the brim of his straw cowboy hat, he inclined his head toward her and she responded by thrusting her hand out to him.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Trevino.”
Closing his hand around hers, he was surprised by her firm shake, the warmth of her fingers.
“My pleasure, Ms. Saddler.”
Sure. He was feeling as pleased as a bull in a squeeze chute, Mercedes thought. The man was bored. She could see it all over his face. But oh, my, what a face. Strong square jaw, dimpled chin and a Roman nose that had arrogance written all over it. Storm cloud-gray eyes peered at her from beneath heavy black brows. And his mouth—well, it would have looked delicious if a smile had been curving the corners. Instead, the firm slash was bracketed with faint lines of disdain.
Much to her dismay, her curiosity was instantly aroused by his reaction and she continued to hold on to his hand. Partly because she found touching him pleasant, and partly because she knew it was making him even more uncomfortable.
“So you’ve taken over Cousin Cordero’s job,” she mused aloud. “How do you like it here on the Sandbur?”
His dark gray gaze momentarily slanted over to Geraldine, and Mercedes watched a genuine smile cross her mother’s face. Apparently she considered this man more than just a hired horse trainer. But then Geraldine was the sort of person who’d always gotten close to her employees, who always focused on the good in people rather than their faults.
“I like it,” he answered quietly. “Your family has been very generous and gracious to me.”
There wasn’t anything particularly distinctive about his voice, yet something about the gravelly tones left her feeling a bit breathless. Silly, she told herself. She wasn’t about to give in to the sensation. The feeling would pass. Just like this man would no doubt eventually move on from the Sandbur. He sure didn’t look like the establishing-roots kind.
“The Sandbur has always had an excellent remuda,” Mercedes remarked. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy working with them. And Uncle Mingo is a legend in the cutting-horse business.”
“Your uncle is a very special man,” he agreed.
Her fingers were beginning to sweat against his, forcing Mercedes to drop his hand. As Mercedes shifted her weight on high-heeled sandals, Geraldine began to speak.
“Gabe has worked for years with problematic horses,” she proudly explained. “He gets them over difficult issues and teaches them to bond with man rather than fight him. We’re very lucky to have Gabe with us.”
So the man could tame a wounded beast. Wonder what he did for women, Mercedes asked herself as her gaze slid to his ring finger. Empty. No surprise there. Obviously there wasn’t a woman in the background to smooth out his rough edges. He looked as tough as nails and as wild as a rangy mustang.
“That must be challenging,” she said to Gabe.
A faint smile curved the corners of his rough-hewn lips, and Mercedes was both ashamed and shocked at the little thrill of attraction that suddenly zipped through her. He was pure male animal. Any woman would be attracted, she tried to reason with herself. But it had been years since any man had stirred her with a prickle of sexual interest. So why was this one stirring up cold ashes?
“That’s why I do it,” he told her.
Mercedes was studying his face, trying to read beneath the surface of his words when Lex suddenly called to her from across the lawn.
“Hey, Mercedes, come here! A long lost stranger has arrived!”
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Lex standing with an old classmate of hers. Vernon Sweeney, the nerd of St. Mary’s High School. He was sweet and not nearly as exciting as the man standing in front of her. But he was safe. And right now safe was far easier to handle.
Turning back to Gabe, she swiftly explained, “An old friend calls. Will you excuse me?”
His stoic expression didn’t falter. “Certainly, Ms. Saddler.”
For the next hour, Mercedes mingled, talked, laughed and danced with the endless guests that spilled across the two hundred feet of lawn separating the big house from the old bunkhouse.
She’d been home for just a little over a week and truthfully hadn’t had time to get her feet firmly planted back on Sandbur soil when her mother had started planning tonight’s event. Mercedes hadn’t really been up to this much socializing so soon. She would have preferred to get back in the groove of civilian life before being tossed into a crowd. But this homecoming was important to her mother and she’d not wanted to hurt her feelings for any reason. And these were her friends, she reminded herself. All of them except Gabe Trevino.
In spite of the evening’s distractions of dancing, eating and reacquainting herself with old friends, she’d not been able to get the dark horseman off her mind. Which was really very foolish of her. They’d not exchanged more than a handful of sentences, and the few words he’d directed at her had been polite—nothing out of line. Yet she thought there had been an underlying condescension in his attitude, as though he found her boring or, even worse, a spoiled brat. She continued to bristle at the idea as her brother whirled her around the dance floor.
“Still as light on your feet as ever,” Lex said with a grin. “Guess all those ballet lessons you took as a child are still paying off.”
She laughed. “Poor Mother. I don’t think I ever quit fighting her about those.”
“You wanted to wear chaps instead of a frilly tutu.”
Mercedes sighed. It seemed so long ago since she’d been that innocent age. If only her life had remained that simple and sheltered. “I was a tomboy. She wanted me to be more refined, like Nicci. So did Daddy.”
“Nah. Dad loved you any way you wanted to be,” he said.
She couldn’t help but notice a tiny shadow crossing her brother’s handsome face. He still missed their father desperately. Mercedes missed him, too. She’d give anything to have him here with them. But back in 1996, Paul Saddler had died in what the police had called a boating accident. To this day, Lex didn’t like to discuss the tragedy or say one way or the other what he believed happened that fateful day on the Gulf. All Mercedes knew was that her father was gone and their lives were far lesser because of it.
“Enjoying yourself, sis?”
She smiled up at him. “Certainly. It’s a very nice party. Mother has outdone herself. And Cook still has her special touch, doesn’t she? The brisket melted in my mouth.”
“Bet you didn’t have anything like that over on Diego Garcia.”
No. The military air base located on the tiny island in the Indian Ocean didn’t cater to parties or home-cooked Texas meals. She’d spent the last two years of her eight-year stint in the Air Force on the isolated island and had to admit that she’d forgotten just what a spoiled, luxurious life she’d once had here on the Sandbur.
“We had turkey and pecan pie on Thanksgiving,” she said, then laughed. “‘Course, it had to be flown in—just like everything else.”
Lex’s smile was full of affection.
