by Leigh Riker
“Good friends,” she agreed, his touch warm through the fabric of her blouse, as if he were touching her skin. She focused instead on a rush of memory: Olivia and Grey, Logan and Sawyer getting themselves into trouble, riding horses and playing hide-and-seek in the barns here and at Wilson Cattle, roaming the range and pretending they were in a spaghetti Western, cowboys all day long. Until that day in the meadow when something between her and Sawyer had changed.
He asked, “Do you think we could be...friends again?”
Her heartbeat fluttered. “That sounds like a dare, more dangerous than our race across that field.”
“Life’s a danger,” he said, then muttered a few words to himself that Olivia couldn’t make out. He turned her around, and before she could think to stop him, drew her into his arms.
“Sawyer.”
His gaze was intent and he didn’t take the warning. Sawyer broke the stare. Then he lowered his head, angling it just so to touch his lips, soft as a whisper, to the corner of her mouth. And for a second, she wanted to lean closer, to turn her head and find him, turn the tentative movement into more with the slight, warm pressure of her mouth on his.
Then Olivia came to her senses. She pulled free, wrenched open the screen door, then hurried inside, her heart hammering in her chest, her throat tight and guilty tears welling in her eyes.
Olivia knew exactly what that something else, long ago, had been with Sawyer, and it had nothing to do with simple friendship. She tried not to hear his parting words.
“Sometimes you have to take a chance.”
* * *
HE MIGHT HAVE been talking to himself.
Sawyer slung another bale of hay onto the growing pile in the loft. Hard exercise, he’d hoped, might cool his anger at himself.
Why had he said that to Olivia? Tried to kiss her? Let her know how he felt, both long ago and now? For one instant, he’d thought she might welcome that kiss, might even kiss him back. Instead, he’d be lucky if he ever saw her again, and for sure she wouldn’t bring Nick to the Circle H, not before Logan and Blossom got home from their honeymoon and Sawyer wasn’t needed any longer. She wouldn’t want to come anywhere near him. There’d be no more heartfelt talks on the porch, no more clumsy attempts on his part...
Friends, he thought. He wanted way more than that. Always had, but even now that didn’t make sense to him. Obviously, she didn’t want to get involved—based on how she’d turned him down on the porch. Sawyer didn’t fully understand why. And even if she did want him, how would they make it work? He was still adrift when Olivia had solid ambitions. She had her antiques shop and hoped to buy another, move to a different town, buy a bigger house for her and Nick. The simple homes in Kedar—if he went back—would shock her, the few that were still there, anyway. Ironically, one of them was his.
But because she was a kind person, maybe because at one time they had been friends—something Sawyer had hoped to change before his rash challenge in the meadow had put an end to that dream—she’d come too close to his softest spot, the tender area of guilt inside him that gave him nightmares and followed him around all day like some stubborn shadow. As if Khalil were still at his shoulder, begging him to play basketball or fly kites.
With more force than he needed, Sawyer threw yet another bale on the stack. Dust motes drifted through the air, catching the light from the loft opening and turning straw to gold.
If only it were a precious metal...he’d sell it, use the money to help people in Kedar, build them new and better houses, repair and add to the clinic, rebuild the ruined infirmary next door. Some partner, he thought, meaning himself. He’d left Charlie to pick up the pieces. And how could any amount of money ever repay Khalil’s family for the loss of their son and brother?
With Olivia, he’d made yet another dumb mistake. A decision that couldn’t lead anywhere for either of them. And then there was his absolute cowardice with Nick, not insisting the doctors at Farrier General take another look at his head injury that night, leaving Olivia to deal with her son’s trauma while he escaped to try to save himself. She’d been right. Nick might be fine now, but Sawyer’s silence could have had much graver consequences. Surely she hadn’t forgotten that.
“What the devil’s going on up there, Sawyer?” Sam’s voice echoed through the barn from below. “That hay was delivered weeks ago. Willy and Tobias stacked it then.”
