Megan folded the square piece of paper and slipped it into her wallet. What she’d like to have would be no sex drive. Maybe then she’d stop dreaming about Nick’s hands on her.
And stop caring whether or not he was off with perky Delia Templeton.
She stopped at the desk on her way out to schedule the appointments and pay her bill, thanking her lucky stars that Sean McAdams had always provided decent health insurance for his employees at Angel River.
She’d already told Johnnie at Crossing West that she wasn’t going to be able to make it there that afternoon, but the doctor’s appointment had actually taken less time than she’d expected.
So she drove back to her motel in Weaver, changed into a pair of old jeans and a sleeveless shirt that snapped down the front and drove over to the horse rescue.
Megan wedged her truck into a narrow space in the round parking lot. As was her practice, she stopped at the front pasture to greet Latitude and the other horses. The Shetland was gone now, adopted out to a family from Idaho. All the original quarter horses and thoroughbreds that had been there the first day Megan had visited the rescue were also gone. Some to individual families. Some to other programs.
Rambo—the Tennessee Walker—remained, however, and though he waited patiently for Lat to nab the peppermint Megan gave him, he didn’t waste any time in getting his treat, too.
Unlike Latitude, Rambo didn’t race off again as soon as he’d gobbled the sweet. First, he sidled up against the rail, seeming to ignore Megan, though his ears swiveled her way. At the signal, she reached over the fence and ran her palm over his gleaming coat. “Such a good boy,” she crooned. “Wish I could take you home with me to Wymon, but you’ll have a nice new place up on the mountain.”
Rambo shifted and hung his head over her shoulder, almost as if he was hugging her.
She pulled off her cowboy hat and looped her arm beneath his neck to rub his cheek. “You’ll be the most popular dude up there,” she told him. “I’m handpicking all your stablemates, so I ought to know.” So far, she had chosen only eleven other horses from the places she’d visited with Axel Clay, but it was a start.
The distinct sound of a power saw rent the air, and the horse lifted his head and pranced away.
She was no closer to dealing with the problems of her personal life, but she felt better. All from a few minutes breathing the same air as a horse.
The June sun was bright and warm, and she pulled on her straw hat again as she circled around the first two barns to reach the third. All of the med wing doors and windows were open and she walked through, sketching a wave to Johnnie, who was going through her first-time-volunteer spiel with a group of young teenagers.
Now that school was out for the summer, she’d told Megan it was common to have new groups coming out nearly every day of the week.
Burrito was outside in one of the turnouts, mercifully burr-free now. Her ribs, which had stood out so sharply at first, were much less pronounced now, but she still didn’t tolerate anyone getting particularly close and Megan knew J.D. was starting to be concerned about her rehabilitation. If the pony couldn’t stand people, she stood no chance of being adopted out.
That didn’t mean an end to Burrito. J.D. had already said the pony would stay at Crossing West for the rest of her life if necessary.
But even ponies like Burrito needed to feel loved.
So Megan stopped next to her pen and like every other day since she’d begun volunteering at Crossing West, she extended a fresh carrot.
The scrawny pony acted as if she didn’t see it at all.
Megan just waited silently. And after a small eternity she was rewarded.
The pony circled around the perimeter of her fenced run and finally reached out her neck to snatch the carrot between her soft lips.
Then she trotted straight back to her far corner, noisily crunching the vegetable and swishing her tail as if to tell Megan to get lost.
“That’s quite an example of patience.”
Megan whipped off her hat and whirled at the sound of Nick’s voice. Her own voice felt clamped inside her throat.
But Nick wasn’t standing anywhere near her and she had a moment’s doubt as to whether she was hallucinating. On top of her restless nights, what else did she need?
“Up here.”
She looked up and nearly swallowed her tongue.
He was standing on the roof of the med wing barn wearing work boots, cargo shorts and a tool belt.
And that was it.
Nada.
Nothing else.
No hat to shield his head from the sun.
No shirt to protect his tanned, sinewy shoulders, either.
And the heavy tool belt he wore was doing a good job of dragging his shorts almost beyond his hip bones to the point of indecency.
Gone was the urbane-architect look. In its place was sweaty-construction-guy look.
Face it. Nick Ventura is mouthwatering whatever his look.
She lifted the brim of her hat to shield her eyes from the sunlight. Or from him. She wasn’t sure which.
“I timed it.” He didn’t even have to raise his voice because it carried down to her so easily. “A full seven minutes for that pony to take the carrot.”
“It took her longer yesterday.” Megan’s heartbeat felt heavy and hard inside her chest. “And the day before that. I didn’t know you were back.”
“Left you a voice-mail message a couple days ago.”
She squinted and loosened her grip on the hat; she was practically smashing it. Fortunately, it was a woven straw that easily sprang back into its usual shape. She jammed it on her head and pulled the brim low over her brow. “Guess I missed it.”
Not seeming bothered by the pitch of the barn roof, he walked closer to the edge. “You all right?”
