Finally Home (9 page)

“I don't know why he gave me this.” She tightened her grip on the bill.

There was a long moment of silence, then, “I didn't think you slept with the old codger, if that's what you mean,” he said, lips twitching.

She didn't laugh. On the other hand, she didn't cry, either, so all was well. “I didn't mean anything by that darkroom comment.”

“I assumed as much.”

She took a deep breath. “Just because I'm a single mother doesn't mean I'm easy.”

“Okay.”

“I'm not trying to steal you from your girlfriend or anything. She seems really great. Not that you don't. You do, too. But I wouldn't ever . . .”

He was staring at her as if she was one bushel short of a full load. She cleared her throat. “I, ahhhh . . .” She nodded at her own insanity. “I might still be a little hopped up on estrogen or something.”

“You think?”

She stared at him, nodded once, and took a shot at being normal. “Take the next left.”

CHAPTER 8

T
he sun was as bright as an egg yolk in the endless azure sky. Casie lifted her face to its welcome rays as she rode along. Beneath her, old Maddy, the pinto mare Colt kept at the ranch for guests to ride, lifted her knees in a mincing prance. The unexpected afternoon warmth made everyone a little giddy. Or maybe it was the dark stallion she led from Maddy's back that put the bounce in the old girl's step.

Hormones. Just when you thought they had taken a long sabbatical, they'd pop up again. It wasn't as if Casie herself had time for such things, not when she had a ranch to run, but thoughts of Colt Dickenson kept creeping under her skin, disturbing her calm, amping up her adrenaline.

“He
is
handsome,” Sophie said.

“What?” Casie swung her attention to the left. Jack smiled up at her as he slunk along beside the mare, tongue lolling with joy.

Sophie rode with almost unconscious ease. She raised her brows. “I was talking about Chesapeake,” she said, shifting her gaze from the stallion that pranced beside Casie's mount. “Who were
you
thinking about?”

“Oh . . .” How old would she have to be before she quit blushing? “That's who I was thinking of, too.”

For a moment Sophie just stared, brows a little raised. Beneath her, the red dun seemed staid and dependable. But maybe that was just part of the girl's magic.
Casie
had had her share of problems with Tangles. “Sure,” she said.

“It was,” Casie lied, but never well.

“Listen, Case, I know Colt can seem a little . . .” Sophie paused, gazing off toward the Lazy in the distance. “Well, he's maybe too hot for his own good, but I think you need to give him a chance.”

“I
am
giving the colt a chance,” she said. “I'm exercising him, aren't I?” she asked, and raised the stallion's lead line as proof.

Sophie scowled, then heaved a sigh. “Oh, for Pete's sake, Case. I'm talking about—”

“Let's lope.”

“What?”

“Ponying him isn't going to do him much good if we don't wear him out a little.”

“Casie . . .”

“I need you to make sure he doesn't fall behind,” she said and jerked her chin toward Chesapeake. He was wearing a bright green halter with a chain tucked under his jaw for control, but that didn't mean he couldn't drag her off her horse if he so desired. “Okay?”

Sophie nodded reluctantly.

“All right.” Casie glanced toward the house. It was less than a full mile to the west. “Let's keep it slow.”

“Don't tell me. Tell the wild child there,” Sophie said, gazing accusingly at the bay.

He tossed his head twice and curled his upper lip as if smelling something fascinating.

“Maddy's not in heat, is she?” Sophie asked and ran her gaze over the mare, checking for any signs of estrus.

“She shouldn't be,” Casie said. “She's about a hundred years old and it's the dead of winter.”

“Yeah, well, we seem to have a lamb frolicking around the Christmas tree . . . just in case we forgot that hormones sometimes fail to shut down just exactly like they're supposed to.”

“Life'll make a fool of you,” Casie said and drew an invigorating breath. “You ready?”

“If you are.”

Casie gave a single nod and squeezed her legs. Maddy lifted seamlessly into a lope. The three-year-old, however, simply lengthened his trot, trying to keep up without breaking stride.

“Can you give him a little encouragement?” Casie asked, glancing over her shoulder and raising her voice.

Sophie dropped behind the bay, pushing him a little. He raised his head and sped along, extending his trot.

