by Brenda Mott
“What?”
“That you’ll give your new lady banker a chance.”
“I’m sure she’s quite competent, and that her new loan policies won’t keep me from borrowing money if the need arises,” Trent said, being deliberately obtuse.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Give it a little time. See where things go. What you and Amy went through would strain any marriage. Maybe she just wasn’t the right gal for you. After all, a woman like your mother comes around only once in a lifetime.”
Trent chuckled in spite of himself. His parents shared a love as sweet and strong as the day they’d first met. “That’s true enough.”
“Just think about it. I love you, son.”
“I know. I love you, too, Dad.”
Trent sat in the chair for a long while after the line disconnected, mulling over his father’s words.
The problem wasn’t that he didn’t want to give Bailey a chance.
It was exactly the opposite.
And that was what scared the hell out of him.
BAILEY DREAMED of a sheikh, riding toward her on a horse the color of the sun. As horse and rider drew near, she saw that the sheikh was Trent, and he wore cowboy boots beneath his robe. He reached out to her, and, smiling, she moved to take his hand. But at the last minute he pulled back, his face full of sadness. “I can’t be with you, Bailey,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder at another rider on a white horse, a little girl. She looked like Macy, but somehow Bailey knew she was Sarah.
Bailey opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. It was as though they were frozen in her throat. As the child galloped away, Trent spun his chestnut horse around and set out after her. Wait! Bailey tried to shout. Come back—
She awoke with a start, shaken by the dream. Sitting up in bed, Bailey tossed the covers aside and reached for the lamp on her bedside table. The digital reading on her clock glowed red—2:00 a.m. Bailey rose and headed for the bathroom, wisps of the dream still clinging to the back of her mind.
After washing her hands, she went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge. She supposed thinking of Trent and his Arabians yesterday had caused her to envision him as a sheikh. And his riding away in pursuit of Sarah probably meant that because of the loss of his little girl, he refused to be with Bailey or have another family. But what had made her dream that? She wasn’t after Trent as husband material.
True, she’d questioned him about his getting married again, but only to prove to herself that he wasn’t the man for her. And she’d been right. Both his answer and her dream told her so. Why had the little girl in the dream had Macy’s face? Was it simply that Macy had been on her mind lately?
Realization struck home. Macy was barely older than Sarah would’ve been had she still been alive, and since the Darlands lived a short distance away, it stood to reason that Macy and Sarah had known each other and had probably even been friends. Bailey felt stupid for not making the connection sooner. But why hadn’t Trent said anything to her when she’d mentioned meeting Macy? He’d told her he knew the Darlands, but that was all.
She supposed Jenny was right. He didn’t like to talk about Sarah at all. She couldn’t help wondering how healthy that was. Wouldn’t it be better to share memories of her with others? Surely, letting his emotions out, rather than bottling them up would help Trent cope with his grief. But then, men often had a problem with that. Every man Bailey had ever known kept things inside, and Trent was no exception.
And this locked-up pain festered. Or did it? Maybe she was wrong. Different people coped with grief in different ways. Maybe Trent had already made peace with his loss and was perfectly comfortable living his life alone. Well, that was fine with her.
Bailey stood at the sink, gazing out across the darkened pasture at Trent’s house. She could just discern the outline of it beneath the glow of the moon and stars. Her mind drifted to the memory of the kiss they’d shared.
Why had he kissed her? Clearly, he didn’t want to get involved, so what was it all about? She supposed that, like her, he was lonely. Maybe he’d simply reached out to her because she’d been handy. Yet she hadn’t felt used; she’d felt…
Bailey hated to admit what she’d felt. Trent’s arms around her had been more than wonderful, his touch beyond nice. She could easily have lost herself in his embrace, in his kiss, and most likely would have, had he not pulled away and left. How far would things have gone if he hadn’t driven off? She liked to think they wouldn’t have gone far, that she would have come to her senses before that happened. But she wasn’t so sure.
