you worry.”
“Constantly.”
“Not a problem.” Gavin’s cell phone rang. “Let me take this call first.”
“Thanks.” Caitlin hurried across the office and out the door leading to the stables.
It was like stepping back in time.
The rich, familiar scents of horses and alfalfa filled her nostrils the moment she crossed the threshold. Daylight, pouring in from the large doorways on both ends of the long aisle, illuminated the interior better than any electric-powered lights could. Soft earth gave beneath her feet with each step she took. A barn cat dashed behind a barrel, then stuck its head out to peer warily at her.
Caitlin glanced around, her breath catching at the sight of Ethan not thirty feet away. He was bent over at the waist, the horse’s rear hoof braced between his knees as he used a file to trim it.
How did he do that with a prosthetic leg?
How did he do that with a bad shoulder?
Fine, he was resilient. She appreciated that quality in an individual. Admired it. But shoeing a horse while injured was just plain stupid. So was bronc riding.
She started to say something, only to close her mouth when Ethan released the horse’s hoof and straightened.
He stood tall, his blue work shirt rolled up at the sleeves and stretched taut across his muscled back. The leather chaps he wore sat low on his hips, emphasizing his athletic frame. She couldn’t remember him ever looking better. Or sexier.
When they were in high school, Caitlin had liked him best in his football uniform. Next best in the tux he’d worn to their senior prom. She’d been the envy of every girl on the cheerleading squad, and had relished the attention.
What an idiot she’d been. Shallow and silly—placing too much importance on things that didn’t matter.
Ethan turned, and she wished suddenly she was wearing nice clothes. Not an oversize hooded sweatshirt and scrubs.
“You made it.”
“I did.”
He set the file he’d been using down on a box of tools. Next, he removed his chaps and draped them over the box. “Ready to take a look at the wagon?”
“Is that Chico?” Caitlin advanced a step, then two. “Can I pet him?”
“Of course.”
“I remember him. I can’t believe he’s still around.” She stroked the old horse’s soft nose, and he snorted contentedly.
“That’s right. You and Chico are already acquainted.”
Caitlin was never much of a horse enthusiast, though she’d tried her best to share that interest with Ethan. When they did go on a ride, Chico was her mount of choice.
“He’s Isa’s horse now.”
“Isa?”
“Sage’s daughter. Gavin’s soon-to-be stepdaughter. She’s six and in love with this old guy.”
“I’m glad.” Glad the horse Caitlin remembered with such fondness was adored by a little girl and that some things around Powell Ranch hadn’t changed.
“Do you still ride?”
“No, not since Chico.” She didn’t want to admit to Ethan how much riding—or any physical activity that held risk—scared her. She hadn’t been like that before Justin’s accident. Quite the opposite.
“I’ll take you sometime.” Ethan moved closer.
Caitlin’s guard instantly went up. She continued stroking Chico’s nose in an attempt to disguise her nervousness—at Ethan’s proximity and the prospect of getting on a horse again. “We should probably take a look at the wagon. I have to get to the clinic soon.”
They left the stables. Chico, Ethan assured Caitlin, would be just fine tied to the hitching rail, and was probably already napping.
As they rounded the corner of the cattle barn, she noticed lumber stacked nearby, along with a table saw, ladder and toolboxes.
“What are you building?”
“We’re converting the old barn into a mare motel for the stud and breeding business. Clay and his men are helping us.”
Ethan took her elbow and guided her around more piles of construction material. She started to object and insist she was fine, then changed her mind. Like the other night when he’d insisted on unloading her medical supplies, it would be like arguing with a brick wall.
He led her to a corner of the barn where, behind a tower of wooden crates and beneath a canvas tarp, the wagon stood.
“Not sure we can get much closer,” he said, stepping over a roll of rusted chicken wire.
Caitlin squeezed in behind him, acutely aware of his tall, broad frame mere inches from her.
He leaned over and lifted the tarp, revealing a wagon wheel. Without thinking, she reached out and touched the worn wood.
A memory of Ethan driving her around the ranch in the wagon suddenly surfaced, of her bouncing in the seat beside him and both of them laughing. How carefree they’d been back then.
She suddenly missed those days with a longing she hadn’t felt in years.
Stop it!
Dwelling on that period of her life would do more damage than good. She and Ethan might have renewed their acquaintance, but that was all it was, an acquaintance. All it could be. Even if she finally got past the hurt he’d caused her, he rode saddle broncs for pleasure and broke green horses for a living. Caitlin wasn’t capable of caring for someone who courted danger on a daily basis. Not after what had happened to her brother. She couldn’t live with the constant worry and fear.
“Going to need a few repairs.” Ethan wiggled a loose spoke.
Caitlin was relieved to get back on track. “And lots of cleaning.”
“Hope you have enough volunteers.”
She studied the wagon with a critical eye. “I might need more.”
“I’ve been thinking. Would it be all right if we asked for a small donation? Completely voluntary, of course. Sage, my future sister-in-law, is starting a wild-mustang sanctuary here on the ranch, and she’s having trouble obtaining funding.”
“What a good idea. I can’t imagine the festival committee having any objections.”
“That’ll make her happy.”
Caitlin brushed dirt off the wheel. “When can we get started?”
“Saturday soon enough?”
