by Nika Rhone
“I don’t know.” Chaz stared at his bottle as though it held the secrets of the universe inside before upending it and drinking down the last swallow. “If you ask me, forever with her is exactly what you need.”
Chapter Twelve
Breakfast hadn’t turned out as bad as she feared.
Stacking the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, Amelia felt a sense of pride that her first attempt at pancakes hadn’t totally sucked. Aside from the very first batch, of course, which had been burned on the outside and runny on the inside. Lucky for her, Kim was a patient woman. After scraping that first failure into the garbage, she coached Amelia through the process until she was pouring and flipping like a pro.
Maybe she could get a job somewhere as a short order cook. She snorted at the mental picture, but it wasn’t funny. God knew she wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms by her parents after what she’d done. She was going to have to figure out what came next for her.
But not today. Today, she was going to the barn to pet the horses, and maybe, if Daryl remembered his promise, ride one of them. The thought of getting back on a horse after so many years sent a rush of pleasure through her. She hadn’t lied when she told Daryl she’d loved riding when she was younger. There had been an incredible sense of freedom while she was on the back of her horse.
Then, like everything good that came her way, she had to give up that pleasure because of her parents. It didn’t matter that the horse had simply taken a bad stumble. Their daughter had been damaged, and someone needed to pay the piper. If only she believed their concern had been for her rather than the possibility she might end up with a visible flaw that would ruin the perfect family picture they all made. But Amelia had never believed in fairy tales, and she’d always known she wasn’t destined to get her happy ending.
Which was why she’d been willing to settle for Charles.
Wiping her hands on the dishtowel hanging by the sink, Amelia shook her head at herself. What had she been thinking? How had she managed to convince herself she could live like that? Why had she decided she couldn’t have anything better? That she didn’t deserve anything better?
Thank God she came to her senses in time. With even just a few days’ perspective, she could see she’d escaped the worst of fates by the skin of her teeth. Which—she ran her tongue over them—needed a good brushing after the syrup-covered stack of pancakes she’d just put away. True to her word, Kim had given her a much more manageable portion on her plate this morning, only two pancakes, two pieces of bacon, and one egg over easy. For the first time in recent memory, Amelia had left the table with nothing more than a tiny gristle of bacon fat remaining on her plate.
After brushing her teeth, she set off in search of Daryl and the horses. Last she’d seen him, Manuelo was chewing his ear off as they walked out the door. The boy still hadn’t run out of questions about Daryl’s rodeo days. Amelia didn’t blame him. She was more than a little curious herself.
Amelia had never attended a rodeo, but it seemed to her that riding bulls and roping calves and whatever else it was they did, called for a certain amount of bravado and attitude, not to mention skill. She couldn’t speak to Daryl’s skill, but the other two traits she would be more likely to ascribe to someone like Chaz. She had no problem at all picturing the flirty cowboy strutting around the rodeo grounds, trailing a cluster of buckle bunnies eager to catch his attention.
She grinned. Who knew there was a whole subculture of groupies just for rodeo riders? Thanks to Winnie, she’d had her eyes opened to that little bit of information, as well as to the fact that Daryl had once been a much sought-after prize. If he’d won as many contests as the dinner conversation the night before alluded to, Amelia wasn’t surprised. There was a pecking order for everything in life, even sex, and the strongest and most successful always came out on top.
Even so, she had a hard time thinking about Daryl as a chick magnet. He was attractive, yes, but he was so…big. And stoic. And intimidating. While she’d always felt totally safe whenever he’d been part of Thea’s security detail, she also couldn’t help feeling just a little overwhelmed by his presence.
Except…she’d spent the past forty-eight hours in his company, and she couldn’t remember even once feeling overwhelmed or intimidated. Not even when they’d been stuck in his truck for hours together. Funny how a little thing like having your entire life implode could change your perspective on people.
Since they’d walked most of the ranch proper the day before, she had a fairly accurate layout stored in her head, thanks to her freakishly good memory. It was what made her useful at her father’s fundraisers. She could memorize the guest list and whisper people’s names to him before he greeted them, making each and every potential donor feel like they were a close, treasured friend of the good senator from Colorado.
Ha! If they only knew.
Coming around the corner of the bunkhouse, she saw the training ring she had visited the previous day with Kim. Today, as there had been then, two tall men stood with their boots propped up on the split rail fence watching the action going on inside it. From the back, father and son were so much alike it would have been hard to tell them apart if it hadn’t been for their hair. Unlike his father, whose only slightly graying black locks were cut military short, Daryl’s hung over the collar of the blue-and-white checked shirt he wore in an inky wave. Other than that, they were the same. Same height, same frame, even their body language mirrored each other.
As she approached, Amelia couldn’t keep herself from looking at Daryl with an eye toward how a buckle bunny would see him. His broad shoulders stretched the material of his shirt as he leaned on the top railing, tapering down to a torso that ran into trim hips and long, long muscular legs that were encased in denim jeans that looked like they’d seen a lot of use. Not the already distressed ones from the store, but ones that had seen more than their share of hard work and numerous washings. Amelia tried to be objective about the way he filled out the back of those jeans, but Lillian was right. The man had one very fine butt.