Maybe it would be best if she stayed away from Trent for a while. Her feelings for him frightened her, and could surely come to no good for either of them. Keeping her distance was the smartest thing she could do, and Bailey was determined to stay smart.
She’d moved to Ferguson to start a new life, and she was determined to have everything she’d worked hard for and longed for, including a family. If that wasn’t in Trent’s plans, then he wasn’t in hers. It was time to accept that and move on. The only trouble was, her heart disagreed with her head. Well, too bad, Bailey silently reprimanded herself. Get over it! He’s not for you.
For the hundredth time, he’s not for you.
BAILEY SPENT the next week avoiding Trent, which wasn’t hard since apparently he was avoiding her. Fine. She focused on work and on figuring out how to add an extension to her fence that would keep Buddy in the yard. By Wednesday, she’d purchased the materials she would need to get the job done, and planned to start on the fence once she got home from the bank.
At lunchtime, Bailey headed over to Audrey’s Café. She’d no sooner taken a seat in a corner booth than the bell above the door tinkled and Camille walked in. Bailey smiled and waved her over. “Well, hi there, stranger. Long time no see.”
“How’s it going?” Camille asked, sliding into the booth, across from her. “I haven’t seen you in days. What’s keeping you so busy?”
Bailey shrugged. “This and that.” She pushed thoughts of Trent to the back of her mind. “Mostly the remodeling for the day care.”
The waitress brought menus, and Camille opened hers, came to a quick decision, then put it down, propped her elbows on it and locked her gaze on Bailey. “So, how are things between you and Mr. Tall, Blond and Handsome? Did he like your homemade cinnamon rolls?”
Bailey tucked her tongue in her cheek. “Oh, he loved them, all right. But I don’t think he believed for a minute that I baked them.”
Camille chuckled. “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I heard he took you out for ice cream the other night.”
Bailey stopped short of letting her mouth fall open. “Who told you that?”
“A little bird,” Camille said, then grinned. “Named Jenny.”
Rolling her eyes, Bailey smiled. “Figures. Well, it was no big deal. He’d sprained his wrist. I helped him with his chores, and then we went for ice cream and to the emergency room.”
“The E.R.?” Camille drew back. “Girlfriend, what kind of date is that?”
Bailey smothered a grin. “I told you, it wasn’t a date. We’d taken his truck to town, so I had to go with him.” She kept her tone light, as though the outing had been no big deal. But the kiss she and Trent had shared lay heavy on her mind, filling her with longing.
She felt her face redden beneath Camille’s scrutiny. “What?”
“Had to?” Camille humphed. “I doubt there’s a man on this earth who can make you do anything.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is there more to this than you’re letting me in on?”
Bailey sighed. Should she tell her about the kiss?
“There is,” Camille said, pushing her menu aside. “Come on, Bailey, tell me. What’s going on?”
“He kissed me,” Bailey said.
Camille’s eyes widened. “Really?” Her pretty lips spread in a slow smile. “Was it
good?”
Bailey smiled back in spite of herself. “Yes, it was good. Too good.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Bailey met her friend’s steady gaze. “I don’t know, Camille. I really like him. It’s just that he’s so hung up on the loss he suffered I don’t know if he’s ready to move on. I’ve got dreams and plans, and if he doesn’t want to be with anyone, then why waste my time?”
Camille shrugged. “Maybe it’s not such a waste. Maybe the man just needs a chance.”
“Could be,” Bailey said. “It’s just that he’s so annoying sometimes, running hot, then cold. I’m not sure I want to risk falling for someone who’s going to end up breaking my heart.”
“Yeah.” Camille sighed wistfully. “I can sure relate to that.” She sobered. “You know, it isn’t easy losing someone you loved.”
Sorrow washed over Bailey at the knowledge of how much Camille had suffered from her husband’s death. She put her hand on Camille’s arm. “I know, hon, and I’m really sorry you lost Caleb. But you’ll find somebody to love again one of these days.”
Camille quirked her mouth. “Well, if I do, it sure won’t be a rodeo cowboy. My point, however, is—healing takes time. Give Trent a little. I’ll bet he comes around.”