“Hup,” Sophie urged, and riding alongside, slapped his haunches with the loose ends of her reins.

Young and full of himself, Chesapeake bucked once and leaped into a flowing lope. He was poetry in motion. Casie grinned as she watched him move fluidly beside them, but Maddy shook her head, demanding attention as she powered into a gallop. After that it was a wild ride home. Snow sprayed up from their pounding hooves. Condensed air steamed from their nostrils like flame from a fiery dragon. Wild exhilaration stormed through Casie. A hundred nagging worries flew away beneath their mounts' flying feet. A dozen tensions eased from across her back.

The final hill lay ahead. Something like freedom filled Casie's soul. She breathed it in and turned toward her companion.

“I'll race you!” she yelled.

“Are you kidding?” Sophie asked, but her cheeks with flushed with the thrill of the ride.

“Scared?” Casie asked.

“You're on!” Sophie shouted, and letting Tangles have some rein, she leaned over the gelding's crest.

“Let's see what you've got,” Casie said, and the mare, game as a bobwhite, leaped into the race, challenging the stallion beside her. The earth sped like a locomotive beneath them. Air whistled past. Casie grinned into the wind.

And then it happened. A pickup truck appeared over the top of the hill.

Chesapeake, full to the brim with testosterone, reared, jerking Casie backward.

She tried to release his lead, but in the heat of the moment, she hadn't realized the rope had become wrapped around her hand. One second she was galloping full tilt up the hill and the next she was on the road, being dragged across the gravel as Chesapeake backed frantically away.

The pickup slammed to a halt and the stallion spun. Terror flared through Casie like a wildfire, but suddenly her glove was yanked from her hand. The bay, finally free, leaped madly away, leaving his handler belly down on the road.

“Casie!” Sophie was beside her in a second. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” she said, and clambering to her feet, turned to check on her mount. “Is Maddy . . .” she began, but even before she realized the old mare was quietly nosing along the side of the road, she saw Colt sprinting toward her.

He slowed as he drew nearer, but she could see his face was red and his hands fisted at his sides.

“Hey,” she said, though she really wasn't sure what she was planning as a follow-up to that clever gambit.

“Are you trying to kill me?” His voice was very low. A muscle jumped in his stubbled jaw.

She cleared her throat and glanced toward his vehicle a few dozen feet away. A young man was just stepping out of the cab. “You picked up our guest, huh?” she asked, and as surreptitiously as possible, curled her fingers into her palm. Insulated gloves or not, Chesapeake's nylon lead had peeled off some skin.

Colt ignored her words completely and gritted his teeth. “Or are you just trying to drive me crazy?”

“It's my fault,” Sophie said.

They turned toward her in slow unison. Since when did Sophie Jaegar take the blame for anything?

She scowled, first at one, then at the other. “I was supposed to keep him up beside Maddy.”

Colt narrowed his eyes, then returned his dark gaze to Casie.

“Look what you've done,” he said, lips twitching just a little as he nodded toward the girl. “You broke Sophie.”

“You okay?” asked the young man who strode toward them.

“Sure.” Casie gave him a smile. He was tall and narrow, dressed in low jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. “I'm fine.” She thrust out her injured hand. “You must be Lincoln.”

He blinked at her, long lashes slow over metal-gray eyes. “Yeah. Hi. Are you . . .” He skimmed his gaze to Sophie, stared at her for a heartbeat, then shifted his attention back to Casie. “You own the Lazy Windmill?”

“Yup, that's me. Casie Carmichael,” she said, but he was already staring at Sophie again. It was a little disconcerting. Not that Casie thought she was model material or anything, especially not when she was swaddled like a winter infant. But Lincoln Alexander wasn't
too
much her junior, and besides, barely ten square inches of Sophie was visible between her scarf and her stocking cap. “This is Sophie Jaegar.”

He scowled at her, not quite the enthusiastic response Casie had anticipated after such careful inspection. “Hi,” he said.

Sophie barely nodded before turning to watch Chesapeake come charging back toward them. “Should we try to catch him or do you think he'll go straight home?”

“He'll follow the mare,” Colt said.

“I think we should probably—” Casie began, but he interrupted her.

“Lincoln had a long flight.”

“Oh. I—”

“Maybe you could show him the bunkhouse.”

