When Adam steps out of a crimson Audi, I try not to let all my gathered wits and confidence flee as I take in the man standing in front of me. His amber-colored skin and rich, exotic green eyes that brighten when he smiles are much more striking than I remember; his quaff of jet-black hair is borderline ridiculous, and I’m surprised by a sudden itch to run my fingers through it. I’d forgotten how attractive he really was.
“Welcome, Mr. Naser,” I say, gripping his hand tightly in greeting. I can’t remember if I put on deodorant in my distraction getting ready this morning.
“Please, Ms. Miller, as I said before, call me Adam.” His voice is kind and his smile widens. I can’t help but flush under what feels like an appreciative gaze.
“It’s good to see you again,” I say. “You look fantastic. Not that you didn’t last time, I”—I shake my head—“I just meant—”
Adam chuckles softly, and I’m grateful for his smirk, which puts me at ease. “I think I get your meaning.”
“Okay, good.” I sigh with relief.
Adam’s smile grows and he dips his head. “And you, Ms. Miller. You look great.”
“It’s Sam,” I remind him, holding up a finger. “If we’re being informal about this.”
“Fair enough,” he says and glances around the ranch. “So, other than charmer, Sam, what’s your official title again?”
“I’m the Facility Manager, I guess you could call me. I do a little bit of everything.” I shove my hands into my back pockets to prevent them from flailing around as I talk.
“Of course.” Adam cocks his head to the side, eyeing me closely. I wonder what he’s thinking, but I tell myself I probably don’t want to know as I stare down at my attire. Dirt smudges my pale pink top and my boots are caked with mud as usual, despite my efforts to remain presentable. I clear my throat and gesture toward the stables. “Would you like to see Target?”
“Please,” he says, following my lead. He glances around, taking in the ranch like he’s never seen it before. “You’ve done quite a bit to the place since the last time I was here,” he says.
“Oh yeah, we’ve been busy to say the least. We always have new boarders coming in and there are always new codes to maintain. Things move fast around here, for sure.”
It’s quiet for a few quick steps, then he says, “I only have about thirty minutes before I have to head back to town. I have a meeting at eleven. But as I mentioned over the phone, I thought this would be a great opportunity to check on everything, since I rarely make it to town. And,” he says, “before I forget . . .” He hands me a check.
I fold it in half and shove it in my back pocket without even looking at it. “Perfect. Thank you.”
Our footsteps clomp against the cement, resounding throughout the stable as we make our way to Target’s stall. The horses know the sound of footsteps as a sign—they’re either being fed or going out to stretch their legs—and a rainbow of heads bounce up excitedly as we pass.
“Is it odd that I like the smell of horses?” he asks. “I’m not a horseman by any means, but there’s just something comforting about it that resonates with me. From a past life, perhaps.” His smile and easy manner makes me feel calm and safe, and my apprehension drains away.
I grin at both the randomness of his comment and my complete understanding. “Actually, I love the smell of horses, too,” I admit. “So no, I don’t think it’s strange.”
We exchange a sidelong glance and a quick smile.
Nick’s whistling drifts up behind us and Adam and I turn around.
“Mr. Nas—Adam,” I correct myself and offer him a wry grin. “This is Nick Turner. He’s our Director of Operations, or jack-of-all-trades, if you will.” I can’t believe how easily I make this up, but I keep going, even as Nick watches me, merriment brightening his face.
Nick finishes buckling his tool belt and outreaches his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“The place looks great,” Adam says.
Nick nods. “Thank you. We’re actually getting ready to repair the boards in Target’s stall here in a bit.”
Adam widens his stance, hands on his hips. “I heard what happened. I’m sorry about that. I offered to pay for the damages, but Sam here says—”
“I said he didn’t have to worry about it. It wasn’t his fault the horse got spooked.” I will Nick to keep his mouth shut.
Reilly walks by our trio, a stack of two-by-fours resting on his shoulder. His eyes shift from mine to Adam, where they linger as he passes.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you,” Nick says. He tilts his hat slightly to Adam and me, then follows Reilly through the stable, whistling another upbeat tune.
