The heavy cords of his forearm tensed and relaxed as he stretched across the engine, pulling or pushing this part or that. He added a few pieces to the line of tractor remains spread across the floor and placed a few parts back into the belly of the beast.
Each time he handled a part, he wiped it with a cloth, studied it, then traced its surface with his fingertips as if it were a touchstone. The act looked almost...sensuous. Watching, her mouth dried out and her body tingled as if she had the beginnings of a sunburn.
Curiosity finally got the better of her. “Why do you touch each piece like that?”
He looked up as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Sometimes there are flaws, little worn spots or chips that the eyes can’t see. You have to feel for them to find them.”
She wondered what his hands would find if he touched her like that. Would he feel her flaws? “Did you find any?”
“A few. Some of the parts will have to be replaced.”
“But it will run again when you get it all put together?”
“I think so.” He paused. “Until the next time someone puts metal filings in the crank case.”
“Filings?” Mariah’s heart bounced off the floor of her stomach. “Someone wrecked my tractor on purpose?”
“Sabotage.” Eric wiped his hands slowly on a rag and then stepped around the tractor to stand by her knee. “You said you’d had a bad couple of years—a hay fire, some mildewed grain, equipment problems.”
Mariah shook her head. “Surely you don’t think all those things are related.”
“Those things, and more.” He turned his dark eyes on her, and she felt their pull. Like a black hole in space, those eyes looked like they could devour entire galaxies. “I think that whatever is going on around here started with you, not Mike. And I think it’s been going on a long time.”
Chapter 6
The next morning, Eric roosted in a shady spot on the porch, puzzling the question of his brother’s disappearance but not finding any answers. Time was running out, and he knew it. If Mike was alive, he should have turned up by now. Still, Enc wasn’t ready to accept the alternative. There had to be some other explanation. He just didn’t know what it was.
But maybe Mariah did, if only she could remember.
Settling deeper into the shadows, he watched her work. He admired the way she lifted and toted bales of hay nearly as large as she was, and handled horses ten times larger. This was no pampered woman.
She forged her own way. She had a backbone of steel when someone riled her, and she possessed an uncommon sense of purpose in her life, pouring her heart into this land and her horses, even if it was a fool’s mission.
So what was it about her that fascinated him? Was it that she was hurting almost as much as he was? She put up a brave front, but he could see how unsettled her memory loss left her.
Or was it because she called to him on a much deeper level? A level even he didn’t fully understand, but he felt just the same?
A ruckus down in the barn pulled him out of his reverie. Restless as much as curious, Eric strolled down to check out the problem.
Mariah stood in the middle of the aisle holding Jet on a lead rope. The stallion squealed and pawed and pranced around her in a circle. He looked ready to eat her alive.
“Mariah, be careful,” he said, stepping through the barn door.
Mariah diverted her attention away from the horse for a second, laughing. “It’s all right. Jet is just talking to his girlfriends.”
Jet stuck his nose over to a stall and blew hard out his nostrils. One of the “girlfriends” joined the squealing and kicked the wall hard enough to rattle Eric’s teeth.
Mariah turned her attention back to Jet, who was stomping and pounding his front hoof on the cement floor. The mare in front of him squealed her displeasure.
“Guess you’re a ‘no,’ huh, girl?” Mariah said, then turned back to Eric. “As long as you’re here, grab that clipboard by the door and put an N next to Joanie’s name.”
She moved on to the next stall, with Jet growing more excited as the seconds passed. Eric cautiously moved farther into the barn and picked up the clipboard she’d indicated. Having no idea what he was doing or why, he carefully marked an N next to Joanie.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Teasing.”
“Teasing who?”
She glanced at him, then watched the mare in the stall as Jet snorted and rubbed his side against the bars. “I think Jewel is a ‘yes,’ isn’t she, Jet?” Jet tossed his head in agreement and squealed, pounding his hoof against the stall front.
“Teasing the mares, city boy. Put a Y next to Jewel.”