Her nerves tightened. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He crouched. Even from this distance, she could see the gleam of sweat across his chest. “I don’t know. You just look...”
She hunched her shoulders and folded her arms. “Look how?”
“Pissed off,” he said after a moment. “And not in your usual sexy, cranky way.”
Her jaw dropped. “Go—” She broke off, painfully aware of the volunteers around her, many of whom were kids. “Soak your head!”
In the pen next to her, Burrito suddenly bucked, kicking both her legs out at the round metal fence post, which clanged loudly.
Megan yanked off her hat again and swatted it against her thigh as she stomped into the dim barn, aiming straight for the feed room. “Miserable, annoying...man,” she muttered. “Sexy, cranky?” What the hell was that supposed to mean?
J.D. didn’t even look up from the supply order she was working on. “Can I take my pick or is there one man in particular you mean?”
Megan yanked the clipboard with the medicine schedule off the peg and slammed it down on the work counter. But the chart blurred and the harder she stared, the worse it got. She sniffed and a fat roll of paper towels appeared next to her.
She tore off one and wiped her nose with it.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about.” She grabbed a bucket of supplements and started to measure it out, only to realize she had the wrong one. Cursing under her breath, she started over.
J.D. set down her pen and silently left the room. She was back in a matter of minutes with a saddle pad in her hand. She dumped it on top of the medicine chart. “Go.”
“What?”
“You don’t need to work this afternoon. We weren’t even expecting you. So go. Take Rambo out for a ride and get whatever you’ve got stuck in your craw out of your system.”
Stung, Megan started to object. But something in J.D.’s eyes reminded her so much of Rory. “I’m having a b—” She broke off when Johnn
ie crowded into the room, too.
“Bad day?” J.D. asked. But it wasn’t quite a question.
And it was so much better than what had been on the tip of her tongue.
Baby.
She snatched the saddle pad and escaped.
She collected the rest of her tack in the barn next door and within a matter of minutes, was up on the big black horse.
She followed the usual path she took for a pleasure ride. Back around the barns, past the stacks of lumber waiting to be turned into Stan and Susan’s private house, then down into a shallow ravine that ran for miles before eventually intersecting a swift-running creek.
As soon as she reached the lumber stacks, though, she could see the house framing was already under way, thanks to the small crew of carpenters currently sprawled in the grass nearby taking a break.
In just a day, nothing at all had become something of form and substance.
And she could see, too, why Nick had been up on the roof of the barn—because it allowed a nearly perfect bird’s-eye view of the dwelling.
“At least he could wear a shirt,” she grumbled under her breath as she coaxed Rambo to pick up the pace.
The horse responded to her slightest cue and soon she’d left the workers behind and was following the narrow ribbon of water glittering at the base of the ravine.
She rode for at least two hours before she finally decided to stop. She slid out of the saddle, and while Rambo nudged around in the few inches of shallow water, she visited the dark side of a boulder to relieve her bladder, which was the only reason she’d needed to stop in the first place. Rambo, on the other hand, had stamina to spare.
She rejoined the horse standing in the stream and rested her head against him. “You and Earhart would like each other,” she told the horse. “She’s as pretty as you are handsome.”
“Too bad he’s gelded, or you could let ’em make babies.”
She inhaled sharply, looking around Rambo to see Nick sitting astride Latitude. Her fingers curled against Rambo’s soft mane.
It was a testament to how preoccupied she was with her own thoughts that she’d been entirely oblivious to the sound of another horse approaching.
“Rambo’s the only company I wanted. How long have you been following us?”
“Long enough, and you’re gonna hurt Lat’s feelings talking that way.”
Latitude was happily picking his way along the streambed, obviously not hurt in the least.
She was glad to see Nick had put on a shirt. But she pulled her gaze from the wedge of his chest still visible beneath the unbuttoned fabric.
“J.D. tells me you want Rambo for the guest ranch.”
She lifted her chin. “So?”
He lifted a hand, signaling he meant peace. “So I think it’s a good choice. And I’m a long way from the equine expert that you are.”
She eyed him across Rambo’s back. Nick hardly looked like an equine anything. Not with the cargo shorts and work boots. Under her watch at Angel River, she’d have never let someone ride wearing boots like that. But at least he was keeping his heels angled down. The last thing she needed was for him to get his foot tangled in a stirrup.
“We’re back being suspicious, I see.” Latitude stopped to sniff some wildflowers and the leather saddle creaked as Nick crossed his wrists atop the saddle horn. “It’d just be simpler all around if you’d tell me what’s happened to get you all worked up since the last time I saw you.”
Megan’s nerves tightened. “You tell me. You’re the one who was gone for the better part of a month.”
“Told you on the phone. There was a problem at the job site.”
“Must have been one hell of a problem.”
“Yeah.” His voice was suddenly clipped. “A foreman was accused of sexual harassment.”
She gave him a swift look. “Was he guilty?”