“Just this way,” I say, gesturing to Shasta’s stall. “This is where we’re keeping him for now.”
As if on cue, Target pokes his bay head out of the stall, nodding up and down, expecting treats. “I’ll grab some grains to give him,” I say and step over to one of the bins littered throughout the stable, close for easy access between the stalls.
“I have to admit,” Adam starts, “I was hesitant to let my little sister get a horse, let alone take the lead on getting all the preparations in order. She’s young and only just now learning what responsibility is. I figured juggling school and a horse would be a recipe for disaster. But she promised me she could, and she seems to be holding up her end of the bargain.”
I collect a handful of grain, re-cover the bin, and clomp back over to him. “Well, as I promised last time we spoke, I’ve been keeping an eye on her. She’s doing great. She comes out about once a week when she’s not drowning in midterms and finals.” Extending my cupped hand, I wait for Target to lower his head and lip up the grains. “I ride him the rest of the time. She asks me a lot of questions, takes my advice when I offer it . . . I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
Dusting off my hands, I glance over my shoulder at Adam. He’s grinning.
“Good, I’m happy to hear it,” he says and reaches out to pet Target’s muzzle. The horse jerks away.
“You might want to move a little slower around him,” I offer. “Target’s high-strung and jittery most of the time. I think it’s all that pent-up runner’s blood he’s still got in him.”
“Oh?” Adam raises a dark, thick eyebrow.
“Yeah. As you can guess, he spooks easily.” I hold up my hand. “Here, try this . . .”
Adam’s brow creases and he reaches for my hand. “What happened here?” he asks, but for a moment I don’t process what he’s saying, because all I can think about is the luxurious scent of him—so different than anything I’ve smelled in a while—and the way his warm fingers feel around my wrist. I stare down at the pink rope burn running the length of my hand.
“Is this from yesterday?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Yes, I mean. It’s nothing. Really. I completely forgot it was there, to be honest.”
When he lets my wrist go, it slowly falls back to my side, but our gazes linger. I’m not sure what I’m thinking, what he’s even thinking, but I can’t look away.
Greedily, Target bumps me with his nose, breaking the spell Adam has on me.
“Anyway,” I say, “try it like this.” Slowly, I inch the back of my hand toward Target’s nose so that he can smell me. It’s easy enough since he’s already used to me. After he inhales my scent and realizes I have no more treats, he lowers his head, bored. “You try it.” I step away and let Adam attempt to befriend the gelding.
Tentatively, he imitates my movements, causing Target’s attention to spark back to life. The gelding’s ears angle toward Adam, but after a few seconds Target gets bored again and his head hangs lethargically.
“Good job.”
Adam smirks. “I had a good teacher.” He winks at me. It would be a lie to say I’m unaffected, so I look away so that he can’t tell.
“I read online that this used to be a breeding and training facility. Do you not do that anymore?”
The flirty air between us dissipates, leaving behind a heaviness I want to shrug away. “Um, my dad was the horse trainer, not me. He was a breeder.”
“A pretty famous one, or so I’ve read,” he says. “And now?”
“He passed away a few years ago.”
Adam’s brow furrows for the second time, and his lips purse. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you, but we’re chugging along.” I shrug and brush the backs of my fingers against Target’s chin. His lids close and his lips hang loosely as I stroke his nose and the side of his mouth. I recall how close we were to selling this place before it just felt wrong. That’s when we decided to try something different.
“You have a way with horses, Ms. Miller.”
I appreciate the awe in his voice, but I feel a bit silly at his formality. “It’s Sam,” I reiterate with a small smile. “And it just comes with being around them all the time. Are you going to be in the area more often for business now? Are you planning to come out more frequently . . . maybe learn to ride?” I waggle my eyebrows.
“Only if you’re the one who will teach me,” he prompts playfully.
“I wouldn’t miss that show for the world.”
