by Lily Everett
When Sam finally escaped his cousin Penny’s attempts to “feed him up” by heaping every breakfast food she could think of onto his plate, he was more than ready to work off all the biscuits and gravy with a long day at the barn. He didn’t just love the horses and the satisfaction of helping them learn to trust humans again—he loved the physicality of the work. He liked to push his body hard, to feel the work he’d done in the ache of sore muscles at the end of the day.
Unfortunately, no one at Windy Corner appeared to want to get any work done that morning. Instead, they were all gossiping about the strangers who’d ridden over on the ferry the night before.
Sam shook his head and went back to sorting through his tack and his training kit. Something about a female army officer and a kid, blah blah. He tuned it out fairly successfully until someone mentioned Sheriff Shepard. At which point, Sam perked up like a stallion scenting danger on the wind.
“I wonder if this means the sheriff won’t show up for her volunteer session this afternoon,” Jo Ellen mused.
“She better.” Taylor made an indignant face without looking up from texting on her phone. “The volunteer schedule is perfect this week and I hate having to reschedule people. It throws everything out of whack and all the other volunteers whine and complain. It sucks.”
“I think the sheriff gets a pass on this one,” Jo said mildly. “I know better than most how disrupting it can be to suddenly find yourself in a position to mother someone.”
“You know, a while back, I might have taken that personally.” Taylor tapped a contemplative finger against her chin, but the crinkle at the corners of her brown eyes was all mischief. And beyond a squawk, she didn’t resist when Jo grabbed her in a headlock and ruffled her short blonde hair.
“But now that you’re all grown up,” Jo Ellen laughed, “and have realized that the entire world doesn’t revolve around you…”
“Says who?” Taylor demanded, tugging free with a toss of her carelessly tousled head. “My life is tuned to the Taylor Channel. It’s All Taylor, All the Time, from where I’m standing.”
She held the snotty pose, hands on hips, for a handful of seconds before rolling her eyes, giving a full-body shake and going back to her phone with a snort. Sam resisted a smile. He was starting to see why Matt liked this girl. He watched her fingers fly over the face of her phone and wondered if she was texting Matt. She’d been basically glued to that thing since Sam arrived that morning.
“How are Ella and Merry doing, anyway?” Sam asked, doing the polite thing to get the conversation back on track. And if that meant eventually circling it around to find out more about what was up with Andie, then so be it. Good manners dictated the whole thing.
“All three of my girls are doing well,” Jo Ellen said with a fond glance at her soon-to-be stepdaughter. “Ella’s talking about moving here full time after the wedding. Merry is giving her the hard sell, of course. She’d love to have another back-up babysitter for Alex, when she and Ben want some time alone.”
Sam’s head swam a little bit. It was either from the leather polish fumes or from the idea of having so much family, so many interlocking relationships, so many people to deal with. “Sounds like you’ve been busy.”
“That’s life.” Jo shrugged one plaid-flannel-clad shoulder. “I’d rather be busy and surrounded by family than completely relaxed and alone.”
Sam, who’d been alone in all the ways that mattered for most of his life, felt a strange pang in his chest. Ignoring it, he arched a brow in Jo’s direction. “Let’s talk again in a few months, after the therapy center is up and running and a big success, and you’re trying to plan another wedding and help your daughter move and get this one off to college. You might change your tune.”
“Fair enough.” Kicking her brown paddock boots up onto the metal desk and folding her hands over her stomach, Jo didn’t seem especially concerned.
Until Taylor piped up with, “Who says I’m going to college?”
Jo’s boots hit the ground with a thud just as a car door slammed out front and a voice called, “Hello? Anyone here?”
Every cell in Sam’s body lit up like the first fireflies on a summer’s night. It was Andie. He’d know that sweet, husky voice anywhere.
Dropping his half-cleaned halter back into his tack trunk, Sam stood and glanced at Jo and Taylor. They were locked in some kind of silent stare down that looked likely to explode at any moment. Figuring he’d best get clear of the blast radius, Sam pointed at the office door. “I’ll go see what the sheriff wants.”
