look younger than she really was. Or maybe she was just plain young, he didn’t know for sure. Her nose was small and couldn’t be described as anything other than childlike. It was dotted with freckles that added to that effect. Her mouth was generously wide, her lips gracefully shaped. The only makeup she wore was a light coat of gloss on those lips—and Mish suspected she wore it as protection from the harsh sun rather than for cosmetic effect.
But as she reached for that shuddering horse, soothing, peaceful comfort seemed to radiate from her every movement, her every word, her every glance, and Mish could not breathe.
He wanted her to turn to him, to look at him that way, to lay her gentle hands on him, to bring to him the peace he so desperately needed.
Instead, he watched as she touched the horse.
The animal snorted, nervously sidestepping, but Becca moved with him. “It’s okay, baby,” she murmured. “Everything’s going to be okay…Shhh…” She ran her hands down the horse’s neck. “Yeah, everything’s all right now. Let’s get you cleaned up.” She looped the reins over the animal’s head, leading him gently toward the barn. “Casey here will take care of you,” she added, still talking in that sweet, soothing voice, “while I take care of the idiot who hurt you.”
She looked up at Mish, reaching out to hand him the reins, and just like that, the warm calm in her eyes flickered and changed—replaced by sheer, cold, nearly murderous anger. She was going to “take care” of the rider, indeed.
But first she turned toward the young girl who’d nearly been run down in the driveway. “Are you all right, Ash?”
Ashley and Chip were standing alongside the barn, arms still around each other. The girl nodded, but she was clearly shaken.
“Chip, run to the office,” Becca crisply ordered the little boy. “Have Hazel crank up the cellular phone and locate your parents.” She turned back to Mish. “Get that horse inside the barn.”
Mish gently tugged on the reins, leading the huge animal into the quiet coolness of the barn. He looked up into the beast’s big brown eyes, and could see mistrust. He tried to gaze back confidently, but knew he was failing. Truth was, he didn’t have a clue what to do.
He wrapped the reins around one of the bars on the nearest stall, keeping one ear tuned to what was going on outside of the barn.
“Mr. Brown, you have exactly fifteen minutes to pack your bags and get down here to the ranch office,” he could hear Becca tell the man who’d been riding the horse, her tone leaving no room for any dissent.
There was a buckle that seemed to hold the saddle on and Mish tried to unfasten it, but the animal shifted away, snorting. He was no Dr. Doolittle, but he couldn’t miss the horse’s message. Don’t touch me.
Outside, Brown sputtered. “ I’m the one who was thrown—”
“You’ve had your warnings,” Becca cut him off, her voice tight with anger. “You’ve been told again and again that you may not wear spurs with any of our horses. You’ve been told again and again not to yank the reins, to treat the horse the way you’d want to be treated if you had a bit in your mouth.”
Mish put his hand on the horse’s neck. He just rested it there, steady and firm, trying to push all of his uncertainty far away, knowing the animal could sense it. He could do this. He’d seen enough Westerns. He had to get the saddle off, and the blanket underneath, then somehow cool the horse down.
“You’ve been told again and again that horses must be kept to a slow walk around the ranch buildings,” Becca’s voice continued. “This time you might’ve badly injured Ashley Alden. And this time, I’m done giving you warnings. This time, I’m telling you to pack your bags and get off this ranch.”
“I want the sheriff! I want an ambulance—I hurt my back in that fall! I’m going to sue—”
Mish reached for the buckle again, this time his movements steady and sure. The horse twitched and blew air out of his nose, hard, but Mitch got the job done. He lifted off the saddle and set it on top of a rail. And then he couldn’t resist sneaking a look out of the barn door. A crowd had gathered—guests and ranch hands silently watching.
Becca had Travis Brown backed against the split wood railings of the corral, her eyes shooting fire. When she spoke, her voice was soft but it carried in the stillness.
“Go ahead and call the sheriff, Hazel,” she said to the gray-haired woman on the ranch office steps, her eyes never leaving Brown. “It’s entirely likely that Ted and Janice Alden will want to press charges against Mr. Brown for nearly killing their daughter. Reckless endangerment—isn’t that what it’s called?”
“You can’t kick me out. I’m a shareholder.”
“You’re an idiot, ” Becca said sharply. “Get the hell off this ranch.”
He moved toward her, threateningly. “You little bitch! When Justin Whitlow finds out about this—”
“Fifteen minutes, Brown.” He towered over her, but Becca didn’t back down. She stood her ground, chin raised, as if daring the man to raise a hand to her.
The man pushed past her, exaggerating his limp as he headed toward the guest cabins.
Becca turned, looking first at Hazel. “Did you reach the Aldens?”
The plump older woman nodded. “They’re on their way.”
“Call the sheriff, too—in case they want to register a complaint.”
“Already done.”
Becca’s gaze swept across the crowd and landed on Mish. He realized suddenly that he’d come all the way out of the barn, toward her, ready to jump in if Brown had tried to strike her.
“How’s Stormchaser?” she asked, heading directly toward him. “The poor baby’s going to have to go into therapy after this.”
“He doesn’t seem to want me to touch him,” Mish admitted, following her back into the barn.
She gave him an odd look over her shoulder. “ She doesn’t know you. She’s bound to be a little spooked.”
She. The horse was female. He hadn’t even thought to look. He’d simply assumed that since the animal was so big and powerful…Thou shalt not assume. He’d broken one of the biggest rules, and he’d given himself away.
Rules. Rules of what? God Almighty, it was back there, just out of his line of sight. All of the answers, dancing at the edge of his mental peripheral vision. He wanted to close his eyes, to somehow grab hold of the truth, of his identity. But Becca Keyes was talking to him.
“Why don’t you get her cooled down,” Becca said, obviously repeating herself as she gazed at him with her seemingly average brown eyes.
She was challenging him. Her words were a test—she wanted to know if he could do it.
But he couldn’t.
Mish met her gaze levelly, honestly. “I’m afraid that’s a little out of my league. But if you tell me exactly what needs to be done, I can—”
She’d