When the sound of our laughter dies down, Adam says, “I think I might.” There’s something about the way he looks at me that makes me feel attractive to him, even in my dusty wranglers and polo shirt. His eyes narrow on me minutely.
Hammering startles me. I jump and step to the next stall over to glare at the guys. I don’t see Nick, but Reilly’s at the fence, glowering at me. He removes a nail pursed between his lips and starts hammering again. Seriously? He bangs unnecessarily hard against the wood he’s bracing across the upright beams.
“. . . next time.”
I grimace. “I’m sorry, what were you saying? That noise is really obnoxious. They were supposed to wait until you had left.”
Adam and I turn and head back down to the other side of the stable, away from the banging. But just as Adam starts to answer, his cell phone rings. The shrill ring booms like a wake-up call. Back to reality, Sam. When it rings again, I wonder why he studies his phone instead of answering it. I can’t help but notice the way his expression tenses.
Like he can sense I’m watching him, Adam offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’ll be just a moment.” He quickly walks past me, toward his car. I can barely hear his mumbled conversation over the sound of drilling. Standing around like an idiot, waiting for Adam to get off his call, I begin to pace, my hands on my hips. Finally, the drilling noise stops, at least for now, and I hear Reilly and Nick muttering at the other end of the stable.
The patter of Adam’s loafers lightly echo, and he clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Sam, but I have to go.” His voice is less kind, more stern, and I wonder what his call was about.
“Oh,” I breathe, feeling a pang of disappointment. “Okay.”
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. It was a pleasure getting to know you a bit more. Maybe next time we can finish the tour, and who knows, maybe I’ll even ride.” He winks at me.
Though I smile, I’m sure it fades when he hesitates before he offers me his hand. I glance down at it, then slide mine into his. The soft sensation of his thumb grazes the back of my hand, and I still—my breathing hitches and my body temperature rises enough I’m worried he can tell. There’s no mistaking his touch for anything other than what it is—flirting.
My gaze shoots from our conjoined hands to the smile on his face. “Hopefully I’ll be seeing you soon,” he says, then he turns to leave.
Sixteen
Reilly
Just as I’m pulling on a clean t-shirt, Sam’s truck comes up the drive. I drop my pillow and duffel by the door, and I’m headed to the kitchen to grab my ice chest when I hear Sam and Nick’s banter and the slam of two car doors.
“. . . you wish, buddy,” Sam finishes, and I like that I don’t hear any creaking as they step up onto the porch.
“Nice!” Nick says as he comes into the house. “I like the new porch. Now she just needs a paint job.”
“Doesn’t everything?” I say, and when I look up, Sam’s paused in the doorway. Her mouth’s agape. Her light brown eyes are lined with black make-up as usual, but they’re wide, and her blonde wavy hair hangs over her shoulders as she peers around at the demolished living room, lacking furniture or even a decent floor.
“Wow,” she says, “this place looks . . .” She scans everything—the bare wood beams, the plywood, the water stains on the ceiling.
“Better than it did before,” I finish for her. Over the last fifteen days I’ve torn everything out of the house, save for the kitchen, the bathroom, and the exterior walls.
When her eyes meet mine, I think I notice a flick of sympathy—which I don’t understand—but she offers me a shy smile and shoves her hands into her back pockets.
“Have you decided if you’re changing anything up?” Nick asks, knowing I have zero plans yet for the inside.
“I think I’ll just leave it. Make it new, but leave the bare bones. I don’t want this to be a year-long project,” I say, and pull a bottle of water from the fridge.
“That’s right, you’re a man with a timeline,” Nick says.
“You started tearing the place apart without a plan?” Sam asks, incredulous. Her gaze still scours the space, and I wonder if she’s reconciling it with the images she remembers from before. Maybe she’s remembering the last time we were in this house together, right before I left for the Army. Unwanted memories of her crying in my arms on the porch, telling me how much she loves me, how much she’ll miss me fill my head. She’d said she was willing to wait for me, forever, if that’s what it took.
