmuring softly to the mare, he unfastened the lead rope he’d clipped to the halter and replaced it with a longe line, careful to keep his movements slow and easy so as not to spook the horse. Letting out some length in the rope, he smooched to the mare, encouraging her into a trot along the perimeter of the round pen. With the end of the rope gripped in one gloved hand, he turned a slow circle, keeping a steady eye on the mare’s movements from his position in the center of the ring. After five nervous laps, the mare began to relax, gradually bringing her ears up and losing some of the prance in her gait.
He liked the looks of this little mare and hoped he could talk the owner into letting him train her for cutting. She’d make a good cutting horse. She was quick on the hoof, intelligent and responded well to commands. The true test would come when he put her nose-to-nose with a calf and saw how she handled herself under pressure.
The sound of a vehicle broke into his thoughts and he cocked his head slightly, listening to its approach. When the horse reached a spot along the fence that put him in line with the road, he glanced over the animal’s back to see who was coming. A smile chipped at one corner of his mouth when he recognized his stepbrother Rory’s truck. Riding shotgun was Macy, Rory’s new wife.
While it was true that Whit despised Buck Tanner, his resentment didn’t carry over to Buck’s sons. He respected his stepbrothers, even liked them. Especially Rory. But he supposed that was because Rory was so damn easy to like.
“Hey, Whit!” Rory called as he and Macy climbed down from the truck. “Where’d you get that old nag?”
Whit chuckled as he maneuvered the horse to the center of the ring. “Better not let Dan Miller hear you call this mare a nag,” he warned. “He paid a pretty penny for this little gal.”
Rory opened the gate, held it while Macy stepped through, then followed her in. Macy made a beeline straight for Whit, her arms flung wide. He braced himself for the hug he knew was coming. Though he was growing rather used to all the female attention his sisters-in-law smothered him with, he still felt the familiar heat crawl up his neck as Macy wrapped her arms around him and squeezed.
He gave her an awkward one-armed hug in return. “Hey, Macy.”
“Keep your hands to yourself,” Rory complained, joining them. “That’s my wife you’re fondling.”
“If this is your idea of fondling,” Whit said wryly, “it’s no wonder she latches on to me every time she sees me. The woman’s desperate for affection.”
“If she was, she wouldn’t come to you lookin’ for it,” Rory replied, then hooted a laugh. “Hell, Whit. You wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if one was hand-delivered to you with an instruction book attached.”
Accustomed to Rory’s teasing, Whit hid a smile as he led the horse to the fence and tethered it there. “Did y’all drive all the way out here to give me a hard time or is there a purpose for this visit?”
“We’re here to deliver a personal invitation,” Macy said. “The grand opening for my nursery is a week from this Saturday and I want you to come.”
Whit turned, tugging off his gloves. “Grand opening, huh? Gonna have any good grub on hand?”
“Enough to feed a small army. I’m even serving champagne.”
He winced at the mention of champagne. “This isn’t going to be one of those fancy shindigs where I have to wear a suit, is it?”
Smiling, Macy gave his cheek an affectionate pat. “You can wear your birthday suit, for all I care.”
“You expecting company?” Rory asked.
Whit glanced Rory’s way, then followed his stepbrother’s gaze to the road and the approaching SUV.
Frowning, Whit shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
The three watched as the SUV came to a stop beside Rory’s truck. Whit’s gut clenched in denial when he recognized the woman behind the wheel.
“Isn’t that Melissa Jacobs?” Rory asked curiously.
Whit quickly averted his gaze. “Yeah,” he muttered as he jerked his gloves back on. “That’s her, all right.”
“Hey, Melissa,” Rory called as the woman stepped from the vehicle. “Long time no see.”
Lifting a hand in greeting, she crossed to join them in the pen. “It has been a while,” she agreed as she accepted the hand Rory offered her. “It’s good to see you, Rory.”
“Good to see you, too.” He tugged Macy forward. “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife. Macy, Melissa Jacobs.”
“Congratulations on your marriage,” Melissa said as she shook Macy’s hand, turning to include Rory in the well-wishes. “To you both.”
“Thanks,” Rory replied, then slowly sobered. “I sure was sorry to hear
