He cut off his own thoughts before he spiraled off again, and focused on Poke. They’d been just over halfway through the reining pattern, having just completed the spins to the left. Poke had been solid throughout, his rollbacks powerful, that hind leg so planted on the spins so that you’d swear he was on a post.
Now he lifted the reins and cued the horse to start the rest of the pattern. Circles to the left, large and fast first, then smaller and slower, then the large and fast again. At the cue Poke executed a perfect flying change of leads and struck out to the right, repeating the circle pattern. And then they were on the last segment, a straight, fast run that culminated in a sliding stop that had Poke’s hindquarters practically on the ground as his back hooves dug in, never wavering or hopping, sending up a spray of dirt behind them.
He heard a yelp from the fence. Marcos. He started to grin, feeling better. Those sliding stops were pretty flashy, and he suddenly was glad Marcos—and Elena—had been here to see it.
“Perfect,” he told the horse, and reined him around to head for them.
“Not bad, your geekiness,” Sage teased as he pulled the horse to a halt.
“It’s almost like he was trained,” he shot back. Sage laughed.
“Wow, that was cool!” Marcos was grinning widely, and sounded about ready to bubble over with excitement.
“Marcos, meet Poke. Short for Highwater’s Hot Poco.”
“That’s a funny name.”
“It comes from one of his ancestors, who was famous. And he’s a really, really good horse. Sage is getting the most out of him.”
Marcos gave Sage a shy but admiring look as she jumped down off the fence. He kicked free of the stirrups, swung a leg over Poke’s neck and slid off. Sage was there, taking the reins, before he hit the ground.
“Thanks, Bro.”
“You bet. Not sure what there is left to work on with him, though. He felt golden all the way, except for that moment of operator error.”
She gave him a forgiving smile, then nodded. “Nothing left but to do it.”
Sean grinned at her. “Oklahoma City, here you come.”
“Don’t jinx it,” she said.
He gave her a hug; this was the only thing in life Sage was nervous about, her horses. But when she was in close, he heard her whisper, “Be careful, Sean. Be sure.”
He pulled back to look at her, brow furrowed. She indicated Elena with a shift of her eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I got it. Don’t be stupid.”
“Impossible,” Sage said, patting him on the back before she let go, turned, and swung up on Poke. She looked over at the two by the fence. “Y’all have fun, now. I’m going to take Poke to the creek. Slater was out early and said it’s running full.”
“He’s getting downright ranch-handy, isn’t he?” Sean quipped.
“Because Joey loves it out here. One more thing to thank her for. By the way, there’s lasagna and garlic bread for everybody in the fridge.”
And then his sister was gone, heading out to let the horse who loved splashing in water play a little after his workout. Leaving him a little stunned. His little sister was a paradox, warning him but fixing her signature meal for them. She who refused to be relegated to the kitchen just because she was “the girl.”
He turned to finally face Elena. And suddenly he couldn’t think of a thing to say, and doubted he could have gotten any words out if he could. Thankfully, she did it for him.
“What’s in Oklahoma City?”
“Oh. The NRHA—that’s the National Reining Horse Association,” he explained, adding with a glance at Marcos, “as opposed to the NHRA, which is the National Hot Rod Association,” which made the boy laugh. “Anyway, it’s their annual competition, the derby, this June. She’s going to take Poke and compete.”
“I wish them both great luck,” Elena said with a smile.
“I hope they do well,” Sean said. “She’ll feel bad if they don’t. Not for herself, but she’ll feel like she let Poke down.”
“That says a lot about her.”
“Family’s first with her, and her horses are family.”
“I can see that.”
“I hope they win!” Marcos exclaimed.
“They could,” he said, then added wryly, “as long as she’s riding, and not nerd-brain here.”
“Rabbit-hole moment?” Elena asked, but she was smiling.
“Afraid so.” And what would you think if you knew you were the one who sent me down that rabbit hole?
“You recovered nicely.”
“Poke did. He’s that good. Best we’ve ever had.”
“That stop thing was amazing,” Marcos said.
“It was. Now, you ready to meet your horse for the day?”
The boy was practically dancing with excitement all the way to the barn. He was so wound up he ran ahead, and stood peeking in the big sliding door. Leaving Sean alone with Elena. And again searching for something to say. Finally settled on what was, to him, an undeniable truth.
“You look wonderful. You should wear jeans more often.” He heard his own words and nearly groaned aloud. He looked away, shaking his head in disgust. “Like I’m the one to decree what any woman should wear.”
“And why not?”
He gave her a sideways glance. “Sage calls me a sartorial coward.”
“Because you always wear black? I imagine some would say the same about me.”
“But you look great in it.”
“As do you. So why not?”
The memory of that kiss was suddenly alive and crackling between them, so powerfully he thought it must almost be visible. He was afraid of careening out of control, and grabbed desperately at his first thought. “I always thought you wore it because…” He trailed off, wishing he’d diverted this a while back.
