by Brenda Mott
Macy jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Down at the feed store with my brother, jawin’ with his buddies.” She rolled her eyes. “He talks forever.”
Bailey chuckled. “So, you were bored and decided to do a little artwork, huh?” She gestured toward the chalk drawing. “I like it. It’s adorable.” Macy had also drawn a hopscotch pattern at the end of the sidewalk, and a yellow horse with a blue mane and tail.
“I thought you might be mad at me for drawing on your sidewalk,” Macy said, quirking one corner of her mouth.
“Heavens, no.” Bailey smiled. Already, she liked Macy. “It adds a little ambience to the place.”
“What’s that?” Macy wrinkled her forehead.
“Mood. Atmosphere.” She tapped the bill of Macy’s ball cap with one finger. “Don’t worry, it’s something good.”
Macy smiled. “Oh.” Then she glanced at the building. “Do you take care of all the money in the bank?”
Bailey hid a smile. “I guess you could say that.”
Macy nodded. “Daddy says folks ought to give you a chance before they go and judge you hard-nosed. He says your ideas might make the town a better place.”
“I see.” Guilt washed over her. And here she’d been thinking ill thoughts of the man. Pushing aside the twinge of hurt that the word hard-nosed had caused, Bailey smiled at Macy. “Let’s hope everyone else comes to feel that way, too.”
Macy retrieved her bucket of chalk. “Well, I guess I’d better get back to the feed store in case Dad’s ready to leave now. But I’ll ride my horse over and visit you and your dog sometime.”
Bailey pulled her keys from her pocket. “You do that.”
“’Bye, Licorice,” Macy said, giving the bunny a final pat. A smile curved her lips as she looked up at Bailey. “See you later.”
She waved as Bailey climbed behind the wheel of her pickup truck. Bailey had bought it from a local mechanic, Lester Godfrey, simply to save the man’s pride. He hadn’t qualified for a loan, and she’d heard from Jenny that he had four kids to feed and a stack of medical bills to pay as the result of some surgery his wife had undergone. So the next time Lester came to the bank, Bailey approached him and asked about his truck, which had been parked outside.
By the time the conversation was over, she’d convinced him that a ’53 Chevy pickup was something she’d always hoped to own and that she’d be beside herself if he wouldn’t consider selling the truck. It took less than a day for Lester to make up his mind.
Bailey had the truck, and Lester had enough cash to carry his family through some rough times. Now all she had to do was figure a way to sell the truck back to him later without stepping on his already bruised pride. She drove the truck to the bank now and then so Lester wouldn’t suspect her motive in wanting to help him. A man like him wouldn’t take lightly to pity or anything remotely resembling charity.
Bailey settled Licorice’s box on the passenger side of the Chevy. She knew a lot about pride. And even more about being alone. Growing up, she’d hung on to whatever scrap of dignity she could, no matter what each situation in her foster homes had thrown her way. She’d learned to be strong and to depend on no one but herself. Yet there’d been times she’d felt so alone, even when she shared a room with three other girls, that she’d thought her heart would truly break.
The memory of Macy’s little face eased into her mind, and Bailey drove homeward trying not to think about a lonely little girl.
Not the one she’d just met.
Not the one she herself had been.
TRENT SPENT the rest of the morning cussing his own stupidity. He’d been so busy worrying that Star would spook and throw Bailey that his mind hadn’t been where it should have: focused on his horse. He couldn’t believe Bronnz had dumped him. He’d taken his share of spills over the years, but it had been a while since he’d been bucked off.
Chores were slow going because his right arm was sore. Every time he tried to do something with it, a sharp pain shot through his wrist. Maybe Bailey was right, that he ought to go to the E.R. and have it x-rayed. The thought made him shudder. He hated the hospital. Too many memories of Sarah and the suffering she’d gone through lingered in its hallways. But if his wrist was cracked, he might not have a choice.