Eric followed orders, then lowered the clipboard just as Jet pranced sideways. He felt his eyes expand like balloons on a helium pump. “I don’t know about the mares, but I’d say you’re doing a pretty fair job of teasing old Jet, there.”
He’d never seen an aroused stallion before, but no man would ever mistake that condition. No doubt about it, Jet was hot to trot.
A faint flush appeared on Mariah’s cheeks as her gaze followed his. “This is his job,” she said, moving on to the last stall.
“What a way to earn a living.”
The mare in front of Jet gnashed her teeth on the bars of the stall wall.
“‘No’ on Penny,” Mariah said, pointing at the clipboard in his hands.
“No what?” Eric asked, skeptical even though he recorded the N next to the proper name.
“‘No’ she’s not ready to be bred.”
“How do you know?”
“Let me put Jet back in his stall and then I’ll explain the facts of life to you.”
Eric was horrified. “You’re going to put him back in his stall like that? Alone?”
“The vet isn’t here,” Mariah answered matter-of-factly. “We’ll do it this afternoon.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Eric said, still wincing at Jet’s predicament, “but why do you need the vet to breed horses?”
“We breed all of our mares through artificial insemination. The process is delicate. A veterinarian usually performs the procedure.”
“That doesn’t sound like much fun for the animals.”
“It’s about procreation, not recreation.”
He grinned at her, hanging the clipboard on its peg by the door as they walked out of the barn. “I’ve always found procreation to be very recreational.”
“Oh? And exactly how many children do you have to show for your effort?”
“None,” he said defensively. He was always careful.
“Then either you need to see a doctor, or what you were doing wasn’t procreating. It was just sex.”
“Just sex?” He thought maybe he should be insulted by that.
“Jet’s success will be measured by his conception rate, not his technique. I intend to make sure that it’s outstanding.”
“His conception rate, or his technique?”
“Give it a rest, Randall.”
He’d like to, but this conversation had him feeling decidedly restless. She had his mind exploring all kinds of possibilities he should be avoiding, like exactly how much she knew about “technique,” and how recreational “just sex” might be with her.
Outside, Jet let loose one last lonesome whinny.
Poor guy. Eric knew just how he felt.
Mariah was just returning from running errands in town when she saw Gigi’s truck parked in front of the barn, along with another, less friendly vehicle. Mariah’s feet hit the ground before Bessie had rolled to a stop. Gigi stood outside the barn door waving her arms and shouting, but Mariah couldn’t make out the words. Old Man Granger stood in front of her, his hands fisted on his hips.
Tall and classically handsome with a patrician nose, Scandinavian blue eyes and neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair, Will looked like he should be bouncing a grandbaby on his knee or leading a meeting of the town fathers, not looming over a woman half his size an
d half his age. Yet intimidation seemed to be his strong suit. When he looked at Mariah, she always got the feeling he was blaming her for something.
“Old buzzard...know what you were doing...” Gigi’s words were clearer as Mariah got nearer. “Don’t you think I won’t call the law on you.”
“And tell them what? That I stopped by for a visit with my neighbor?”
Gigi turned as Mariah walked up behind her. “Thank goodness you’re here, girl. I caught this old buzzard in Jet’s stall.”
Mariah looked anxiously toward the barn. “Mr. Granger?”
Ranch etiquette dictated that no one—no one—walked into a barn, much less into an animal’s stall, without the owner around. Even the greenest rancher knew that, and with forty years in the horse business, Will Granger could hardly be called green.
“I just came over to tell you I was ready to bring two of my mares over to breed to your horse. Thought I’d take another look at him while I was here.”
“I don’t recall you signing any breeding contracts with me, Will.”
“Didn’t think neighbors needed to sign papers. There was a time when a handshake was enough.”
“What about your own stud, Mr. Granger,” Gigi interrupted, “finally give up on him as a sire?”
