clenched, then straightened, and his gaze drilled into hers as if he was offended that she would be so direct. Finally he shrugged and looked away. “Beats me,” he admitted, and she believed him. He squinted as he took off his new hat, showing off thick brown hair that was streaked by the sun. It ruffled in a breeze that swirled through the paddock and bent a few long weeds clustered near the fence posts.
“You know, I really liked your grandmother,” Sam said, thinking of the strong-willed woman who ran a cosmetics company in Minneapolis with an iron-fisted grip and yet was known around these parts for her rhubarb pie. An independent woman of many talents, Kate loved her family fiercely and had been determined throughout her life to make her mark, not only in business, but with her children and grandchildren as well. She’d loved her ranch nearly as much as she loved Fortune Cosmetics. “I can’t believe that I’ll never see her again.”
His head jerked up, as if she’d hit a painful nerve.
“Look, what I’m trying to say,” she added, tongue-tied for one of the first times in her life, “is that I’m sorry she…she’s gone.”
“Me, too,” he said with a heartfelt sigh, then scowled, as if talking about Kate’s death was too painful a topic. Clearing his throat, he hitched his chin in the stallion’s direction. “So what were you doing with the horse?”
“Trying and failing, thank you very much, to teach him to walk on a lead. He’s the most valuable stallion on the spread, and several ranchers in the area have been asking about hiring him as a stud. The problem is he’s got a mind of his own and, like a lot of men I know, doesn’t much like being told what to do. He hates the lead, refuses to be loaded into a trailer and is a general pain in the backside,” she added, but smiled. Truth to tell, she admired Joker and his fierce independence. Though his bloodlines were pure, it was his attitude that often teased a grin from Samantha’s lips.
As if on cue, the stallion lifted his head, flared his nostrils and let out a neigh as a mare, her spindly-legged foal prancing behind, grazed closer to the paddock where Joker was penned.
“He does like the ladies,” she observed.
“A mistake.”
Shooting Kyle a sharp glance, Sam felt her smile disappear. “Experience talking?”
His jaw tightened a bit. “Look, Sam, I know I—”
“Forget it,” she said, cutting him off swiftly. “Ancient history. Let’s not discuss it, okay?” But you’ll have to, won’t you? You can’t just ignore the past—not now, not when he’s back in Wyoming, not when he deserves to know the truth. Her conscience was sometimes a royal pain in the neck. Sure, she had no choice other than to confide in him, but not yet. Not now. “Let’s just take care of the horse.” With that she stalked across the paddock, and Kyle followed. She talked in soft tones to Joker, and he responded as he always did, by bolting to the far end of the corral. Sam’s nerves were stretched tight as she approached the beast again, but this time the fire was out of him, and as quickly as a dime flips when tossed into the air, Joker gave up and allowed Sam to lead him back to the stables, where she unsnapped the tether and fed and watered him.
To her consternation, Kyle didn’t leave her side. As if he were fascinated by her handling of the horse, he followed her into the stables and eyed the old building that was now his—concrete floor, rough cedar walls, hayloft stretching over the row of stalls and tack room where saddles, bridles and halters gave off the warm scent of oiled leather.
“You live in your folks’ place?” he asked, peering around curiously. Sunlight filtered in through windows thick with grime. Dust motes played in a few feeble rays of sunlight that pierced the interior.
“Yeah.”
“Alone?”
“With my daughter,” she said, closing the stall door. The latch clicked into place and seemed to echo in the stillness, broken only by a frustrated fly buzzing near the window and her own wildly beating heart.
“I didn’t know you were married.”
“I’m not.”
“Oh.” He probably thought she was divorced, and for now, until her equilibrium was restored, she’d let him think what he wanted. He could bloody well leap to whatever conclusions his fertile mind conjured up.
She was used to speculation. Raising a child alone in a small town was always grist for the ever-grinding gossip mill. Over the years people had made a lot of wrong assumptions about her—assumptions Sam never bothered correcting. “Mom moved into town when Dad died, but Caitlyn and I—”
“Caitlyn’s your daughter?”
She nodded tightly, afraid of giving away too much. “We wanted to stay out here. I was raised in the country and I thought she should be, too.”
“What about her father?”
A roar like a wind through the mountains in the middle of a winter storm surged through her brain, creating a headache that pounded behind her eyes. “Caitlyn’s father,” she repeated. “He’s—he’s out of the picture.” Silently calling herself a coward, she grabbed a brush to stroke Joker’s sleek coat.
“Must be tough.”
If you only knew. “We manage,” she said, throwing her back into her work as nervous sweat began to slide down her spine. Tell him, Sam, tell him now! You’ll never have such a golden opportunity again. For God’s sake, he deserves to know that he’s got a child, that he’s Caitlyn’s father!
“I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“Don’t worry about it,” she interrupted, moving to the other side of Joker and sending a cloud of dust from the animal’s rump. She worked feverishly, her mind racing, her mouth as dry as Sagebrush Gulch in the dead of July.
“If you don’t watch out, you’ll rub the spots right off of him.”
She realized then how intent she’d been on her work. Even Joker, usually never distracted from feed, had crooked his long neck to look at her. “Sorry,” she muttered and tossed the brush into a bucket. Kyle was making her nervous, and the subject of Caitlyn’s lack of a father was always touchy. Today, in the hot, dark stables, with the very man who was responsible for impregnating her and leaving her alone, Samantha felt trapped. She let herself through the stall door and tried to ignore the way he sat upon the top rail, as he had ten years before, jeans stretched tight over his knees and butt, heels resting on a lower rail, eyes piercing and filled with a sultry dark promise as he watched her. But that was crazy. Those old emotions were gone, dried-up like Stiller Creek in the middle of a ten-year drought.
“Sam…” He reached forward and touched her arm, his fingers grazing her wrist.
She reacted as if she’d been burned, drawing away and throwing open the door. A shaft of bright summer sunlight pierced the dim interior and a breath of hot, dry air followed along. Hurrying outside, she heard his footsteps behind her, new boots crunching on the gravel of the parking area, but she didn’t turn around, didn’t want to chance looking into his eyes and allowing him to see any hint of what she was feeling, of the bare emotions that surged through her just at the sight of him. Damn it, what was wrong with her? “I—I’ve been coming over here, doing my dad’s old job, acting as foreman ever since the last guy, Red Spencer—he’d been here for seven years or so, I guess,