His thoughts returned to Bailey. He wanted Star to work out for her. In spite of the fact that getting thrown had punched a big hole in his ego, Trent had been impressed by the way she’d handled the gelding. Not bad for a city woman. Come to think of it, Bailey seemed to do everything well. The more he was around her, the more he found himself wanting to know things about her.
That was not good.
It was safer not to care about anyone. The only living creatures he had feelings for anymore were his horses, which suited him just fine. No love, no loss, no pain. He was certain he could get through life, one day at a time, living safely by his own rules.
But now Bailey had come along and, for whatever reason, set his feelings on edge.
What had her life in Denver been like? And what had made a high-powered businesswoman like her move to a little town like Ferguson?
He’d lived here for five years. He’d met Amy in college, married her and built their dream home on Colorado’s western slope a few years later. But their dream turned into a nightmare when Sarah became ill.
Trent had learned to fit in with the locals, though he now kept his distance for the most part. Still, he’d heard people around town talking, and he’d known things about Bailey even before he’d met her. That the bank’s new president was not only a woman but was just thirty-three years old—two years younger than he was. The former bank president, Hal Peterson, had been almost seventy and a longtime local resident. Bailey had her work cut out for her.
The townspeople said she was pretty, but not on the inside. “Hard-core,” “all business,” were descriptions the rumor mill passed along.
But the more Trent saw of Bailey, the more he wondered if the image was the reality. Again, he recalled the softer side of Bailey—a woman who’d cried over his child’s grave, who took in a blind horse and a stray rogue dog.
In spite of what the townspeople said about her, he liked her. But then, what did it matter? He shouldn’t be thinking about her that way. He needed to get his mind back to the same safe place it had been in for the past year. One where no one could reach him. Now that Bailey had picked out her horse and had her fence put up, maybe he could get her to leave him alone. He’d call her if he saw her damn dog, but that was it.
Feeling somewhat better now that he’d gotten a grip, Trent finished his chores as best he could. He had work to do with the halter babies, but it would just have to wait. Maybe he should soak his wrist again and then ice and wrap it, and work with the foals this evening. He headed for the house.
It was five-thirty by the time he went back outside, and too hot to think about supper. He’d feed the horses, then maybe drive into town for some ice cream. He frowned down at his wrist. It really didn’t feel much better, even though he’d wrapped it. Maybe he would swing by the E.R. while he was in town. He told himself he could do it. After all, it wasn’t where Sarah had spent her final days. She’d died at home.
“Hello!”
Trent narrowed his eyes as he spotted Bailey walking across his back pasture. She’d obviously climbed through the fence that adjoined their properties. He mumbled an expletive. Didn’t the woman know that trespassing wasn’t something people in the country took lightly? She herself had commented on how his acreage gave him privacy.
But the sight of Bailey in her blue jeans and snug-fitting tank top stopped him from telling her she had no business crawling through his fence. It also stopped him from listening to the inner voice that told him he had no business wanting a woman he didn’t need and had no intention of pursuing anyway.
“Hi,” he said grudgingly.
Bailey halted in front of him. “How’s the wrist?”
“Okay,” he lied. “I haven’t seen yo
ur dog, if that’s why you’re here.”
“Actually, I already found my dog. I came to see if you needed some help with your chores.”
He didn’t want her doing him any favors.
As soon as the thought was out, guilt washed over Trent. Bailey was only trying to be nice. It wasn’t her fault he felt the way he did. “I’m fine, thanks,” he said. “I can handle things.”
“I don’t mind,” she persisted. “I’m really enjoying Star, and I’m sure it would be fun to help you with your horses.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Great. I’ve already got him fed and watered, so if you could use a hand with your chores, I really don’t have anything else to do at the moment.”
Trent felt himself weaken. He hated to admit that her help would be nice, given his injury. Even more, he hated to admit that he enjoyed her company. But if he let her help him, the chores would get done faster, which would allow him to escape to town.