“Yes, she was. And it took all the time I was there to get things straightened out so the victim got what he needed, and my company wouldn’t end up getting sued.”
“But you’re the architects.”
“And plenty of times have to be the general contractor, as well. All those people on the job site? My hires. Welcome to my world.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You didn’t say.”
“Well, when I was talking to you—on the rare occasion when you actually answered your damn phone—the last thing I wanted to do was waste precious time talking about that!”
She took a moment to absorb that.
“I wasn’t worked up,” she finally said, not quite through her teeth.
His eyes lightened then, and a sudden smile toyed with the corners of his lips. “You could save all the posturing, sweetheart, and just admit that you missed me.”
In answer, she gathered Rambo’s reins and swung up into the saddle with her usual ease, only to close her eyes for a moment when the world swayed slightly. She gently adjusted her seat in the saddle and Rambo, already attuned to her slightest cues, set off. When she opened her eyes again, the horizon was once again reassuringly steady.
And she could hear the soft sound of Latitude’s hooves and the occasional jangle of his bridle as he followed in their wake.
Megan adamantly resisted the temptation to sneak a peek behind her.
“Did your grandmother like the picture you sent her of you meeting the governor?”
This was what she got for telling Nick all about the Memorial Day dedication. April had taken the photo on her cell phone and forwarded it to Megan, who’d then needed to use the printer at the public library—the old one, not the new one that hadn’t opened yet—to print a copy. She’d had to mail it to her grandmother the old-fashioned way since Birdie had neither a cell phone of her own, nor an email account, at least not one that she checked with any sort of regularity.
“She liked it,” Megan answered grudgingly.
“Probably enjoyed showing it off to the girls.”
She urged Rambo out of the slow-running stream. “Probably.” She waved her hand, shooing away a bee, and ducked her head to avoid a low-hanging tree branch. “Did you hear that the park broke a record for the most number of visitors to any of the Wyoming parks that day?” Yellowstone had been higher, of course, but Yellowstone was a national park and a hundred times larger.
“I heard that Ruby’s ran out of food in the morning and Colbys ran out of beer that night. Don’t think that’s happened in the history of Weaver. Ever.”
She realized she was smiling and wiped it right off her face. Just because she had a better understanding of Nick’s prolonged absence didn’t mean everything was all hunky-dory.
She clucked softly and Rambo immediately headed up the sloped bank until the land leveled out again in a panorama of wildflowers and sagebrush.
When Nick didn’t say anything else, she did look back. She blamed the deeply ingrained habit on years of leading trail rides at Angel River.
He was perfectly fine, though, as he surveyed the beautiful scene before them. Despite his claim that he rode only when he had to—so did he have to follow her today?—he sat Latitude with the kind of confident ease born of experience.
Megan, who’d been riding most of her life, found riding the former racehorse an exhilarating, somewhat challenging and entirely exhausting endeavor. Which was why she happily left that particular task to J.D., who had a way with the horse like no other.
He caught her watching him and the oddly bemused look he gave her made something inside her chest lurch.
“I’ve never even seen this spot,” he admitted. He looked over his shoulder at the way they’d come. Then to the east. And then the west, where the distinctive summit of Rambling Mountain rose against the sky.
“Bet the sunsets are amazing here.” He suddenly shifted in the saddle and Latitude pranced in a sideways circle.
Meanwhile, Nick had his cell phone out and was checking it.
She grimaced. “Girlfriend calling again?”
“If that’s a reference to Delia, I’ve told you. Not my girlfriend. And the only signal out here is GPS.”
“There’s a loss,” she muttered.
“You really do hate cell phones.”
“They have their uses. Just don’t see why people always seem to need to be ‘connected’ all the damn time.”
He looked up as if he was getting his bearings, then back at his screen.
“Why do you care about GPS, anyway?” she asked.
“Curious whose land this is.”
“Double-C?” She’d learned the cattle ranch was the most extensive one in the entire region. And that Squire Clay was the patriarch of the family who ran it. A lot of gossip at Ruby’s Diner centered on the Clays—particularly the marital discord between Squire and Gloria.
“I don’t think so.” Nick brought Latitude closer to her and Rambo, holding out his phone for her to see.
She made a face. “What’s that?”
“It’s a topo map.” Latitude took a few more steps in his pursuit of the perfect flower and Nick dismounted. With the reins in hand, he walked back toward Megan. “Come here. I’ll show you.”
She told herself it was only curiosity that prompted her dismount, as well. It certainly wasn’t because she’d gotten hot and bothered watching him lead a twelve-hundred-pound horse through a field of purple wildflowers.
She’d trusted Rambo not to wander when they’d been down in the ravine, but up here in the open meadow, she was more cautious, so she, too, kept hold of her reins as she peered at Nick’s phone.
“There’s the mountain. See?” He slid his thumb over the screen, adjusting the position of the map.
The Horse Trainer's Secret Page 15
