The Black Sheep and the Hidden Beauty

by Donna Kauffman

  “Call it the same gut instinct that led me to you in the first place.” He reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then very lightly ran his fingertip along her cheekbone and down along her chin.

  The brief contact made her shiver, but in a good way. He talked about commanding attention. He had no idea.

  “Any doubts I had about you being trouble, or being in trouble, were resolved earlier.”

  She stiffened then. “Because I let you—”

  “No,” he said immediately. “I wasn’t talking about that, though you have to admit the strength of the attraction between us isn’t something to be easily dismissed. I’m certain that interlude we shared was no more normal for you than it was for me.”

  “No…no, that wasn’t my typical morning routine.”

  The corners of his mouth curved. “And that, your ability to find even a shred of humor at a time when I know you’re not feeling remotely jovial, is another draw. I get you, Elena.”

  Three easy little words, but they packed a pretty good punch. I get you. It was what she’d been trying to put into place since he’d walked into the barn that day. She’d tried to pass it off as a physical thing, a chemistry thing…but it was much more than that. Or she’d have never let him put his hands on her. He got her. “Do you think I get you?” she asked, before she could think better of it.

  “I think nothing gets by you, not even me. Especially not me. You pull no punches, and take no bullshit. You intimidate the hell out of me, the way you look at me, and see…me. So, yeah. You get me. And that was before I ever got on the damn horse.”

  She fought the urge to smile then. How did he do that? Her carefully constructed life was literally falling to pieces…and he was making her smile. Like she had nothing better to do than stand here and flirt. Only this wasn’t about flirting. This was fast-forward relationship building. Something she doubted either of them would have engaged in if the situation had been any different.

  “So, what was it that decided you, then? On my being in trouble, rather than being trouble?”

  “When she said the name Geronimo, you looked terrified.”

  “How did that tell you anything?”

  “Because what you didn’t look, was guilty.”

  She swallowed hard…and wondered if he saw the guilt on her face now. He made it seem too easy—just take his help, tell him everything, and hope for the best. She wished she could do that. More than she’d ever wished for anything in a very long time. “The man on the phone was an insurance investigator. He wanted to know if I had any additional information on the events surrounding Geronimo’s death. Seems you, or whoever you had do it, calling and asking them questions about me has made them suspicious.”

  “So just tell them you don’t know anything else.”

  She shook her head. “These guys have been trying their damnedest not to pay Mr. Vondervan a dime on his insurance policy and have apparently managed to string this out this long. And you throw them a nice bone to gnaw at a little while longer. Prolong the Vondervans’ grief, prolong the paperwork. And toss me right back into the arena I purposely left behind.” She tugged her elbows free this time, fervently hoping he took the diversionary tactic at face value, even while silently apologizing to him. He did want to help her. She believed him. But she simply couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t risk that. No matter how badly she wanted to. Maybe because she so badly wanted to.

  She turned away, but he stepped around her and took her straight into his arms, pulling her flush up against him.

  “Let me go,” she demanded.

  “I will. As soon as you let me say my piece.”

  “Fine.” She tried not to look him directly in the eye, to focus on some point just to the side of his face, but he wouldn’t allow that. Maybe he did get her, because while he was clearly not happy with her at the moment, he was also not walking away.

  “I wasn’t trying to bring trouble your way, far from it. But if there is no new information, then case closed, right? At least where you’re concerned. So why are you so upset? Why the white face?”

  “My horse is a few months away from delivering. I don’t need them following me here, hassling me, just as a means of prolonging their case. I just told you—”

  “I know what you told me.” And just like that, he gentled his voice, gentled his touch, but the gaze was somehow even more intense for the sudden shift. “It’s what you’re not telling me. I’m trained for the subtle signals, too, you know. You’re spooked.” He lifted a hand to her face, and despite every instinct she had screaming at her to move away, she let him touch her again without so much as a tiny struggle.

  It was no brief, tingling caress this time. He cupped her cheek, and kept his hand there, his touch warm and steadying. As well as stimulating and electrifying. It was more than she could handle. “I’ve told you everything there is to say.” Her voice was wobbling, but he’d have had that effect on her even if she wasn’t hanging by a thread.

  Instead he leaned in and kissed her, gently but thoroughly, lifting his head again before she could decide what to do about it.

  “You don’t listen very well,” she said, her voice reedy, her body shaking.

  “I listen very well. I hear everything you’re saying. And everything you’re not. I don’t know how else to make you believe I’m in your corner. If you’re somehow involved in any of that mess back there, and your only solution is to run, I can offer you a better solution.”

  “Big talk,” she murmured, desperately wanting to have the strength to resist this, to resist him.

  “I can back it up.”

  And that was just it. Looking at him, so steady, so strong-willed, so profoundly sure of himself. So very sure of her. The very depth of need she’d developed for him, so swiftly, was more terrifying than the predicament she was already involved in. That alone was reason enough to step back. “I appreciate the offer, I do,” she said quietly. “But there’s nothing to tell.” She slowly extricated herself from his arms. This time he let her go. And, perversely, her heart fell. “If you want me to resign my tenure here, I will. But I want you to know this—whatever happened to Geronimo had nothing to do with me.” Which, at least, was the truth. “I’m sure I’ll be able to make them understand that. I was just worried about Springer. I—I need to go tend to her for a little bit here before heading back, and this is already more drama than she needs to be around.”