Casie raised her brows, irritated.

“I should probably catch—” she began, but he spoke again.

“You must be cold.”

“What?”

“Take my truck. I'll look after the horses.”

“I can—”

“Please!” he said, but the single word was forced between clenched teeth.

She squelched her scowl and acquiesced with a certain lack of grace. “Okay,” she said and stepped toward his pickup. Her hip twinged, but she ignored it. “So you're from Detroit, Lincoln?”

“Yeah.” He glanced back as he turned with her. “Thereabouts.”

“So what brings you all the way out here?” Her hip complained again as she pulled herself into Colt's big four-wheel drive.

“Are you sure you're okay?” he asked and slid easily into the passenger seat. Apparently, it was no big deal when you were ten feet tall and hadn't been dragged down the road by a rank stud horse.

“Sure. Yes.” She eased sideways a little and watched as Colt caught the bay by his flapping lead. “I always dismount that way.” She smiled, but her guest didn't smile back. She cleared her throat. “Are you here on business or . . . ?”

His brows were low as he stared out the passenger window. Colt was just swinging into the saddle, movements cowboy smooth. “I just needed some time away.”

“Are you a student?” she asked and managed to put the truck in reverse despite her chafed palm.

“Yeah. Well . . . no, not anymore.”

She nodded, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, she backed past the Lazy's driveway, then put the truck in gear and turned slowly toward the house. In the past, she'd thought
she
was a poor conversationalist, but this young man had her beat. She glanced toward the top of the hill. Colt was just turning his head to speak to Sophie. The sun beamed down on him like a spotlight. The collar of his canvas jacket was pulled up and brushed the dark, curling tendrils of his hair. His hands were steady, his body perfectly positioned on the old pinto's back.

She felt a little sick to her stomach. The flu or infatuation? It was impossible to differentiate.

“Do you?” Lincoln asked.

“What?” She jerked her gaze to her half-forgotten guest.

His frown deepened a little. “You don't live here alone, do you?”

“Well, no. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. It just seems . . .” He glanced around the yard as she pulled up to the bunkhouse. “Like a lot of work for one person.”

“I have good help. So . . . where are your bags?” she asked, and turned in her seat a little.

“Who helps you?” he asked.

She shifted her attention back to him, nerves jangling a little as she remembered the recent spate of trouble in town.

“Colt Dickenson, for one,” she said and nodded toward the road. For a moment she was despicably grateful for his presence.

“The cowboy?”

“Yeah,” Casie said. “He's ranked thirteenth in the PRCAA.” Good grief! Why did she feel the need to mention that? She was beginning to sound like Emily.

“Anybody else?”

“A lot of neighboring men help out.”

He stared at her.

She fidgeted a little. “You never know when they're going to be hanging around.”

Lincoln was gazing into the long side mirror that projected out from the truck. Glancing into the rearview, Casie saw that Colt and Sophie were just turning into the driveway. Jack loped on ahead as Chesapeake jigged beside Maddy's placid form.

“Is he new here?”

She pulled her attention from the images framed in the mirror. “I beg your pardon?”

“He seemed worried about you.” His brows were pulled low over storm-cloud eyes.

“We've . . .” She blinked. “Been friends a long time.”

“Oh. Well . . .” He exhaled softly as if relieved. “I guess I'll lie down for a while.”

“You did bring luggage, didn't you?”

“Sure,” he said, and stepping outside, reached behind his seat to pull out a duffel bag. It was the approximate size of one of Em's honey loaves.

Casie raised her brows. “
How
long are you planning to stay?”

“Through Christmas.”

She glanced at his bag again.

He looked down, hiding his eyes. “I like to travel light.”

“Oh. Sure,” she said, and tried to sound as if guests arrived every day of the week with little more than the clothes on their backs. But she didn't quite sell it. Sonata Detric traveled with two suitcases the size of pack mules, a carry-on bag, and a Coach purse.

In a second, Casie was handing a key to Lincoln Alexander. “Your room is on the far end.”

He nodded, not seeming to care in the least.

“If there's anything you need you can just call the number that's printed by the phone.”

“Okay,” he said and turned away.

“Otherwise, dinner will be ready in a couple of hours.”