He sighed inwardly. If the people in Ferguson could see this side of her, they’d never think of her as the evil banker woman again.
“All right, if you really want to.” He headed for the barn. “So where’d you find your dog?”
Bailey gave a short laugh. “Would you believe he was waiting for me on the front porch when I got home from your place this morning?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. He was lying in front of the door, like he’d been there all along…. I guess I’m going to have to make the fence taller so he can’t roam.”
“Let me know if you need a hand.” The words were out before Trent could consider them. Feeling wishy-washy, he added, “One good turn deserves another, you know.”
“Works for me,” Bailey said.
They stepped inside the barn, and she helped him throw a couple of bales of hay onto a wheelbarrow, then protested when he insisted on pushing it himself. He wheeled it out to the paddocks where some of his halter babies and their dams were, and cut the twine on one bale.
“How many pieces do they get?” Bailey asked.
Trent fought a smile. “They’re called ‘flakes,’” he said. Why was it Bailey always managed to make him grin, no matter how rotten his mood?
“Really?” She pursed her lips. “Makes me think of cereal.” She helped him toss hay to the horses, then measure grain into buckets. As they poured each horse its ration, Bailey gestured toward the colts and fillies. “They sure are cute. And full of it, too.” One of the colts reared up on his hind legs and nipped at his mother. He then came down on all fours, humped his back and raced away, bucking and kicking.
“They’re a handful, all right,” Trent said, still wondering how he would work them with his wrist screwed up.
“Have you got them halter broke yet?” Bailey asked as though reading his thoughts.
“I’m working on it.”
“Well, if you need help, let me know. I don’t know much about it, outside of what I’ve read in magazine articles, but I’d love to give it a try.”
Her offer was tempting. Another excuse to be around her.
One he didn’t need.
“I’m glad Star’s doing good,” he said, using the first thing that came to mind to change the subject.
“Me, too.” Bailey leaned against the fence rail and chuckled. “Looks like I’m slowly gathering a farmful of animals. I managed to acquire a homeless rabbit today.”
“Oh, yeah?”
She told him about her black rabbit. “I almost gave him to a little girl I met, but then it turned out her father doesn’t think of rabbits as pets.” She folded her arms. “Do you know Wade Darland? It was his daughter, Macy.”
Trent gripped the fence rail. Macy used to play with Sarah. “Sure, I know the Darlands,” he said. “How’d you meet them?” Did she make it a habit to get to know all her customers?
“I only met Macy. She was drawing with chalk on the sidewalk outside the bank today when I left. She’s a cute kid. Asked me if she could come over and see my animals sometime. Said she’d ride her horse over.”
A cold sensation crossed his spine.
Daddy, is it all right if I ride with Macy?
Okay, baby, but only in the arena until you see how Misttique handles.
Nausea churned his stomach as longing pulled at his heart. Longing for times past that would never come again.
He didn’t want Macy to visit Bailey. Didn’t want to risk seeing her and having memories flood his mind. Sometimes it was less painful simply to forget.
Quickly, he shook off the thought. Hiding from the little girl wasn’t reasonable. After all, he’d seen her in town a few times with her dad and brother, though only from a distance. Macy and Sarah had been friends, and that was something he’d have to cope with. It wasn’t Macy’s fault, and Ferguson, after all, was a small town.
But Macy reminded him of Sarah in another way, too. Though she didn’t look exactly like her, the two girls did resemble each other. Both had blue eyes and blond hair, and loved to dress in jeans and boots. Had loved to dress, he reminded himself.
Past tense.
Sarah was gone.
Would it ever stop hurting?
The memories flooded him now. Sarah and Macy, two peas in a pod, tagging along with him to horse auctions, to the feed store. Running errands with Amy. People who didn’t know them had often asked if they were sisters. The girls loved that. Sarah had looked up to Macy as a big sister, though Macy was only a year older.
“Trent?”
“What?” Snapping back to the present, he met Bailey’s gaze.