Breathing hard, Sawyer paused to look down. Sam was standing in the aisle, craning his neck to peer up at the loft. “I’m rearranging,” Sawyer said.
“That what you call it?” Sam snorted. “You want to help today, ride out to the south pasture. The boys have their hands full with the herd. All the new calves this season, we’re stretched pretty thin. Could use another cowboy.”
“Willy and Tobias don’t seem to think I’m one of them.” Sawyer leaned on the pitchfork. This was the most he and Sam had said to each other in a while. Their silent dinners were taking a toll on him, if not as big a toll as his blunder with Olivia. “Bison don’t like to be herded.”
Even he could see that. Except for forcing his help on Sam’s men now and then and leading Nick around the ring yesterday, he’d mostly explored Sam’s property alone. On his solitary rides around the ranch, he’d decided the majestic bison were also ornery, stubborn, dangerous and lived up to their reputation. Only Sam seemed bonded with the animals, and even then one bison cow had tossed him into the nearest tree last spring, breaking Sam’s leg. Apparently Sam didn’t hold grudges, except with Sawyer.
Sam squinted up through the shower of dust motes. “What do you know about my bison?” You haven’t been home in almost a decade.
“I know you name them. I know Tobias and Willy think you’re nuts. Sam, I don’t want to debate with you. I was planning to lunge Cyclone.” After I cool off.
Sam scowled. “Before the vet deals with him?”
Sawyer had forgotten to mention that. Tired of leaning over the edge of the loft to speak to Sam, he scrambled down the ladder. “He called the other day to postpone. He’s been up to his neck lately, at summer fairs and over in Edwards County. Big horse show there this week and he’s the vet on site. He had to reschedule Cyclone as a non-emergency. In the meantime, that colt’s getting more agitated by the day. Turning him out doesn’t seem to help his disposition. Standing in a stall all night only makes him meaner. Thought I’d try to take some of the fight out of him.”
Sam’s mouth set. “He’s not mean.”
Sawyer didn’t think so either, but... “Tell him that.”
“And you’re the man to straighten him out? Last I heard you were off some place in the mountains—” Sam said the word with disdain “—not here on the Plains training horses.” Sawyer could imagine him adding, as you should have been all these years. Sam scoffed. “Well, you want to get your head kicked in, who am I to stop you?” He turned away, then right back again. “But I already warned you. Don’t think you’re gonna start this, then leave with the job halfway done.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
Sawyer’s temper rose again. “And I’m well aware of your opinion about me. I’m sorry I let you down, left the Circle H to make my own way in the world—”
“How did that turn out?”
He flinched. “Not so good,” he admitted, surprised Sam would dig that deep into his ruined soul. “But you have Logan to help run this ranch.”
“You’re starting to think about going back there. Aren’t you?”
“I don’t know yet. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Sam tilted his head to study Sawyer, as he might have done with a colt at auction. “Let me tell you one thing about yourself, Sawyer. When you started something years ago, you’d finish it.” He stomped toward the tack room. “Whatever’s eating at you, you’l
l need to take care of that, too. Which will leave me right where I was before.” Beside Sundance’s stall, he stopped. Over his shoulder, he said, “Don’t let me down with that colt.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
OLIVIA TOOK A deep breath. If what she thought about Sawyer was true, she didn’t want to step on his heart. He had enough on his mind without feeling guilty for that just-missed-the-mark kiss. And he had been good to her son.
So the next morning, after she’d dealt with her email at the store, then sold a gorgeous eighteenth-century walnut armoire that would cover her overhead for the whole week—with a profit—she drove out to the Circle H again. Without Nick. He wouldn’t be happy that she’d left him behind with Deirdre, but she had to do this. She didn’t like loose ends.
And she didn’t want a boyish audience.
The ranch yard looked deserted. A horse whinnied a greeting from the nearby corral where Nick had ridden the day before, but she didn’t see anyone. None of Sam’s cowhands nor Sawyer seemed to be around.
Half-grateful for more time to rehearse what she’d say, Olivia walked into the barn, stopping to greet Sundance, Ginger and a few others in their stalls. Sam and his crew must be out on the range.