“Maybe,” Bailey said, though she wasn’t so sure. Even if Trent did get past his pain, was she willing to risk loving him?
“Hey, speaking of Trent…” Camille said. “I dropped one of my cats off at the vet clinic just before I came over here, and I heard Doc Baker had to go on a call to Windsong.”
Concern for Trent’s horses instantly filled Bailey. “What for?” she asked.
“Colic.”
Bailey’s heart jumped. Colic was not a good thing, she knew that much. The term was used to refer to any number of gastrointestinal disturbances in horses, and could be caused by a number of factors. Bottom line—a horse did not have the ability to vomit; therefore, gut impaction or severe abdominal pain might lead a horse to roll in an effort to relieve the discomfort, twisting its intestines in the process, which would likely prove fatal. “Oh my gosh. I wonder which horse it is?”
Camille lifted a shoulder. “Dunno. Maybe you ought to go over there after you get off work and see.” Her tone suggested it was a good excuse to check up on Trent as well as the horse.
Bailey graced her with a mock look of reprimand.
“What?” Camille put on an expression of innocence. “That’s only being considerate. I mean, you do care about animals, right?”
“Of course,” Bailey said, closing her menu. She’d barely even looked at it. She fought the voice inside her head that told her she cared about Trent as well. “Whichever horse it is, I hope it’ll be all right.”
“Only one way to find out.” Camille winked, then turned to give the approaching waitress her order.
BAILEY STOOD next to Star, debating. Should she go over to Trent’s and see how everything had turned out with the colicky horse? Or should she mind her own business? Leaning against Star’s shoulder, she breathed in the warm, comforting scent of the gelding’s satin-smooth coat. If she was smart, she’d do exactly that—mind her own business.
But she could see Trent in the pasture above, leading a horse back and forth along the fence line. That horse looked like Bronnz, and with a sigh, Bailey walked to the dividing fence and ducked through the wire. She could hardly turn her back on the man when one of his best mares was in danger of losing her life.
Cutting across the pasture, Bailey focused on the horse and tried not to think about facing Trent for the first time since they’d shared cold root beer and hot kisses on her porch. Spotting her, Trent waved but kept walking. Bailey fell into step beside him, and immediately, warmth spread through her, causing her temperature to rise and her pulse to pick up. She’d forgotten how good he looked, how tempting he smelled.
As usual, his woodsy cologne overrode the pleasant scents of horse and leather that were Trent. He wore a black T-shirt with the name of an Arabian-horse association on the front, and his dark gold hair brushed the neckline of his shirt beneath the back of his ball cap.
“I heard you had a colicky horse,” Bailey said in an attempt to shrug off the feelings of desire and longing he stirred in her. She eyed Bronnz, and worry tugged at her heart. The mare was beautiful, and obviously Trent’s pride and joy. She hoped the animal was okay.
Surprise registered briefly on Trent’s face as he glanced at Bailey, then kept walking, concentrating on the task at hand. “I wouldn’t think the condition of my horses is a bank topic,” he said.
“It’s not. Camille was at the vet office today when Dr. Baker got called out here.” Bailey touched Bronnz’s sweaty coat. “She feels warm. Is she all right?”
Despair twisted Trent’s features. “I sure as hell hope so.” He glanced at the mare. “Doc Baker gave her a dose of mineral oil and a shot of Banamine to help relax her gut, and it seemed to help for a while. But she lay down again a few minutes ago and acted like she wanted to roll.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Bailey asked.
He shook his head. “Thanks. I’ve already called Doc Baker again.”
“Here.” Bailey reached for the lead rope. “Why don’t you let me walk her for a while. I’m sure you’re getting tired.”
Trent looked down as their hands brushed when Bailey reached for the rope. He licked his lips, and Bailey’s heart hammered. Just touching him set her on fire. Obviously, the stern and macho Trent Murdock was not immune to a similar reaction, if the expression on his face was any indication.