“For Enrique?” He nodded. To his amazement she smiled. “Perhaps that is how it began, but as a working single mother, the less time I have to spend thinking of my wardrobe, the better.”
“That makes sense.”
“And you?”
He shrugged. “Started for the same reason, I think. My dad. Then it was just easier.”
“So we are simply practical.”
“Maybe just no reason to change. What difference would it make?”
“You looked rather festive in your red tie,” she said.
“I like red,” he admitted. “But that’s about as far as my color scheme daring goes.”
She laughed, and he felt that little burst of happiness inside that he always felt when he managed to make her smile or laugh. She was here, it wasn’t an imagined fantasy, and he told himself to soak it in, to savor it, because it would likely never happen again.
The queen didn’t make a habit of visiting the commoners.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Elena couldn’t deny she felt a little nervous. For herself as well as for Marcos, who was so excited about his first time riding a horse that he was chattering. He never chattered, usually it was a chore to get him to actually talk. But he’d practically blossomed since Sean had come into their lives, and she would be ever grateful.
…that’s all you want. Help with your son.
Sage’s words came back to her, and she looked at him as he adjusted the stirrups on the saddle for Marcos, and gave him—and her, she supposed—instructions on how to handle the obviously very gentle animal. Did he believe that? Did he truly think that it was only his knack with her son that she valued? How could he, after…that kiss? Surely that made it clear that there was more than simple gratitude between them?
But if what Sage—and Joey—had said was right… He was not truly in awe of her, was he? How could he be, when he was a Highwater, and they had been in Last Stand as long as her own family had been? She must truly think about this, for the last thing she wanted was for him to feel she thought him somehow beneath her. If she was doing something, acting in ways that made him think this, it must stop, for that had never, ever been her intention. Th
e last thing she wanted was to hold him off, at a distance. The opposite, in fact. She wanted to be closer to him. She wanted him to be closer to her.
She simply wanted him.
She felt a sudden flush of heat. It had been a very long time since she’d had such thoughts, and she had the feeling she was not handling them well. As a twenty-nine-year-old widow and single mother, she’d made some assumptions, and one of those was that there would be no one who could make her feel the way her husband had. She had thought that aspect of her life over, even as she regretted having to close it off at such a young age. But she was sure no one would ever make her want, in the way a woman wanted a man, again.
She’d been wrong.
With a great effort of will she forced her thoughts onto another path. Marcos, since those were the only thoughts that seemed powerful enough to pull her off of Sean. She wondered if Marcos felt something like Sage said Sean felt, around the more popular children at school, not simply as if he did not belong, but as if they were above him. She must ask him—
“It’ll be fine, he is really calm, like Whiskers.”
She blinked, and focused on Sean who had come to stand beside her and the black and white pinto horse she was on. Realized her expression must have seemed worried.
“I…I’m fine, really,” she said. “I wasn’t concerned. I believe I just fell down one of your rabbit holes.”
He drew back, one corner of his mouth twitching in that way she was coming to quite like. “I didn’t realize it was catching.”
She smiled. Hesitated, then decided she’d better just say it. “I was just hoping you understood that while I greatly appreciate your help with—” she flicked a glance at her son, who was happily patting the neck of the docile sorrel horse called Whiskers “—things, I like even more…spending time with you. I like you a great deal, Sean Highwater.”
He stared at her, and for a moment she thought she’d mistaken everything, that she’d been foolish in thinking—
“Elena.”
It was barely above a whisper, and there was a hoarse, rough note in his voice that sent a shiver through her. And the heat that flared in the eyes she usually thought of as an ice-blue shade made them anything but icy.
“We goin’ or not?” Marcos called out.
“Hold that thought,” Sean said, still holding her gaze.
“With pleasure,” she said, meaning it.
He turned on his heel then. She watched him stride over to the powerful-looking gray horse he’d saddled for himself, and swing into the saddle with the ease of long practice. She didn’t doubt what he’d told her, that he’d once been as awkward as Marcos, but it was hard to believe looking at him now. He seemed the epitome of Texas cowboy grace and power.
And she dared to hope that someday her son would reach that same point, with his own particular kind of confidence. If he did, she knew whatever happened between now and then, part of it would be due to the influence of Sean Highwater in his life.
*
“This view is wonderful,” Elena said as they stopped the horses on the ledge overlooking the expanse of the hills rolling into the distance. He’d brought her here for this, because if the Hill Country was the place of your heart, this vista couldn’t help but speak to you.
Even Marcos was impressed. Not as impressed as he was with Whiskers, but enough to say, “It’s like you can see forever.”
“It was always Dad’s favorite spot to come and think,” Sean said. “And Shane’s now.”
He watched her as she looked out over the rolling hills, saw her take a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if the peace of the place was stealing over her.
“I can see why. It is a reminder of why this land is special, different. Thank you for bringing me here.”
“You should come back in the spring, when the bluebonnets are out. Those hills are covered as far as you can see, and at the right time of morning or evening, when the sky is that sort of purple-blue, you can’t tell where the sky stops and they start.”
