I told myself. If I was ever going to pull this impersonation off, I would have to keep a tight rein on my imagination. This was a working horse ranch, not some Gothic mansion plagued by secrets and long-covered-up murders.
On the other hand, my twin sister who stood to inherit at least half of all of this was missing. People had been killed for much less than this. Another chill moved through me.
Then the sky opened, and rain poured down so thick and fast that I could barely make out the path as I turned and began to wind my way back to the car.
The good news was I was still wearing the jeans, plain T-shirt and sneakers that I’d worn for my ride out to the McKenzie estate. The bad news was that I was soaked to the bone by the time I’d taken three steps and my new “Cameron” hairdo was destroyed. Pushing the sodden mess out of my eyes, I stretched my hands out in front of me like a sleepwalker. The car was too far away to seek shelter there, so I stumbled toward the darker shape of what had to be one of the boulders I’d skirted earlier. Once I reached it, I moved around to the far side and let it block the wind and at least some of the rain. Then I hunkered down to wait out the storm.
I wasn’t sure how long I squatted at the side of the boulder—probably not longer than five or ten minutes. The storm ended as quickly as it had begun. The rain stopped first, and gradually the sun began to peek through clouds that were quickly blowing away. As I rose to my feet, I could still hear thunder grumbling in the distance. I’d made my way around the boulder and back onto the path before it finally registered in my mind that the rhythmic pounding I was listening to wasn’t just thunder. It was also hoofbeats.
Realization came at the same instant that horse and rider shot around a curve in the path less than fifty yards from where I was standing. My heart lodged in my throat, my body froze, and my imagination took flight. Burned into my mind was the image of horse and man, all muscle and speed, moving in perfect unity—the mythic centaur in the flesh. In that instant, I wasn’t sure which animal was more magnificent—man or beast.
Luckily, the man had quick reflexes. He reined the horse in sharply. The animal reared, protesting loudly. It might have been the sound of the horse’s distress or perhaps it was the sight of those powerful hooves that jolted me free of the trance I’d been in, but I finally leaped toward the side of the path. I landed hard on the uneven ground, felt my ankle twist and give out just before I crashed into the boulder.
Behind me I heard the struggle between horse and rider, the horse neighing, a deep male voice talking in a soothing tone. Turning, I saw the horse rear again, but the man’s hands remained steady on the rope, and he continued to talk in a firm tone.
“Easy, Saturn. Easy, boy.”
I suddenly realized that this must be the same man I’d seen take the horse out of the trailer and ride him bareback across the fields. Not only had he kept control of the stallion and saved me from injury, he’d also remained seated. Admiration streamed through me. I had some idea of the skill it was taking to calm the frightened horse.
I was sitting in the shade of the boulder, but the horse and the man were bathed now in sunlight and I was able to take in more details. The man had slid from the horse and stood with his back toward me, talking to the horse and keeping a firm grip on the tether. He and the animal had a lot in common. Both were large and dark and strong—perfectly matched in the struggle that was going on. The man’s hair curled around the nape of his neck. He was broad in the shoulders, lean in the hips, and long in the legs. With his jeans and chambray shirt plastered to him like a second skin, I could see the movement of each sculpted muscle as he quieted the horse with patient skill. The horse, still frightened, reared again and pawed the air. The stallion was larger, stronger. But the battle wouldn’t be decided on size alone. It would come down to who had the stronger will.
The man let out the rope, then drew it in again, each time getting closer to the horse. The closer he drew, the calmer the horse became. It was like watching a slow, steady dance of seduction. Admiration and something else I was much less familiar with moved through me and settled in a hot little pool in my center. I had the strangest sensation that I was melting. Then his hands were on the horse, moving gently and firmly over those muscles, while he continued to talk, to croon almost. I had no idea how long I sat there in the shadow of the boulder watching man and horse.
And imagining what it would feel like to have those hands on me.
“Are you all right?” His focus was still on the horse, and since he asked the question in the same tone he’d been using to quiet the animal, it took me a moment to realize that he was speaking to me.
“Yes.” My voice was so breathless I didn’t recognize it. “I’m fine.” To prove it, I dug my fingers into a crevice in the boulder and pulled myself to my feet. I’d totally forgotten about my ankle, and when I put my full weight on it, I sat right back down with a little squeal.
He turned toward me then. “You’re hurt. Did one of his hooves…” His voice trailed off and his eyes narrowed. “Cameron? I didn’t recognize you at first.”
Of course he hadn’t. I could understand that. I hadn’t recognized him, either. He’d been intent on calming the horse, and I’d been equally intent on him. It was only now as he quickly tethered the horse and strode toward me that I realized this was Sloan Campbell, my sister Cameron’s fiancé.
“You could have been killed.”
The anger in his voice was clear—even though it was tightly leashed. And the simple truth of his statement had a chill moving up my spine. He was no less intimidating than when he’d been thundering toward me on the top of the horse. There he’d looked mythical. Now he looked tough, arrogant and furious. He’d evidently spent all of his patience on Saturn.
Why had it taken me so long to realize who he was? I’d certainly spent enough time studying his photos. Perhaps it was because the magnetism I’d sensed in the pictures was even more potent in real life.
“How badly are you hurt?” His tone was sharp with accusation.
“I’m not hurt. The horse didn’t touch me. I just twisted my ankle. I—”
He dropped to his knees and focused his attention on my ankle.
“It’s swollen,” he said. His fingers were as gentle as they’d been on the horse as they moved the wet jeans up my legs. While he probed my ankle, I found myself staring at his hands—the long fingers, the wide palms—and I tried to ignore the warmth that was unfurling in little ribbons up my leg. Other men had touched me, some casually, others intimately, but I’d never felt this kind of intensity before.
Adrenaline. I’d nearly been run down by the horse. That’s why I was reacting this way.
“I don’t think it’s broken.” I heard relief in his tone. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” He glanced up at me then.
“No. You handled the horse beautifully. I’m—” Every other word I intended to say slipped out of my mind as I met his penetrating gaze. His eyes…they were dark gray, the color of the kind of fog that could swallow you up and make you lose all sense of direction. I suddenly felt as though I were losing mine.
Then as if he’d satisfied himself that I was all right, he grabbed my shoulders and gave me a quick shake. “Where the hell have you been for the past five weeks?”
SLOAN TOOK A DEEP BREATH and clamped down hard on the all-too-familiar emotions swirling through him. Anger, annoyance, relief.