Now Bailey’s pulse thundered. Good Lord, she should be thinking about the fate of poor Bronnz, rather than entertaining fantasies of Trent caressing her hand, her arm…and any other part of her body he cared to put his hands on. What was wrong with her?
She took hold of the lead rope, and Trent made a token protest. “Really, I’m fine,” he said. “There’s no need for you to concern yourself.” He tightened his grip, their hands still touching.
She should be the one to get a grip, Bailey thought. On the rope and on her emotions. “I don’t mind,” she said. “Bronnz is a magnificent animal. I’d hate to see anything happen to her.”
Reluctantly, Trent relinquished the rope but kept right on walking beside Bailey. “Me, too,” he said. “She’s the best mare I’ve got. Not to mention my favorite.”
“I thought so.” Bailey smiled. He didn’t smile back, and she let her expression fade to a scowl. Trent had no reason to be so darned standoffish. She was only trying to help.
But his next words made her realize the reason he looked so serious. “Bailey, about the other day—on your porch.”
Oh, Lord, here it came. He was going to say the kisses were all a mistake and that he’d never meant for them to happen. She didn’t want to hear those words. She already knew she’d been a fool to let him kiss her—a fool to begin to fall for a man who could never love again.
She cut him off. “You don’t have to explain. I already know.”
“Know what?” His deep voice vibrated with something akin to intimacy. Bailey had to force herself to look away from those cool gray eyes that set her soul on fire every time she saw them.
“That kissing me was a mistake.” She swallowed over the words that seemed to stick in her throat. She hated that he thought of it that way. Heaven help her, she longed to feel warm and wanted in Trent’s arms, and to kiss him again.
“That wasn’t exactly what I was going to say.” Trent spoke the words gently, shoving his hands in his pockets as though to keep from touching her.
“No?” Bailey ignored the shiver that danced along her spine as her shoulder brushed his while they walked.
He made no move to step away. “No.” He stopped and put his hand over hers, causing her to pull Bronnz to a halt. “Let her rest a minute,” he said.
“Won’t she roll?” Bailey grasped at straws. She needed to keep walking, needed to move away fr
om the proximity of Trent’s maleness. From his hard, tanned body standing so close to her in that damnable T-shirt that showed off every muscle he had.
“We won’t let her. Besides, she needs a little breather.” He reached over and brushed a lock of Bailey’s hair from where it had escaped the braid she’d put it in once she’d gotten home from the bank. “And so do I.”
She glanced sharply at him. His touch froze her in place.
He looked back, and his eyes spoke volumes. He wanted her, just as much as she wanted him. “Kissing you wasn’t a mistake, Bailey. It just wasn’t something that should’ve happened.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And the difference is?”
He lowered his hand and shoved it in his pocket once more. “A mistake is something you wish you’d never made. I don’t wish I hadn’t kissed you, Bailey. I just wish things could somehow be different. And because they can’t, then I’d say it shouldn’t have happened. It wasn’t right for me to kiss you like that. I’ll make sure I don’t do it again.”
Bailey’s blood went hot, then cold. An unreasonable mixture of hurt and anger churned inside her, and her face grew warm. She knew he was right. Wasn’t that the very reason she’d been avoiding him? So why did his words fill her with anguish?
“No problem,” she said, focusing on Bronnz. She ran her hand along the mare’s sweaty neck. “How long should we let her stand?”
“Bailey.” Trent spoke her name softly yet firmly.
She fumed, angry with herself, annoyed with him for making her feel this way. She hadn’t asked to be attracted to him; hadn’t asked to care one way or the other. But she did. More than she’d realized.
She faced him.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not,” she lied. “How could you? Don’t you know we bankers don’t have any hearts?” She forced a smile. “Really, Trent, it’s all right. That’s why I haven’t come over lately. I was a little embarrassed by what happened. Oh, don’t get me wrong,” she held up her hand, palm out. “The kisses were nice. But that’s all.” The lie rolled off her tongue so easily Bailey was stunned at how believable, how rational, it sounded. “I don’t expect anything else from you.”