So, okay, he was physically appealing. She still didn’t get why men like him attracted women like bees to clover. It was obvious she was missing something important.
A shout sounded from the training ring. As if they’d choreographed it, Daryl and his father swung themselves over the fence in response to whatever had happened. Amelia broke into a run. She skidded to a stop, hands gripping the top rail of the fence, trying to make sense of what was going on. Hank knelt next to Zeke, who was curled up on his side on the ground, holding his left leg and cursing up a storm. And Daryl…
Amelia sucked in a terrified breath.
Daryl had put himself between the injured man and the big black horse that was snorting and prancing like a crazed demon all around the ring. He moved along with it using slow, measured steps, always keeping himself between it and the two men on the ground, arms raised out to the side. The horse shied away from him. After a few canters around the ring it started to slow, until it came to a fidgety stop on the far side, blowing hard in agitation and fear.
Movement dragged Amelia’s attention back to the other two men in the ring. Zeke was now on his feet—or rather, foot—with his arm slung around Hank’s neck for support. Amelia wasn’t the only one who noticed. The horse snorted and pawed, dancing a few steps to the side as though it was going to break into movement again. Daryl countered, stepping closer and drawing the horse’s attention to himself, talking in a low voice to the animal. Amelia couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the horse could, its dainty ears twitching toward the sound.
Torn between helping and watching Daryl perform his horse whisperer trick, Amelia forced herself to walk, not run, to the gate farther down the fence line, opening it for Hank and Zeke when they got there and quickly closing it again behind them.
“Are you okay?” Zeke’s pant leg was torn and bloody, but the rest of him appeared intact, if a little dusty.
“Nasty bastard
kicks like a mule,” Zeke gritted out, “but I don’t think he broke it. Not for lack of trying. Shoulda known he wasn’t ready for a saddle yet.”
“Let’s go get that leg looked at,” Hank said.
“Can I do anything to help?” Even as Amelia asked, she heard the sound of the other ranch hands approaching at a run.
Hank jerked his head back toward the ring. “You can stay and make sure my fool son doesn’t get his head kicked in by that brat.” From the gruff tone of his voice, it was clear he wasn’t happy Daryl had taken on the more dangerous job of wrangling the unruly horse for himself. Most likely, the fact Daryl had gotten over the fence a second faster had given him the advantage to choose.
Hank’s agitation definitely wasn’t because Daryl couldn’t handle the job. Amelia returned to the fence and watched Daryl slowly build a rapport with the huge black beast. It was like watching a snake charmer, except instead of music Daryl used his voice to mesmerize, speaking in a soft, crooning tone. Daryl managed to get a few steps closer before the horse realized it and retreat a step itself. On and on it went, Daryl gaining two or three steps and then losing one or two back.
Every once in a while, the horse would paw at the ground rather than retreat, sending Amelia’s heart into her throat as she waited for it to bolt or strike out with its deadly hooves, but it never did. Daryl stopped moving and changed the pitch of his voice, waiting for the animal to settle down before starting the dance again.
Unable to take any more, Amelia turned to Ned, who was watching the scene unfold next to her. “Shouldn’t you go in and help him?”
“More people would just spook the horse again.
Maybe, but that didn’t stop her from being terrified by thoughts of the thousand and one things that could go wrong. “Then, why doesn’t he just get out of the ring and leave the horse to calm down on its own?”
“Can’t,” Mike said from her other side. “See those reins trailing in the dirt? Horse gets his feet tangled up in those…” He shook his head. “The black’s too valuable to risk a broken leg or worse.”
And Daryl isn’t?
She swallowed the angry words and went back to watching Daryl slowly work the huge black beast toward the side of the ring. It felt like hours before the horse’s rump touched the fence. And then everything happened almost too fast to watch.
The horse let out a startled squeal. It tried to rear up, but with the fence behind it was only able to get its front half a few feet in the air. Daryl stood his ground, avoiding the flailing hooves. As soon as the horse went to all fours again, he darted in and grabbed hold of the dangling reins. That brought on another attempt to rear, but this time Daryl had the means to yank the horse’s head down lower than its shoulders, preventing it.
Blowing and prancing in place, the horse fought a little longer before signaling its surrender with a long, heartfelt sigh. The tension left its body, and its neck relaxed, allowing Daryl to loosen up his hold on the reins. Only then did Mike and Ned climb over the fence and cautiously approach.
Daryl didn’t relinquish his hold on the horse to them right away. Instead, he spent a few minutes stroking its long neck, still talking in that low voice, transferring the reins to Ned’s hands as he did so the horse didn’t even realize someone new was holding them. After a quick word with Ned, Daryl gave the horse one final pat and turned.
Her heart still pounding from the thrill of fear she’d felt for his safety, Amelia watched Daryl walk across the ring, bending to scoop up the hat he’d lost somewhere along the way. He dragged a sleeve over his face, which glistened with sweat before shaking his hair back and securing the Stetson on his head while he strode toward the gate. There was something…different about the way he moved. His long-legged gait was more fluid, almost a strut; the look on his face one of a triumphant warrior leaving the field of battle.