The end stall belonged to Cyclone. The black colt stood at the window that overlooked the corral. When he heard Olivia, he turned his head, his dark eyes taking her in before he shambled over to the bars for a better look. Olivia almost gasped, delighted as Nick had been with Hero.
After Jasmine’s death, she’d given up competing, even riding for pleasure, and she hadn’t been on a horse in years. Despite the few warnings she’d heard, Cyclone had calm eyes, a liquid brown without the whites showing. A good sign, she thought.
“Hey there, boy. You lonely?” she almost whispered, not wanting to spook him. Olivia moved closer. She was an experienced rider and could tell a good horse from a bad one. Taking her time, she reached out a hand. The colt whickered, as if in greeting—
“Are you trying to get killed?” Sawyer had emerged from the tack room at the other end of the aisle.
Olivia eased back, then turned to face him. “I grew up at Wilson Cattle. I’m sure I’d know if this colt means me any harm.” She added, “He doesn’t.”
“Then you and Sam agree. I still think he shows promise.”
Still, he’d said as if he’d recently changed his mind. “Give me some credit, then. I’m not a greenhorn, Sawyer.”
With slightly rumpled hair, he wore a denim shirt that made his blue eyes more blue, worn jeans and shabby brown boots. Then Olivia saw his arm. His sleeves were rolled up, and a long, angry abrasion ran from his elbow to his strong wrist. He had the arms of a working cowboy still.
“What happened?”
Sawyer rubbed the back of his neck. He studied the ground. “I had a...difference of opinion with Sam yesterday.” He glanced toward the black colt. “I took Cyclone out to the corral, lunged him for a while, trying to get his kinks out. And mine. Then, when I was bringing him back in for dinner, he whirled around, nailed me against the side of his stall and scraped the hell out of my arm.”
Olivia couldn’t help herself. “Did you see a doctor?”
Sawyer almost smiled. “Yeah, and he’s a fool. I treated myself. I knew better than to take my eyes off this colt for even a second. Just when I thought we were becoming...friends,” he said with a sly look at her, “he decided to take a stripe off my hide.” He touched the small scar by his right eye. “Kinda reminded me of you.”
Given her opportunity, Olivia plunged in. “Sawyer, I overreacted that night at my house, and I know I’ve given you a hard time,” she said. “I did admit I was wrong about Jasmine. About Nick, too. I can understand how you might feel about him, considering your experience in...Kedar.” She hesitated. “Maybe I was wrong about you in a different way all those years ago.” She cleared her throat. “I was certainly, um, falling for you then, but I never thought the reason you dared me to race was because you wanted more—”
“Never mind, Olivia. That doesn’t matter now.” Avoiding her gaze, he examined his arm. “It’s a bit better today.”
Obviously, he didn’t want to talk about their past. “I think it looks dreadful. Did you clean it properly?”
He did smile. “Lucky me, Sam keeps a pretty good medicine cabinet at the house, more than most people would stock. I discovered the tack room has more than that. We’re pretty well equipped.”
He didn’t seem to notice he’d said we, as if he had plans to stick around.
“Rumors in town tell me you’ve done a good job subbing for Doc. And over in Farrier, they say Fred Miller is singing your praises.” She frowned. “Not that he doesn’t belong in jail after what he did to Grey.”
Sawyer shrugged. “Maybe he and I should form a club. Two idiots who didn’t watch a bull and a colt close enough.”
But she could see a flicker of pride in his eyes and a hint of color in his face. She wouldn’t embarrass him any further. She’d seen for herself, in the way he’d examined Nick without her son even knowing, that Sawyer had a good bedside manner.
“In spite of Kedar, I suspect you’re a much better doctor than you give yourself credit for.” Olivia thrust out a hand. “Friends,” she said. “After almost ten years, we should leave it at that. I’m afraid I misunderstood your...intentions back then.”
Clearly, Sawyer had wanted to take their blossoming romance to the next level. Olivia would have welcomed that, too, until Jasmine fell...
