The Bride Wore Red Boots (17 page)

She spoke to him for several more minutes and patiently answered what seemed to be variations on the same question. He guessed it was on the order of “Why can't you come back?” In the end, she made the patience Gabriel felt so smug about look like nothing.

At long last she spoke a final time to her friend, made her swear to call the instant anything changed, and hung up. She sagged in place like a boxer about to go down after the last blow she could absorb. He grabbed her and dragged her into an enormous bear hug.

“I've got you.” There wasn't anything else to say. He knew, even from hearing only half the conversation, that nothing was all right, and that promising everything would be in the future was a lie. He had no idea how to help her, but he vowed to try. “You stay right here as long as you need to.”

“A staph infection.” She murmured into his chest. “At the site of her last lumpectomy. It's just not responding. They're trying some of the last antibiotics possible, and they just don't know.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Rory is scared. And he begged me to come back. He thinks I can save her. Why are little kids so blunt? Why is life so simple to them? I can't do anything for her.”

“Could you do anything for Rory?”

She leaned back in his arms and stared at him, her eyes pools of liquid brown. “That's an amazing thing to say.”

“No.” He pulled her to his chest again. “It's just a question. Don't think I want you to leave right now. But if there's something you could do . . . ”

“I think I need to wait. Brooke is keeping him for the rest of the weekend. We'll know more by Monday.”

“Good.” He kissed the top of her head. “But remember that there's no wrong decision here. Follow your heart—don't try to use your head.”

She splayed her palms on his chest and pushed from his embrace. “Stop reading my mind,” she said. “I'm never like this, all fluttery and emotional—of course I'm trying to use my head. It's the only place I can make good choices.”

“That's because you don't trust your heart. You don't think it's as wise as your head. You're wrong. It has very good instincts.”

“Oh, how do you know that?” She turned in frustration and headed for the half-mile trek from the barn back to the house. “Besides. Hearts always make illogical decisions.”

“So?”

“How can a bad decision be good?”

“Since when does illogical equal bad? Do you think there's anything logical about the program I set up and am fighting to keep afloat? Logic says to scrap it, it's not working. What's remotely logical about a suggestion to get wild horses for two men who know nothing about any animal bigger than a guinea pig? Sometimes an illogical answer is the only thing in the world that fits.”

He could see the thoughts churning behind her eyes when she stopped and looked back at him. “Fine,” she said. “Illogic says to run back to Rory and pretend I can rescue him. Logic says that I'm better off waiting to spend money on a ticket until I know I can really help. Pick one.”

“I said
sometimes
anti-logic is the only way. In this case, logic wins. Don't go running off. You have time.”

She started walking again, but her pace eased, and her spine swayed more easily as she continued up the sweeping driveway.

“It's so foreign for me to act on this concept. But if you're introducing me to it, and I'm not running off to New York, then I have the next thing to do—go talk your men into the horses.”

“See?” He fell into step beside her. “Totally illogical. Well done.”

She allowed a ghost of a smile. “Just a distraction, Mr. Harrison. Distraction would be good.”

“Call it what you want. I'll be right behind.”

She touched his arm. “Thank you.”

He searched for her hand and twined her delicate fingers through his. She didn't pull away.

“S
O
YOU
'
RE
TALKING
honest-to-God wild horses? As in, don't they kick harder than cows?”

Jason Brewster clearly held back skeptical laughter, but three other pairs of eyes were locked onto Gabriel in serious consideration. The two veterans who had part-time jobs, and the two who had no current work, sat in Gabriel's living room on Monday night, and Mia studied them with interest. She finally had their names down and now worked on their personalities. Brewster, with his constant wagging tongue, was the group goofball. Damien Finney scowled the most and seemed the least impressed by anything, judging from the dark slash his brows made across his forehead. Dan Holt, a tall, wiry, graceful guy had a deceptively quiet voice and intense blue, interested gaze. Pat MacDougal was gregarious and enthusiastic, a short fireplug of an Irishman who'd been nodding his head almost from the moment they'd arrived.

“If Brewster doesn't want in on this, add me to the list,” Pat said. “It sounds like fun.”

“Hell, I'd give it a try,” Dan agreed.

Mia had brought and shown two videos, one an excerpt from a public television special about wild mustangs, and the other a compilation of home recordings chronicling the years she, Harper, and Joely had entered their Makeovers. Aside from the hoots and jibes over her youth, the men had seemed fascinated.

“This isn't a lark,” she said, as they snickered at Brewster. “We're talking wild animals that've had nothing more than some gentling done with them. They are halter broken, can be led around, and can load into a trailer. They aren't big dogs. This project would take dedication, consistency, and the willingness to let dumb girls, a kid, and one old Norwegian guy tell you what to do. Your success and even your safety would depend on you giving up your egos.”

“Are the dumb girls as pretty as you?” Brewster smiled.

“Shut up, you chauvinist pig,” Pat said. “She was kidding. They're all smarter than you are.”

“I'd probably have better luck with my own kind—pigs,” Brewster said, rubbing his injured leg.