Sam edged out the door with a sigh of relief that almost choked him when he saw Andie Shepard’s tall, slim figure silhouetted between the open barn doors. At her side, a careful foot of distance between them, was a little kid.
Curiosity simmered alongside the ever-present attraction that flared to life whenever Sam was close enough to Andie to see the subtle cinnamon flecks of her freckles. He tucked his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her when he walked a few steps closer—and by now, he could see the banked desperation in her deep-sea eyes and the downturned corners of her wide, pink mouth.
“What’s up, Sheriff?” he asked, keeping it light and easy while he got the lay of the land.
She ran a hand through her hair—loose waves of dark red-gold today, the first time Sam had ever seen it down, and suddenly all he could think about was plunging his fingers into the silken strands and fisting his hands to hold her still as he plundered that mouth. Andie caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a split second and Sam’s blood went hot and thick.
Down boy, he told himself. Not the time or the place or the audience you want for something like that.
“Something … unexpected has come up,” Andie said, more uncertain than he’d ever seen her. “I’m going to be looking after my niece, Caitlin, for a little while. Until my brother can come home.”
Sam watched as Andie put a tentative hand on Caitlin’s shoulder, only to see the girl twitch out of her grasp like a colt shaking off flies. The way Andie’s face fell into resigned lines told him this wasn’t the first time she’d reached out and been rejected, and the blank, closed-off look on Caitlin’s young face made Sam’s heart ache. His protective instincts, never far from the surface, bloomed into a need to help these two find their way to each other.
A soft whicker from the integration stall behind him was all it took to remind Sam of why he couldn’t get caught up in the sheriff’s problems. He had enough of his own to deal with.
Still, he couldn’t help asking, “You bowing out of the volunteer gig? I’m sure Jo Ellen will understand.”
“I don’t want to quit on them before we even get started.” Frustration clipped Andie’s words short and brisk. “But I don’t see how I can manage it. I’ve got to go on duty this morning, and I guess Caitlin’s going to have to hang out at the office until I can get her into school and figure out day care, and I’m not sure how long Owen is going to be away—”
She broke off when Sam put his hands on her shoulders, and she stared up into his face with the blankness of real panic. “Breathe,” Sam told her softly, sliding one hand to cup the back of her long, pale neck.
Andie squeezed her eyes shut and ground her back teeth—Sam could feel the pressure where he held her—and when she opened her eyes again, the panic had dissipated. That was a good coping mechanism, right there, Sam noted … and not something a person developed unless panic attacks were a frequent occurrence. The beautiful lady sheriff got more interesting every time he saw her.
Which was a problem.
“I’m fine,” Andie said, mostly steadily. “You can let go of me now, I’m not going to pass out or anything.”
Sam realized he’d been staring into Andie’s fathomless blue-green eyes for way too long. He ought to step back, let them both reclaim their personal space, but he couldn’t quite bear to stop touching her now that he’d gotten his hands on her. His right hand flexed gently against the nape of her neck
, dragging the pads of his fingers through the delicate tendrils of hair there, and Andie rewarded him with a shiver.
“Maybe you’re the one keeping me on my feet,” Sam said roughly. There was something gut-wrenchingly sexy about a woman who was tall enough to look him in the eye.
The tension between them crystallized, fragile and sharp and unbearably sweet. Sam breathed her warm breath and savored the firm curves of her body mere inches away. His heart kicked against his ribcage. He officially didn’t care that this was a terrible idea. He was going to kiss her.
Except Andie planted her hand in the center of his chest and stopped him. “Wait a second,” she said, looking around frantically. “Where’s Caitlin?”
Chapter Six
Andie had never been so grateful for the training that allowed her to leap from Unwillingly Yet Undeniably Aroused to Crisis Mode.
“She can’t have gone far,” Sam pointed out, striding over to the barn doors to peer out at the front paddocks.