Granger’s color heightened another degree. “My stud is siring just fine. I need to outcross my lines some, is all, get some fresh blood in the herd. Figure missy here’s horse is as good as any.”
Gigi’s fisted hands lifted off her hips. “Missy!”
“Fine,” Mariah said firmly, shaking her head slightly at Gigi. “Bring your mares, we’ll get them bred.”
Internally, Mariah cringed at the thought. Will’s horses were the nastiest in the state. She hated to have them on her property, much less let Jet anywhere near them. But maybe it would put her relationship with her neighbor on friendlier terms if they did some business together. Besides, she needed the stud fees.
As Granger turned to leave, Gigi sucked in a surprised breath, reached for Granger’s open jacket pocket and pulled out an uncapped hypodermic bigger around than a roll of quarters. It looked ready to use, but the syringe was empty. Gigi’s eyes shot blue daggers. “Why don’t I just hold on to this for you.”
Granger made a grab for the syringe, but Gigi held it aside. “What do you want with that?”
“What were you planning on doing with this, Will?”
“Nothing. I was vaccinating mares the other day.”
“I don’t know of any vaccinations that come in 50 cc syringes, Mr. Granger.”
“It’s just an old needle,” he grumbled.
“Then you should thank me for taking it. Didn’t anyone ever tell you medical waste should be disposed of properly?”
Mariah’s stomach rolled. What had he done? Pull the plunger on an empty hypodermic and inject the air into a horse’s vein and you have an air embolism. Death, sudden and sure.
“Don’t worry,” Gigi said to Mariah. “I got here before he had a chance to do anything.”
Mariah felt the blood empty from her head. “You can leave your mares at home, Will. I don’t want your business.”
“That goes for me, too,” Gigi added. “The next time that stud of yours gets colic from eating your moldy hay, call yourself another vet.”
“What are you accusing me of?”
Granger stepped toward Mariah and Gigi, his face red with rage. Suddenly Mariah felt Eric behind her, strong and solid. She was accustomed to fighting her own battles. She wasn’t used to having someone at her back, but she found his presence imminently reassuring.
“I’d say she’s accusing you of being stupid as well as contemptible,” Eric said. “And if you take one more step toward her, you’re going to prove she’s right.”
“Who in blazes are you?”
Mariah glanced over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of the dangerous look on Eric’s face. His jaw could have been set in marble and his eyes looked hard as flint.
“Let’s just say I’m the one you’re going to have to deal with if you cause any trouble around here. Now git.” Eric waved Old Man Granger away like a stray dog.
The red tones in Will’s face deepened. “You’ll be sorry for this. You wait and see.” He spat in the dirt next to Mariah’s boot.
“Whew,” Gigi commented as Granger’s Bronco spun gravel pulling out of the drive. “Thanks for the rescue. I’m Gigi McCowan.” She extended five blunt-cut nails out to Eric, who accepted her hand and shook it.
“Eric Randall.”
Gigi grinned. “We’ve met. Though I doubt you’d remember it.”
Eric’s eyes narrowed, the flinty look returning briefly. “When?”
“Sorry I’m late.” Mariah hooked Gigi’s elbow and tugged her friend toward the barn before Eric could finish his questions. “Let’s go check on your patients.”
He would figure out where he and Gigi had met, sooner or later. Probably sooner, the way his eyes were wandering over the gold lettering on the side of Gigi’s truck.
“Hold on a minute.” Gigi’s crystal-blue eyes gleamed with mischief. “I want to check my two-legged patient first.” She stepped up to Eric, peering at his temple. “Those stitches aren’t giving you any trouble, are they?”
Mariah cringed.
Eric’s head swung back and forth as he looked from woman to woman. Then his gaze locked on Mariah, and she knew he’d figured it out. “You said you called a doctor to stitch me up.”
“I said I called the best in town, and she is.”
“She’s a veterinarian!” He stared hard at Mariah a moment, then the facade cracked. One corner of his mouth curled upward before he let loose an all-out laugh. “I guess I should be honored,” he said, clapping Gigi on the back. “If Mariah trusts you to work on her horses, you must be the best.”