Oh. Amelia struggled to moisten her suddenly dry mouth, unable to tear her gaze from this Spartan warrior version of Daryl. Her body thrummed in response to the glitter in Daryl’s dark eyes. Okay. Now she got it.
“Boy’s still got the mojo,” Chaz said from where he suddenly appeared at her side. Or maybe he’d been there for a few minutes. She’d been too focused on Daryl to even notice.
But she did take notice of what Chaz had said.
“He’s always been this good with horses?”
“Better. And for someone not doing this from the cradle, that’s saying something. It’s in his blood, no matter how hard he tries to pretend otherwise.” He grinned when Daryl broke direction from the gate and instead jumped the fence right beside them. “Bring back some memories?” he asked in an almost mocking tone.
“Yeah,” Daryl replied. “That horse wrangling’s damn hard work.”
“And catching bullets for a living isn’t?”
Daryl’s gaze flicked from Chaz to Amelia for a quick second. “It has its moments.” He shifted, and somehow, Amelia wasn’t certain how, he was between her and Chaz. “Where’s Zeke?”
“Up at the house.”
With a nod, Daryl collected Amelia with an arm around her shoulders. She went along without complaint. There was still that air of the warrior fresh from battle about him. It was slowly fading, or he was clamping down harder to contain it, but she still felt it vibrating off him like a live wire shooting off sparks. Her body practically sizzled every place it touched his.
But as they walked toward the house, one question kept demanding an answer. If he was so amazing with horses, if the ranch was in his blood, then why had he ever left? Why wasn’t he doing what he’d obviously been born to do?
Chapter Thirteen
When had he lost control of the situation?
Thrumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Daryl scowled at the small procession of vehicles ahead of them kicking up dust as they drove down the long driveway from the Circle R to the main road. Taking Amelia into town to attend Sunday church services was a very bad idea. But as soon as it had been brought up, he’d found himself fighting a losing battle.
Not that he was willing to concede defeat just yet.
“You know this isn’t smart, right? The whole idea of you being here is to keep you out of sight.”
“It’s only church.” Amelia ran a hand over her skirt as though to iron out some imaginary wrinkle. “We’re going to go in, sit down, listen to the service, and leave. No one’s even going to notice me in the crowd.”
He gave her a sidelong look of disbelief. She might think wearing a simple white top and another of those long, flowy skirts made her blend in, but with those golden curls and that smile she couldn’t seem to keep from stunning every male she let it loose on, she would most definitely be noticed. Add to that the fact it would be the first time in close to six years since any of the good people of Hayden had seen him crossing the threshold of the town’s tiny brick church, and they were going to be a goddamned spectacle.
“Besides,” she added, “your mother asked us to go. It would have been rude to say no.”
“Step.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Kim is my stepmother. My mother died when I was seven.” As soon as he said the words, Daryl wanted to bite them back. He never talked about his mother. To anyone. Ever.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” He tried to sound as repressive as possible, hoping she would take the hint.
She didn’t. Instead, she reached over and laid a gentle hand on his arm. “That doesn’t mean you can’t still miss her.”
Deciding that not replying at all was his best course of action, Daryl concentrated on the road even though he could have driven the route into town blindfolded. There was only one main road that ran through the area. Well, one paved road, anyway. There were others—some gravel, some dirt—that branched off it but no signs to tell you where they led. As far as the locals felt, if you didn’t know what was at the end of a road, then you had no business being on it in the first place.
; Not big on outsiders were the people of Hayden.
Which was why he wasn’t surprised when just about every head turned as they walked through the heavy wooden doors at the rear of the church. Like a breeze moving across a field of wheat, it started at the back with the first people who noticed them, followed by whispers and more heads turning, until pew by pew the effect rippled forward.
Oh, sure. Daryl gave a mental eye roll as they slipped into the back pew along with the rest of the contingent from the ranch. No one would notice them at all. He glanced at Amelia. She was wearing her calm and composed face, as though she wasn’t aware of the men sitting in front of them nearly twisting their necks off to get a look at her.
Then he felt her stiffen, her back going even straighter, if that was possible, as she made a small, unhappy sound she was quick to cover. Daryl tensed in response. His attention no longer casual but all business, he sat forward, scanning the crowded church for what had upset her, but all he saw were the people who belonged. Ranchers and townspeople in what qualified as their Sunday best, making small talk and trying not to be too obvious as they stared. Nothing that seemed out of place.
Before he could ask what was wrong, Amelia tapped his leg urgently and whispered, “Get up.”
He did, allowing her to shoo him out of the pew and into the center aisle, but instead of beelining for the rear door as he expected, she marched—marched!—up the aisle until she came to a pew about halfway to the altar. Then Daryl saw what she had seen. A wave of pain and anger washed over him. Despite the fact that every other pew was at least partway filled, this one contained only one person, sitting so rigid and alone she looked ready to shatter.
Amelia slid into the pew beside Winona and pulled her into a hug, saying, “Thank you for saving us all seats. Sorry we’re late. A little accident out at the ranch made the whole morning kind of crazy.” She urged Winnie farther into the pew so that Daryl could sit as well.