“Are you all right? You turned a little pale for a minute. Maybe your wrist is cracked.” She frowned at his injured hand, which still gripped the fence rail as though he’d never let go.
Relaxing his hold, Trent flexed his fingers. “I think it’s all right,” he said. “But maybe I will have it x-rayed, just in case.” He stepped away from the fence and pushed the empty wheelbarrow toward the barn.
Bailey followed, picking up on their previous conversation. “Anyway, I suppose I’d better check with Wade Darland and make sure he doesn’t have a problem with Macy coming over.”
I do! Trent wanted to shout. I don’t want to run into her, or look over at your place and see her there on a horse she used to ride with Sarah.
But he clamped his mouth shut, knowing he shouldn’t feel that way.
Bailey frowned. “Macy seems a little lonely.”
Suddenly, Trent felt selfish. Macy was lonely. That was why she’d hung around with Amy and Sarah so much. She missed her mother. And she’d taken Sarah’s death mighty hard. Almost as hard as he had.
“She is,” he said, shoving the wheelbarrow into the feed room. “Her mother got killed a couple of years ago.”
Bailey nodded. “Macy told me she died. What happened to her, if you don’t mind my asking?”
He shrugged. “It’s no secret. She was coming home from work one night, and she tried to beat the train at the railroad crossing outside of town.”
“Oh my God,” Bailey said. “How awful.”
Trent grunted. He didn’t want to talk about death. “Listen, I was about to head to town when you got here. I thought an ice-cream sundae sounded good, since it’s too hot to cook.” He hoped Bailey would take the hint and leave. He’d slipped far too readily into enjoying her company. She was the first person he’d talked to about anything that had to do with Sarah. Though Bailey didn’t realize the connection to Macy, she’d easily drawn him into conversation about her.
“Oh, it does!” Bailey’s eyes lit up. “I haven’t had a hot-fudge sundae in ages. Want me to drive?”
Trent’s jaw nearly dropped. He hadn’t meant to extend an invitation. He frowned. Apparently that was the way his statement had come out, or at least, that was the way Bailey had taken it. Well, he’d just have to set her straight. He opened his mouth to do so.
But the word no wouldn’t quite roll off his tongue.
“I’ll d
rive,” he said.
“Okay. Let me get my wallet and we can be on our way.”
Trent sighed. “You might as well hop in the truck. I’ll take you over to your place.”
“Thanks,” Bailey said with a smile that would melt chocolate. “That’s mighty neighborly of you.”
He grunted.
Neighborly indeed.
Trouble was, he suddenly wasn’t thinking of Bailey merely as a neighbor or as the new bank president.
His gaze slid along the length of her legs as she climbed into the truck. He remembered what she looked like in shorts, and his thoughts went exactly where they weren’t supposed to go.
Nope.
She wasn’t just his neighbor.
She was a woman he wanted very much to take to bed.
CHAPTER SIX
BAILEY WASN’T SURE which was better—hot fudge or hot sex. Considering it had been so long since she’d had the latter that she could barely remember, she’d go with the hot fudge. Wrapping her tongue around a wad of chocolate and ice cream, she nearly groaned out loud. On the other hand, the sight of Trent was almost enough to sway her decision. He sat across from her and watched her devour her sundae with a look of amusement that had his gray eyes sparking and her heart missing a beat or two.
“What?” she asked, gesturing with her spoon. “What are you smiling at?”
“You. The way you’re thoroughly enjoying your ice cream.”
“I am. It’s been a long time since I’ve had hot…fudge.” She grinned and felt her face warm to the roots of her hair.
Trent raised his eyebrows. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he teased.
It would be if he knew what she was thinking, Bailey mused. “One of my—” She stopped just short of saying “foster mothers.” Dottie hardly qualified for the title. “Someone I used to know growing up once told me that men don’t appreciate a woman with a healthy appetite. Not that it’s ever stopped me.” She smiled and closed her mouth over her spoon once more.
