forehead, the wide-set eyes. There was no doubt about it. She’d know that head anywhere. A smile flirted with her lips. What a pleasant surprise.
“Which would make her…one of Pretty Colleen’s,” she announced triumphantly. His flirtatious grin wouldn’t get far with her, and she would make sure he knew it. She knew her business, and he needed to know that. She wasn’t just an emissary sent to broker a deal.
Brody’s smile disappeared completely. He stared at Miss Farnsworth, trying to puzzle her out. How on earth could she tell that? He’d bought Pretty Piece from a farm in Tennessee when she was eight…one of his first purchases on his own. This little moppet with the red curls, Lucy, she would have been a child when Pretty foaled. And she was from Marazur. The Mediterranean was a long way from backroads Alberta. Yet her accent didn’t bear it out. She wasn’t native to Marazur. He was as certain of that as he was that Pretty Piece was indeed of Pretty Colleen. A fact she couldn’t have known before today, not unless she’d had a look at his records.
Who was Lucy Farnsworth? His brows snapped together. There was more to her than first appeared. He wondered how much more.
“How did you know?”
“It’s her head. Looks just like her mum.”
Brody shook his head while Martha laughed. “Congratulations, Miss Farnsworth. I think you’ve rendered him speechless. Quite a feat, because most of the time he has something to say.”
“Martha!” Brody frowned. Never mind that at one point, Martha had been his babysitter and had changed his diapers.
Martha reached down for her bag. “Oh, pipe down, Junior. The girl knows her stuff, that’s all. I’ll be back in a few days to check on the mare.”
She blustered out leaving Brody and Lucy in the gap, each with a hand on Pretty.
Somewhere outside a soft whicker echoed.
“I’ll admit, Miss Farnsworth, you surprised me just now.” He put his hat back on his head.
“I have that effect on people.”
“Maybe sometime you’d care to explain that.” He let a little humor sneak into his voice; she piqued his curiosity plain and simple. She’d clearly been around the industry a long time. Despite her youth, she seemed knowledgeable. And her accent was State-side. Southeast somewhere, he gathered. “Where are you from, anyway?”
For a moment their eyes clashed and he sensed she was deciding how to answer what should have been a simple question. He tried a smile, inviting her to speak. To his surprise her eyes immediately cooled and her lips thinned.
“You must have work to do,” she offered stiffly.
“There’s always work, but I expect you know that.” She didn’t want to answer. He wondered why, but there’d be time to get that information. She was supposed to stay several days.
“I’ll just—” She swallowed, let the sentence hang.
“You’ve had a long flight and drive. You probably want to rest. I’ll take you up to the house.”
“You said you had work.”
He angled his head slightly. He couldn’t quite figure out Lucy Farnsworth. She was younger than he’d expected, especially to be so involved with such a renowned stable. It was clear she’d been sent because she could do the job. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d expected someone taller, with dark hair and a remote manner.
The only thing that bore out his expectations was the manner. There could be no mistaking the coolness, the only warmth she’d shown was in the caresses she’d spared Pretty. But tall and elegant she was not. She was barely up to his shoulder, and her hair was a tangle of gingery ringlets that flirted with her cheekbones until she tucked them behind her ears.
“I do, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get you settled in the house first.”
Lucy looked away from him, as if what she was going to say next was so uncomfortable she couldn’t meet his eyes. She instead looked Pretty in the eyes and scratched between the mare’s ears. “I assumed I’d be in a guest house.”
“We don’t have a guest house, but then there’s no need. There’s more than enough room.” He had a fleeting thought of running into her in the hall at sunrise, her curls in disarray and her cheeks still pink from the warmth of her bed….
Where the hell had that come from?
“I don’t mean to impose on you, Mr. Hamilton. I can stay at the hotel in the town I drove through. What was it called… Larch something or other?”
“Larch Valley, and it’s a twenty-minute drive.” Perhaps not a bad idea, come to think of it, but the agreement had been made that he’d provide accommodation. He didn’t want it said that he didn’t provide proper hospitality. This was an important deal. And part of that was providing all that the ranch had to offer.
“That’s a short commute in most places.” Her voice interrupted him again.
Brody walked to a nearby hook and grabbed a lead, snapping it on to the mare’s halter. “If you’re more comfortable there, I understand. I’m sorry the arrangements weren’t made clear. But why drive it if you don’t have to?”
“I don’t know…”
He sensed her hesitation and pressed on. “At least stay for dinner. If Mrs. Polcyk can’t convince you with her roast chicken…”
He let the thought trail off. Why was he insisting, anyway? The hotel back in town wasn’t that bad. It had its good points—it was clean.
But he’d given his word to King Alexander. That his representative would be shown every hospitality. That whoever was sent would be received as an honored guest. He just hadn’t expected it to be a sharp-tongued slip of a girl.
Brody didn’t do well with girls. At least not beyond sharing a dance on a Saturday night. Especially one he tried to charm with a smile and who saw clear through it.
“I don’t want to be in your way.”
“The day starts early here, and sometimes finishes late. It’s much more convenient, but of course, it’s whatever makes you most comfortable. You are our guest, Miss Farnsworth. I’ll leave it up to you.”
Brody tried very hard not to wrinkle his brow. He’d seen her eyes when she’d first stepped into the corridor. He and Martha had taken her by surprise, and for a tiny moment Miss Farnsworth had looked small and vulnerable. Her eyes had gone a little wide and then darkened with a whole lot of assessment. She probably didn’t even realize it but she’d bitten down on her lip and he’d been tempted to laugh. A cute little thing, he’d thought. A little out of her element, pretty and fresh, and he’d wanted to make her blush.
But then he’d realized who she was. A representative sent to assess his stock. A woman who knew horses, supposedly better than most men he knew. His Highness had said so when he called. Brody couldn’t dispute that fact…it took a keen eye to identify an offspring by its parent, and the way she touched Pretty was confident and kind. For some reason Lucy Farnsworth was willing to sacrifice comfort for isolation. Why?
Lucy