Mia couldn't help but like Jason Brewster. She didn't know why. He and Finney had the roughest mouths and fell back regularly on the most sophomoric humor. But she knew their stories—Brewster had lost his entire squad to an IED and suffered a severe head wound himself. His official diagnosis was traumatic brain injury. Finney had been part of a mission to clear out a neighborhood in Fallujah. He had discovered later one of the houses had been harboring three families of innocent civilians who hadn't heeded warnings to leave. Mia didn't have any trouble understanding why he suffered from anger.

“I can take out any crap you want to dish out,” she said, meeting Brewster's gaze directly without flinching. “But the horses can't. You'll learn a whole new set of very odd skills if you want to try this. I can't tell you whether you'll ever use them again in your lives—but you won't forget the lessons.”

“So this is really to teach us assholes all a lesson then.” Finney sat back in the armchair in Gabriel's living room and snapped the nicotine gum he chewed like Juicy Fruit.

“Damn right it is.” Gabriel hadn't minced a single word with the group from the beginning. Mia approved of how he didn't sugarcoat anything. She was learning to do the same. “You know half of you are in deep shit over all the practical jokes lately. This is a last ditch effort to find you something that will get you out of my hair and out of hot water with the brass.”

Rather than piss the men off, the honesty sent a ripple of laughter through the room.

“Fair enough,” Dan said. “Even though I'm innocent as the driven snow.”

“Driven snow my ass cheeks,” Finney snorted. “You're gonna look like a damn giraffe on one of them little horses. We'll see how frickin' happy you stay when one of them gets your number.”

Dan turned to Mia with a slightly panicked light in his eyes. “Hey, Doc,
am
I too tall for this project?”

She shook her head, warmed by the first indication that the men were truly considering the crazy plan, and by the first honest concern one had shown. “No. They aren't big horses it's true, but you'd be surprised at how well they take up a man's height and weight. You'd all be fine.”

“Even MacDougal the hobbit here?” Brewster grinned and ruffled Pat's red hair.

“Hey, laugh it up, Bicep Brain. At least I've ridden horses.”

“You've ridden fillies you mean. I'm sure you're an expert.”

“All right, guys.” Gabriel reined in the drifting conversation. “Time to get serious. I know this sounds like a game, but it isn't. You know what the deal is, and that this isn't going to be free either in terms of money or in time. We want you to think about it seriously and decide in a few days what you think.”

“Hell, I don't have to think,” Pat said. “I'd like to try it.”

“I would, too,” Dan said. “Pat and I have part-time jobs, we don't need to be the ones who work for your family.”

“Let Brewster and Finney get their hands dirty.” Pat raised a brow in Brewster's direction. “I dare you both.”

Finn gave him the finger.

“That would work,” Mia said. “But you two don't have to decide tonight. It is a big commitment.”

“What the hell?” Brewster said. “If I can start with a gimpy leg, count me in.”

“You can,” Mia said.

Everyone turned to Finney. He glowered at the carpet, but one finger tapped rhythmically on the arm of the sofa, and his knee bounced up and down like he was prepping to jump to his feet.

“No pressure, man,” Gabriel told him. “Despite what I said, you have to do this for you. It's not for me.”

“I'll do it,” he said.

Mia turned to Gabe in time to see his eyes light with a pleased smile. She allowed one that didn't show too much surprise. She hadn't expected this much enthusiasm from a group of grown men. In truth, she'd been bracing for the disappointment of scrapping the whole idea by the end of the night.

“Well, then,” Gabriel said. “The next step is applying for mustang adoption and then finding some horses.”

“Two options.” Mia scanned the room. “My sister, her fiancé, and I will go pick out the mustangs and bring them home. Or . . . ” She took a breath and nodded to Gabriel.

“Or you can take a field trip to the Bureau of Land Management holding facility in Rock Springs and check out the horses yourselves. Money on the spot. No returns.”

“Oh, hell, yeah, a field trip,” Brewster said without hesitation.

Dan nodded vigorously. “Damn straight. I want to see these so-called wild horses for myself.”

“That's right. Make sure you don't cheat us with some broken-down old trained horses we think we'd be training.” Finney crossed his arms, and his knee stopped jiggling.

Mia fixed him with a stare. “You've figured it out, Damien. One broken-down nag for you it is.”

He smiled for the first time.

A
N HOUR LATER
, with four filled-out mustang adoption papers in hand, Mia rested her head against the back of Gabriel's Jeep seat and closed her eyes.

“Tired?” he asked.

“I don't know why. That wasn't as hard or even as crazy as I thought it would be. Which isn't to say they aren't all crazy.”

“But you can see they're good guys.”

She nodded, affection spreading through her tiredness. His passion for these men's well-being was not just obvious, it was catching. “I can. And you're right. They are every kind of damaged and every level of severity.”

“Are you still okay with this plan? We sort of sealed our fate because they're invested now. Two of them are for sure. I have no idea how serious Brewster and Finney are.”

“I am sure about the plan, but I'm afraid this is going to come down to how seriously they take the animals and how willing they are to learn. I don't want to see anyone get hurt.”