“Caitlin?” Andie called. She jogged down the wide barn hall to the opposite set of doors, but there was no sign of her niece on the sloped hill leading down to the training rings. “Are you hiding? Come on out, sweetie, I promise I’m not mad.”
She and Sam met back in the middle of the barn. He shook his head, mouth a thin line. Andie wondered if he was really that worried about Caitlin or if he was just annoyed that her disappearance had interrupted their little … whatever it was, back there.
His next words made Andie feel bad that she’d ever questioned Sam’s motives. “She’s not out front, unless she’s climbed a tree or something. Let me check with Jo and Taylor in the office—maybe they saw something.”
“I can’t believe I lost her,” Andie said, her throat tight. “I haven’t even had her for a full twenty-four hours.”
Sam paused at the office door. “You haven’t lost her,” he said firmly. “She’s just … misplaced at the moment. Don’t worry, we’ll get her back if we have to take this barn apart, board by board, and comb through every haystack. Caitlin’s a little bigger than a needle—we’ll find her.”
Before Andie could do more than register the kindness lighting his deep brown eyes, a soft noise from the stall behind her had her whirling in place.
Most of Windy Corner’s horse stalls were generously sized boxes, enclosed on all sides and with a heavy sliding door onto the main barn hall. But the stall Sam strode toward was more of a pen situated between two stalls, closed off from the hall with only a couple of vertical bars. To enter it, he had to lift the top bar and step over the bottom, which he did with the smooth grace of practice.
Andie’s heart jumped into her throat at the realization that all Caitlin would’ve had to do to get into the stall was to duck between the bars. Rushing to peer over the chest-high wall, Andie saw her worst fears confirmed.
Caitlin crouched in the far back corner of the stall, staring up at Queenie, the half-wild black horse Sam had brought to the island the day before.
The horse that had been so unruly and threatening, someone had called the sheriff for help.
And that horse was between Sam and Caitlin.
*
Every muscle in Sam’s body wanted to tense, but he forced himself to relax. Queenie was already worked up enough, with the rescue and the ferry ride and a new barn. Sam couldn’t afford to add any more stress to the situation.
From the corner of the stall, the little girl piped up. “The horse isn’t hurting me. I’m not afraid.”
Sam’s heart rate slowed. “That’s good. Caitlin, right? You’re doing great.”
“The horse likes me,” the kid said, like she was trying to convince herself.
Her high, clear voice was a new sensory input for Queenie, who’d never spent a lot of time around kids. That could’ve made the mare nervous—but instead, she seemed intrigued. Every word out of Caitlin’s mouth had her cocking long, sensitive ears in the kid’s direction.
“Caitlin, honey,” Andie said, strained. “Come on out of there. Just edge around the side of the stall toward Sam, he’ll help you.”
“No. Don’t want to.” Caitlin planted her sneakers into the sawdust bedding that covered the floor of the stall.
Sam couldn’t tell if Caitlin was afraid to move or just being stubborn, but either way, he said, “That’s fine. You’re good right there, sweetheart. Stay put.”
Sam held up a warning hand to Andie before she could argue. He shook his head at her, keeping one eye on the tense mare. Andie’s fingers clenched on the stall barrier like she wanted to vault over it and sweep Caitlin out of harm’s way by force, but she gave Sam a reluctant nod.
Grateful that she at least trusted that he knew more about horses and barn safety than she did, Sam reached a slow, calm hand and settled it on the horse’s black rump. Queenie sidestepped jerkily, craning her neck back to see Sam.
“Queenie is okay, for the moment,” Sam told Andie quietly, “but if anything happens to spook her, we could be in real trouble.”
“If anything happens—like a door slamming or a car backfiring?” Andie asked.
“Or sudden movements close by her head,” Sam told her. He heard Andie suck in a breath and gave in to the urge to comfort her. “Don’t worry, I’ll get Caitlin.”