  He didn’t look remotely convinced. So it surprised her when he stepped back and tipped his imaginary Stetson again. “I’ll get out of your way, then. I should be getting Petunia back as well.”

  She nodded, but said nothing more. She’d already said far too much.

  She watched him turn and stroll down the aisle toward the paddock. Just before passing through the barn doors, he turned. “Think about what I said, mijita. About everything I said. The offer to help stands, free and outside of anything between us. You have a resource now. A big one.” He turned, then looked back one last time. “And if you’re really worried about the welfare of your horse, then you might ask yourself if your current plan is what’s best for her. Or what’s best for you.”

  Chapter 13

  Rafe looked up at the starless night sky and folded his arms more tightly against his chest. Damn chilly, even for spring. He leaned back against the trailer and kept his gaze trained on the barn. Lights had been on all evening, but it had been a few hours since Elena had gone inside. There had been no sign of her since.

  Since she’d driven her truck and trailer around to the far side of the employee barn and parked it in loading position, anyway.

  He’d known from the moment she’d left the field office this morning that her story was full of holes and that she was full of shit. She was also not as smart as he’d given her credit for if she’d really believed he’d just back off after their little talk earlier. He’d been up close and personal, and he happened to know what true terror looked like. She’d been pasty-white
and, despite her surprising mettle during their confrontation, had looked like a light breeze might take her right out.

  Not involved, my ass.

  Problem was, now he was involved. And not just for Kate. He’d been honest with her on that score. Though if he found out something to change his opinion of who was likely to be the victim here, and who wasn’t, he’d do whatever he had to, to see justice done. Through proper channels…or his own.

  But those eyes of hers had gotten to him. They had told him in a way she couldn’t that there was far more to this story, a story he probably wasn’t going to like. His gut told him she was in over her head and didn’t know how to get herself out. He didn’t know what her options were, but he doubted running was the best one of the lot. More than likely, it was the only one she thought she had. She wouldn’t be the first to think so.

  Just then the lights winked out inside the barn. A moment later the big plank doors started to creak open. His eyes had long since adjusted to the dark, so it was easy to spot her walking through the barn doors. Even easier to spot the horse she was leading out behind her.

  He stayed in the shadows beside the trailer as she loaded Springer on board. He waited until the mare was safely in, and the trailer door securely shut. Only when she moved around the back of the trailer and headed toward the driver’s side door did he finally straighten and move into her path. “Going somewhere?”

  She let out a little scream and jumped back a full foot. He could see the whites of her widened eyes in what little moonglow there was, slivering down from between the clouds. “Christ, you scared the—never mind. What are you doing out here?”

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  “My horse, my trailer, my truck. Not breaking any rules or laws, last I checked, and I haven’t had a curfew since I was sixteen. Now, if you don’t mind.” She tried to move around him, but he shifted to block her path.

  “I didn’t say anything about breaking rules. I asked you if you were going somewhere.”

  “The answer seems pretty obvious.”

  “Running is not the answer.”

  “Says the man who doesn’t even know what the question is.”

  “Only because you won’t tell me.” He reached out but she quick-stepped back out of his reach. “Elena—”

  “I’m not cutting and running, okay? I’m just moving Springer.”

  “Because?”

  “None of your damn business. I’ll be back in time to handle my work responsibilities. Now, unless you have some other reason to keep me here.”

  “Why the Midnight Express? Don’t you think someone will figure out she’s not out here any longer?”

  “I don’t know that it really matters one way or the other. To anyone but you, apparently.” She gave him her best steely-eyed glare, something he realized a racehorse-trainer likely perfected as a matter of survival.

  Well, she was about to find out that he was a horse of an entirely different color. “How were you planning to explain Springer’s sudden defection to Kate?”

  “When Kate asks me, I’ll be more than happy to explain the situation.” She tried once again to move around him. Once again, he blocked her path. She sighed and grumbled something under her breath. “It’s late, my horse isn’t thrilled with me at the moment, and I really need to be on the road.”

  He didn’t budge.

  “If I told you it was a matter of life and death, would that make you move?”

  “A matter of life and death. Whose?”

  “Springer’s. What the hell did you think? I think she’s having early contractions.”

  “She’s due soon though, right? Why not call your vet to come out here?”

  “Because I’m not independently wealthy, is why. Kenny can keep her at his place for observation easier than I can keep a trained medical professional here.”

  He wasn’t sure if he believed her or not, but Springer chose that moment to give her trailer a little kick, and he realized it was a chance he couldn’t take. He moved and let her by, but was already halfway around the front of the truck before she could get in and get her belt on.

  “What do you think you’re doing now?” he heard her call out.

  He opened the passenger door and hopped in. “Riding shotgun. Would it be better for you to ride in the back with her? Tell me where to go and I’ll drive.”