“Yeah.”

They rode quietly and without any giveaway extra movement, Gabriel searched for her hand in the dark and wove their fingers together. Her stomach gave a little lurch, and when he squeezed, an electric zip shot up her arm. The goose bumps that followed seemed extreme for an action so simple, but she squeezed back, liking her silly reaction, wanting more of it, marveling at the way their meshed hands made him seem like he was part of her.

“I think having the papers in hand makes it seem all too real,” she said. “I'll get these to the holding facility tomorrow. With luck they'll process them and accept the applications this week. Maybe by next weekend, we can go check out the horses.”

“And you think everything is okay in New York?”

“For the moment. Monique is not in great condition, but she's stable.”

“Rory is hanging in there, you said.”

“I'll call him tomorrow. Poor kid. I wish he had some other family. But that was part of the problem. They were always alone, and Monique was so grateful for company.”

He squeezed her hand again, replicating the zip, the electricity, the goose bumps. “You do know what I'm hearing here, right? You get just as invested in people as you say I do.”

“Bah.”

“No ‘bah.' You're a softie.”

“I want him to be happy, that's all.”

“You can tell him that when you talk to him.”

“Yeah. I can.” She smiled up at him even though it was dim in the car's interior. “You're good at knowing what to say.”

“Sometimes it's good just to remind ourselves of the obvious.”

The rest of the trip to Paradise passed in easy silence. She couldn't help but search the spot where they'd seen the mustangs, but the full moon no longer illuminated the landscape, and she hadn't seen any sign of the horses since that night. He didn't say anything, but Gabriel slowed down as he negotiated the curve around the turn-out. His empathy and his higher than average interest in all things mustang only did more to make him wondrous in her eyes.

“Do you want to come in for a while?” she asked when he'd stopped in the main driveway by the ranch house.

“Yes,” he replied. “But you know what? I think I should go back and make sure the guys aren't whipping this plan into something crazy. They'll have questions. Or not. Either way, I want to impress on them again what a big deal this is.”

A mixture of disappointment and relief followed his excuse. She was beginning to love having him around, but the one-eighty in her feelings for him confused the heck out of her. “I think that's smart.”

“You know I meant it when I said yes. I'd rather stay with you.”

“It's all right. It's been a successful night. You really are good with the guys, you know. They respect the heck out of you.”

“It's mutual.”

She reached for the Jeep's door handle, and he grasped her upper arm to pull her gently around.

“I need to say something.”

“Yes?”

A pitter of dread thrummed in her stomach, which was stupid since nothing had happened to give her reason for worry. On the other hand, in her world this was a long time for one man to hang around, and there was that inexplicable one-eighty.

“Our start was a little rocky. I'm glad you gave me another chance, Amelia Crockett.”

“I—” She stared at him, her muscles uncoiling from the tension she'd built in the thirty seconds she'd feared he was about to break off a relationship that had barely begun.

“It's okay if you call me Mia,” she said for lack of anything more apropos. “Like my family and other friends do.”

“I like Mia,” he said. “But Amelia is beautiful.”

She'd never thought of her name as beautiful. She'd been named for Amelia Earhart, after all. A woman of strength, but also of controversy. A woman who'd gotten lost forever at the moment of what should have been her greatest triumph.

Some role model.

But he thought her name was beautiful.

“I didn't intend to give you another chance, you know.” She smiled as her emotions drifted slowly back to her control. “I'll bet you didn't intend to give me one either. But you made it hard not to—give you a chance. I . . . was wrong about you.”

“I was never wrong about you. You fascinated me from day one. I just never knew about this . . . ”

His lips met hers in the dark, soft but firm, chaste and yet trembling with a simmering desire to take the kiss further. Still, he set a languid pace, and Mia forced herself not to change it. She tasted his mint-and-coffee breath. He tested the sensitivity of her lower lip with his teeth and her upper lip with his tongue. She closed her eyes, and all that remained was sensation. Sweet, wet, hot, succulent, their mouths explored and the pace, barely noticed but inexorable, accelerated.

She wanted nothing but to get closer. The bucket seats and the console made it all but impossible. As if he read her mind, however, Gabriel broke the kiss and shoved his seat back as far as it would go, turning to wedge himself sideways between it and the wheel. Mia turned and scrabbled to her knees on her seat, shucking her jacket and then pulling his head toward her and pressing again into the kiss, raking his thick hair with her fingertips. Tilting her head, she covered his mouth with hers.

His hand slipped around her waist and pushed beneath the back of her sweater. Hot sparks led the way up her spine as he traced the skin beside the vertebrae to the back band of her bra. With barely a fumble he squeezed the clasp and it fell loose. She would have laughed and questioned how he'd achieved such prowess if deep shivers hadn't taken her breath away.

“Second chances, second base.” He murmured against her lips, and she did laugh, until his fingers skimmed around her ribcage and pushed the bra out of their way. He found her breast and her laughter turned to a small, sweet groan. Fire spread from the nipple that he rolled gently between his fingers to the spot between her legs that liquefied with desire.