“Be careful.” Andie was so intent, so worried, that Sam risked a glance in her direction. His gaze snagged on hers and an electric current arced between them, sharp and hot. Andie’s cheeks washed with red and she lifted her chin. “I mean, be careful with Caitlin. And thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Sam ran his hand firmly and gently along Queenie’s quivering side as he walked slowly up to the horse’s head. Combing his fingers up the tangled crest of Queenie’s coarse, black mane, Sam murmured subvocal reassurances to the traumatized animal. And all the time, he inched closer to the skinny redheaded girl in the corner of the big stall.
Caitlin watched him coming, standing unnaturally still. Sam couldn’t remember ever seeing a kid her age who wasn’t in constant motion, energy practically exploding from every pore. But Andie’s niece was like a little statue. She kept giving Sam wary glances, but most of her attention was on the horse standing over her. From her vantage point of four-feet-and-change, Queenie must look gigantic. Caitlin didn’t seem afraid of the mare, though. In fact, the kid seemed more nervous about the human adult approaching her than she did about the very real possibility of getting trampled by a rampaging horse.
Sam thought he recognized the type. He was one himself. Keeping his right hand working on untangling Queenie’s mane with slow, careful tugs, Sam grinned down at Caitlin. “So, you like horses, huh?”
Caitlin shrugged but never took her eyes off Queenie’s soft nose as the mare lowered her head and shuddered in appreciation of Sam’s scratching fingers. He ran his hands up Queenie’s ears, paying particular attention to the pressure points at the tips, and watched as Caitlin’s gaze followed his petting movements as if she were imagining her own hands running over Queenie’s inky dark coat.
“I can tell you’ve got horse fever,” Sam said, teasing a little. “It’s not usually dangerous but it can result in the patient having an uncontrollable desire to get close to any horse in the vicinity.”
“Not just any horse.” Caitlin immediately pressed her lips together like she regretted speaking up, but Sam gave her an encouraging smile.
“Queenie is special,” he agreed.
“She’s perfect.” Intense and fierce, in that moment Caitlin sounded exactly like her aunt.
“She will be,” Sam told her. “But we’ll have some work to do, to get her there.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“See, she’s been treated badly by the people who were supposed to take care of her, and it’s made her jumpy around people. But with time and patience, I guarantee, she’ll be your best friend if you let her.”
Caitlin’s eyes lit up and for the first time, Sam realized they were the exact same ocean
blue as Andie’s. “Can I pet her?”
“It’s good that you asked,” Sam said, letting his approval show loud and clear. The girl blossomed under it like a sunflower lifting its heavy head to the sky. “Smart. And since you’re smart enough to ask, and smart enough to see how special Queenie is…”
Sam reached out his left hand and, after a short hesitation, Caitlin put her much smaller hand in his and let him guide her to stroke slowly over the white star on Queenie’s forehead. Her forelock feathered down over their fingers, making Caitlin’s bright smile appear for a brief instant, like the flicker of light on a fish’s tail as it turned to swim into deeper waters.
Queenie snorted, her warm breath and whiskery muzzle nosing equally at Sam’s belly and Caitlin’s shoulder. The little girl turned big eyes up to Sam, wonder and joy illuminating her pale face; Sam couldn’t help smiling back. “You ready to get out of here now?”
Caitlin pulled free of his grasp with a scowl. She shook her head, mouth going tight and stubborn, but Sam had her number now. He knew what to bribe her with.
“How about if I promise you can help me with Queenie’s training? And when she’s ready, you’ll be the first one to ride her.”
Caitlin’s face shuttered, wary skepticism arching her brows in an expression far too mature for her young face. “I’ve never been on a horse before, ever.”
“Then I guess we’ll have to train you at the same time as we train Queenie, so you’ll be ready for each other. What do you say?”
She didn’t say anything, just watched him with narrowed eyes. Sam didn’t waste his breath trying to convince her that he was on the level. He waited patiently to see if she’d come to him on her own.
But when she finally spoke, Sam wasn’t prepared for her question.
“Are you a friend of my dad’s?”
Sam blinked. “Uh, no. Sorry, I’ve never met the man. But I’m a friend of your aunt’s.”