“I mean . . .” She tears her gaze away from the house and finally meets my eyes. “What now?”
I shrug. “It all needed to come out anyway.” I don’t mention that the demolition has proved extremely therapeutic since I’ve been home. I’ve needed mind-numbing exhaustion and busywork more than I’ve needed much of a remodeling plan.
Sam walks around the living room slowly, like she’s taking in every missing detail. “I guess I’m not surprised, all the commotion I’ve been hearing the past couple weeks.” A small smile curves her lips, and I like that I put it there and not that sleazy, Audi-driving banker she was batting her eyes at. Beating the hell out of that board needlessly wasn’t one of my most shining moments, but it made me feel better nonetheless.
“Just think,” Nick says. “Once everything is finished, it will be a whole new house, and probably just the way you want it. Maybe you’ll decide not to leave after all.”
I double-check my duffel bag for a toothbrush, paste, and soap. “Or maybe I’ll be so sick of it I won’t be able to leave fast enough.”
Sam tears her gaze from the hole in a broken living room window long enough to look at me, considering something before she looks away again.
“Or maybe that,” Nick says, but my focus settles back on Sam.
I step up beside her and nod to the window she can’t seem to peel her eyes away from. “He was probably drunk one night and fell into it or threw something at it,” I explain, because I know she’s wondering why it’s broken. I have nothing to hide from her. She knew my father, she knew the kind of man he was.
Nick grunts and picks up my ice chest to take it outside.
“We should probably—” I start, but a small smile on Sam’s face gives me pause. “What?” I ask.
Sam looks at me and blushes. She clears her throat. “I was just remembering the daybed that was here, like the one in my room. I liked it,” she says quickly and turns to leave. I don’t tell her that the cushions were eaten through by a rodent, no doubt, when I first arrived.
Sam walks over to the door and picks up my pillow. “Is this going, too?” she asks and points to my duffel.
I wonder if the color on her cheeks is the remnant of a scandalous memory, the time we made out on the daybed and she ran
giggling out the back door once we’d heard my dad’s El Camino pulling up the drive. I have the sudden urge to kiss her right here as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’ll get it,” I say and shrug my duffle over my shoulder. She heads out the front door and toward her truck.
“Do we need the Rumbler?” I ask, picking up the tent and sleeping bag I found in the attic as I step outside.
Sam’s shoulders tense as she tosses my pillow in the cab of her truck. “No, it’s fine. Everything’s already loaded in my truck,” she says.
Just when I’m about to ask where Mac is, incessant honking and blaring country music booms up my driveway.
“We’re taking the Jeep, too?”
“Ha!” Nick laughs and shakes his head. “Oh, Reilly . . . how funny you are. Mac takes the Jeep up because she has too much shit. She needs her own car.”
“Hey, fellas!” Mac calls. “Time to get this party started!” She climbs down from the Wrangler, shorts too short and her chest almost pouring out of her tank top. Other than looking more like a woman than the girl I met in high school, she hasn’t changed much. Despite the fact that we’re going camping, she’s still as beautiful and manicured as ever—not a chocolate-colored wisp of hair is out of place, and her shiny lips glisten in the sunlight as she smiles that mega-white smile that would make any man stumble, maybe even fall.
Sam tries to hold Mac at arm’s length, but Mac’s taller and smacks a kiss on Sam’s cheek without breaking a sweat. But it’s Sam’s soft, pink lips I can’t get out of my mind.
“Great, thanks,” Sam says, wiping the goop off her cheek. “I already need a shower,” she teases, and Mac flicks her, both of them looking at the Jeep, loaded to the gills with bags and boxes.
The sound of Sam’s giggle stirs something inside me, even if it’s been years since I’ve heard it directed at me. My gut clenches as I realize what’s happening to me.
“You still got it bad,” Nick says as he steps up beside me. He shakes his head. “You poor bastard.”
Whatever It Takes (A Saratoga Falls Love Story Book 1) Page 16