Mariah started. She hadn’t seen him smile before. Not like that, unrestrained. It was a sight to behold.
A sight she wouldn’t mind beholding a lot more often.
Later that night, Eric put the last clean plate in the strainer by the sink and made himself a cup of coffee.
Dinner had been almost... amicable. Mariah had made a delicious-smelling vegetable lasagna for herself while Eric broiled the twelve-ounce T-bone she’d picked up for him in town. She rambled on about her garden as they ate, about how the soil around here was good for growing all kinds of crops, and how the warm climate, thanks to their proximity to the deserts of Arizona and Nevada, gave them a long growing season. Occasionally she’d stopped midsentence and stared, watching with a fascinated, and just a little bit horrified, look on her face as he’d enthusiastically devoured his steak. Rare.
Afterward, Eric had felt obligated to clean up. With the kitchen once again spotless, he wandered toward the front of the house, a cup of coffee in his hand. As he walked down the hall, the tick of the grandfather clock reminded him how quiet life was in the country. In L.A., even Big Ben would hardly have been heard over the traffic noise and the shuffle of people from here to there outside. That was why he’d leased a town house on the twenty-sixth floor. It was quiet up there. But not as quiet as it was on Mariah’s mountain.
In the living room, he saw that the front door was open. A humid breeze, scented with pine and eau de horse wafted through the open passage. Eric frowned. He didn’t like the thought of Mariah wandering around alone in the dark.
He found her leaning over the top rail of a fence, one boot propped on the lower board. A gray horse nibbled hay out of one of her hands while Mariah absently stroked the animal’s forehead with the other. She looked stoic, but he knew she was troubled.
He stopped behind her and sipped his coffee. “You okay?”
She startled as if she hadn’t heard him walk up, and he felt a twinge of guilt. He hadn’t meant to surprise her that time.
“Yeah. Just checking on the horses.” She turned toward the mare nipping up the last straws of hay from her upturned palm. “This is Molly, my best broodmar
e. She’s the only one left from my parents’ days on the ranch.”
Tentatively, Eric reached a hand out to the gray, his fingertips skimming a velvet muzzle before she pulled back, her ears flattened.
Mariah laughed. “Don’t take it personally. She’s always cranky just before she’s due.” The moonlight caught the pride in Mariah’s eyes. The reflection glowed like sterling silver. “Molly is carrying Jet’s first foal. She should foal in about a week.”
“That must mean a lot to you.”
“It means a lot to this place,” she said, her voice fierce with passion.
It had been a long time since Eric had felt that kind of passion about anything. Driven, maybe, in his career at Purgatory, but not passionate.
“How did your parents die?” Suddenly he was curious to know something about her. Everything about her.
“It was... an accident. On the mountain.”
“You said you were fifteen. How did you hang on to the ranch?”
“It was placed under the care of a trustee.”
“The court appointed someone to run the place for you?”
She looked up at him from beneath of forest of thick lashes and nodded. “Will Granger. Since he was a neighbor and a horse rancher as well as a member of the city council, the court gave him control of the ranch until I turned eighteen. But he didn’t really run the ranch.
“He just sold the stock and boarded up the place. The bank paid the taxes, but by the time I came home, there was almost no money left. Molly was the only mare I was able to track down and buy back, but having her here made it feel like home again.”
“It must have been tough starting over on your own.”
“The first few years were... difficult.”
He’d bet his stock options that difficult was an understatement. When he was a kid, his grandparents had owned a farm. They’d toiled the land and tended stock with hunched shoulders and arthritic hands long past the point when they should have retired to an easier life.
Eric still remembered the calluses on his grandmother’s hand—such a fragile thing, and yet her hands had been so worn. A seventy-year-old-woman shouldn’t have calloused hands, he’d told her. She should be living in comfort somewhere. But she’d loved her garden, she’d said. And her goats and chickens.
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