“That was…lovely,” she said softly, and the appreciation in her voice kept him from feeling embarrassed; he hadn’t meant to blurt all that out. “And,” she added with a sideways look that had him holding his breath, “if that was an invitation, I accept.”
Spring. Months from now. Future plans. Plans to be together.
The words rocketed through his brain, leaving a trail of firing neurons in their wake. And all his inner warnings not to misinterpret couldn’t even begin to be heard over the bedlam.
“It’s a date,” he said, his voice so tight he thought it a wonder the words even came out.
“I shall hold you to it.”
“Can we ride some more?” Marcos asked, clearly oblivious to—or not caring about—the suddenly charged atmosphere. He did feel a kinship with the boy, and honestly hoped he was helping him, but right now he found himself wondering what would have happened if he wasn’t here.
And the memory of that kiss exploded through him, making his voice so tight this time it cracked. “We—sure. Head down there.”
He pointed out the trail to the west that led down to the creek. The boy was actually doing fairly well for someone who’d never been on a horse before. A little zealous with his heels and on the reins, but the ever-patient Whiskers tolerated children better than any horse he’d ever known.
He noticed Elena watching her son go. “Whiskers knows that trail, they’ll be fine.”
“I wasn’t worried.” She turned to look at him. “Not about them, anyway. I’m selfishly more concerned about myself. I love this, but it’s not something I grew up doing.”
“You’d never know it. You look like you belong on a horse. Different than the parade, there you always look…regal, but now you look pretty at ease.”
It was a moment later, as they started after Marcos on the trail that was wide enough for them to ride side by side, that she spoke. Quietly, with a note of concern in her voice he’d not heard before.
“You said regal.” He shrugged, avoiding her eyes, not sure what to say. “I have heard more than once—please do not ask me from whom—that you look at me this way.”
I’m betting Sage for one, damn it. “I can guess,” he muttered.
“Do you feel this way because you believe I think I am better than anyone else?”
Startled, his gaze shot to her face. “No!” Something in her dark, bright eyes warned him to tread honestly. “It’s how you speak, so beautifully, and how you carry yourself, like someone who’s rightfully proud of her family and history.” He finished rather lamely, “It’s just how I’ve always thought of you.”
“As regal?”
“Yes.” And then he did something he’d never, ever thought he would. He held her gaze and added, “Queen Elena.”
She laughed, a sound tinged with disbelief. “Who manages a restaurant?”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
She considered that for a moment. “I see.” Yes, he was really coming to hate that phrase. “I do not think I like this.”
His stomach knotted. “I mean it with the greatest respect.”
“I realize this. But if I am a queen, that means there are subjects.”
“Us peons?” he suggested, trying to lighten the mood he seemed to have unintentionally caused.
“Sean.” He looked up when she stopped after his name. She studied him for a long, silent moment. “I have made you feel this way? Done something, said something?”
“No! It’s me. It’s just…how I’ve always felt.”
“You believe I think you beneath me?”
“No!”
“Then you think it about yourself?”
“Maybe.” He lowered his gaze, rubbed at an imaginary bit of dirt on the saddle horn.
“Is this why you never come into the restaurant? You’ve been avoiding it because of this?” His gaze shot back to her face. He hadn’t expected her to make that jump. “I assumed it was because of what happened,
that your father was killed in the street in front.”
“It’s not my favorite location.”
“And of course a peon, so far beneath her, cannot just visit the queen.”
She was making it—and him—sound ridiculous. And maybe he was. Maybe he always had been. Maybe inside he was still that geeky, weird kid who never quite related to the world in the way others did. In that moment it was as if it had all fallen away, all the growth he’d managed, everything he’d learned about how to at least appear more normal, and he was indeed that kid with the brain that worked in strange ways.
“Exactly,” he said, unable to stop the sourness of his thoughts from echoing in his voice.
She glanced ahead, as if to see where Marcos was. And then she looked back at him. And when she spoke, her voice low and with a husky note that made every part of his body tighten, her words nearly blasted him out of the saddle.
“There is only one way I think of you beneath me, Sean Highwater. And there is nothing queenly about it.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Elena couldn’t quite believe she’d said it. For a usually reserved—regal?—woman, it seemed she was losing touch with all boundaries. At least, around this man she was.
And now she’d shocked him. He wasn’t just staring at her, he was gaping at her. And why not, when she’d just made a beyond suggestive remark with her son barely out of earshot?
“If I have misjudged, I apologize. But for the first time in years I have been reminded that I am not just a mother, but still a living, breathing woman. And I thank you for that, even if I am wrong about…how you feel about me.”
“No.”
It broke from him as if the single syllable was all he could manage. As if she’d struck him nearly dumb. The question was, what exactly was he saying no to?
“No…to what?”
“Not wrong.”
Only one more word, but it was enough. It answered what she most needed to know. “Then perhaps we should pick up this discussion again in a different setting? Or at least alone,” she added as they reached the bottom of the slope where Marcos had stopped.
A Lone Star Christmas (Texas Justice Book 3) Page 14