  She looked at him with open skepticism. Not that he could entirely blame her. At least she had some decent survival instincts.

  “I’m bullheaded and I can be a right pain in the ass when I need to be, but I’m not an ogre. If your horse is in trouble, I’ll do whatever I can to help out.”

  She held his gaze a moment longer, then slammed her door shut and turned the engine on. “I can’t ride in the back. Not if I want to keep my bones intact.” She glanced over at him. “I suppose short of bodily dragging you out, I’m stuck with you.”

  He smiled. “You do get me.”

  “Lucky me.”

  He pulled the seat belt across his chest and snapped it in place. “You have no idea.”

  “Suit yourself.” She ignored him completely after that, focusing instead on maneuvering them across the rutted gravel path to the main service road. It led to all the Dalton Downs outbuildings and barns, as well as up to the main house, and, along another route, out to the main road.

  Her jaw remained tense, her shoulders hunched, even after they left the farm behind. Whatever the real story was, she wasn’t faking the worry or the fear. It was etched across every inch of her face. Question was, exactly what was she worried about? Protecting a horse that had miscarried once before? Or something much bigger than that?

  Before he could ask where they were headed—not that she’d tell him, but it couldn’t hurt to try—she pulled out a cell phone and flipped it open. She pressed a button, then held it to her ear. “Kenny, it’s Elena. Yes, yes, I am.” She paused. “I know. I’m so very grateful. We’ll be there in a couple hours. I owe you.” She flipped the phone shut and dropped it in her lap, then went right back to keeping her full attention on the road.

  A couple of hours? He thought about prodding her, but she hadn’t thrown the fit he’d expected her to when he’d invited himself along. Which made him tend to believe she was telling the truth, at least inasmuch as she was just tucking Springer away somewhere, not taking off herself. She hadn’t thrown so much as a gear bag in the truck with her, so that supported her story as well.

  Of course, there were other reasons she could be stashing her horse away from Dalton Downs. It was awfully convenient that she had to suddenly move her horse the very same night she’d gotten that upsetting phone call. Even more convenient that the whole episode was happening in the middle of the night. Fewer questions that way. And the ones she did get would be a lot easier to handle after the fact.

  Although she certainly didn’t seem to be having too hard a time handling him.

  “Is Springer close enough to term that delivering early has a decent chance of success?” He knew little about regular childbirth other than sex ed basics. He knew even less about foaling.

  “Her track record isn’t so good.”

  Which, he noted, didn’t answer the question. “How long do horses gestate, anyway?”

  “Almost a year.”

  “Almost as in, like us humans, or almost as in—”

  “You ask a lot of questions.”

  He didn’t apologize. “I was always told that was the best way to learn things.”

  “Eleven months.”

  “And viable at what? Ten?”

  “Springer lost hers at forty weeks. She had to deliver a dead foal. Almost killed her. So, hard to say. I’m not a vet.”

  “But I’m sure you’ve witnessed your share, or been around it.”

  “Around it? Yes. Actually witnessing it? Rarely. Horses are amazingly sneaky when it comes to giving birth. You can watch them round the clock, step out to use the bathroom or take a phone call, come back
and they’re down and working it out.” She smiled a little. “Middle of the night seems to be a favorite foaling time.”

  “Well, I’m not female, but I think I could understand the innate desire for privacy.”

  “When your baby isn’t worth a few million dollars, you get to be as private as you want.”

  He smiled at that. “So, only champion racehorse owners watch their property carefully?”

  He noticed her shoulders had relaxed a little, the lines grooving the corners of her mouth and fanning out from the corners of her eyes had smoothed a little.

  “No, all horse owners pretty much hover, but more often than not, without a crew of people and expensive web cam setups, you miss the blessed event—or a good part of it, anyway.”

  “How are you going to monitor yours if you’re a couple hours away?”

  The grooves and hunched shoulders returned. He wished it didn’t have to be that way. “It’s more important that she be safe than that I’m there.”

  “You must really trust Kenny.”

  “As much as I trust anyone.”

  “Which means?”

  She cut him a look. “Which means I trust myself to handle things when I can, but I’m not a doctor. Kenny is. What were you implying?”

  He lifted his hands. “Nothing. So…it’s good you have friends that will help.”

  “You say that like you’re surprised I have friends.”

  “No, I was surprised you asked for help. I’m glad you have someone to turn to that you will turn to. You—I guess it seemed as if you’d intentionally cut yourself off from your former world, so that part surprised me, too. My mistake. But don’t read something negative into everything I say.”

  “You barge your way into my life and into my personal problems and then try and lecture me about what I should do. Not to mention the fact that I’m worried sick about my horse. I can’t imagine why I’m not being more warm and generous.”

  He was silent for a moment, mostly because she had a point. When the silence stretched to the point of being strained, he spoke. “You have a lot going on. You’re in the middle of a change in personal direction. I understand why you wouldn’t want to open yourself up to anything new.” He shifted in his seat, looked at her. “But here we are, anyway. I don’t expect anything. If you take my help, I still won’t expect anything.”