They shook hands, but Sawyer looked dubious and didn’t respond right away. He cradled his arm, staring down at the reddish scrape. It must’ve hurt, but when he met her eyes again, he wore a wry smile.
“Just friends,” he agreed, his blue eyes bright, then turned to the colt’s stall and stood appraising the horse as if he were indeed examining a patient. Or debating with himself. “Since you’re such an expert horsewoman and I’m just a rusty cowboy, let’s take this guy out to the corral. See what you think of him.” His eyes were alight with the old hint of challenge. “It’s like getting back on after a fall. Nick didn’t think twice before he rode Hero. The longer I wait to give Cyclone another lesson, the more inclined I’ll be to give up—which wouldn’t please Sam.”
Olivia watched him go into the stall, clip a lead rope onto Cyclone’s halter, then bring him into the aisle. Keeping a close eye on him, he led the colt out into the sunlight, around the corner and into the arena. She wondered if he’d been talking as much about a return to Kedar as he had been about Cyclone.
She kept her distance outside the fence as Sawyer put Cyclone through his paces, flicking a light whip over his flank whenever he tried to drift back from an easy lope into a walk. Sawyer kept him going on the lunge line, and Olivia had to catch her breath.
She studied the horse. Perfect conformation, she thought, with those long legs and already a good amount of muscle, that deep chest...oh, she was in love.
“He has a gorgeous gait,” she called out. “A flow, really. Sawyer, he’s like an Arabian with that floating trot. He’ll be a dream to ride.”
“He’s a long way from that.”
“But don’t you think he will be?”
Sawyer let the lunge line out a bit, urging the horse on. “He needs a lot more work.” He added, “Yes. Sam said he’d bought a good one and he has.” He dared a glance at Olivia. “You like him.”
“I do,” she said.
He paused. “Want to help me train this guy?”
Riding wasn’t all she’d done in her youth. Olivia had brought Jasmine along from birth until she’d become a beautifully mannered mare with perfect moves, working with her every day she could get to Wilson Cattle, letting Grey school Jasmine when she wasn’t there. Olivia didn’t have to consider it.
“I’d love to help.” She was still leaning agai
nst the fence, arms crossed, grinning, heart in her throat. “He has the wrong name, though. Bad for his self-esteem. Don’t you think? Would Sam mind if we changed it?”
“I’ll ask him.”
For a few more minutes, Olivia basked in the warm sunlight, her eyes following Sawyer and the colt around the outdoor arena. The muscles in Sawyer’s arms and shoulders, the long length of his legs, worked in synch with the colt’s, and she couldn’t help thinking what a beautiful sight they made.
Just look at...them. Maybe she’d been too hasty in stepping back from Sawyer’s kiss. No, she couldn’t afford to think that way. In any case, the colt was enough to bring her back to the Circle H, even when she knew she should maintain a certain distance from Sawyer. Just friends, he’d agreed.
Reeling in the lunge line, he slowed the colt to a loose walk. By now, Cyclone’s coat had a sheen of perspiration as Sawyer began to lead him toward the gate. He nodded at the colt, then at Olivia. “What would you call him?”
Cyclone’s black hide gleamed in the sun, so black at times that he almost looked—“Blue,” she said. “I’d call him Blue.”
* * *
IN HER OFFICE that afternoon, Olivia was trying to reconcile her accounts when she heard the bell above the main door jingle. Part of her was still back at the Circle H, watching that gorgeous blue-black horse move around the corral. Watching Sawyer.
“Anybody home?” Grey’s boot heels rang on the wooden floor of the shop.
Olivia went to greet him with a hug after weaving her way through the crates containing a new shipment of antiques from Virginia. One of them was an eighteenth-century game table that had absolutely made her drool when she first saw it. The entire shop was filled with treasures, like Ted Anderson’s, with nowhere to put them all. “What brings you to town?”
“The usual. Feed, supplies...well, not just the usual.” He stepped back to look into her eyes. For a moment, his hands lingered on her shoulders. “I have news.”
