Lonestar Homecoming (12 page)

She snatched her hand out of the cactus and rolled onto her back. Bright sunlight nearly blinded her, and the pungent scent of the creosote bush beside her helped anchor her even more.Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she cradled her left hand with her right. Everything hurt.A trickle of blood ran down her right leg, and her left knee ached.

Rocks crunched to her right, and she squinted up to see Michael running toward her. Just what she needed. Another lecture on how stupid she was. She choked back the sobs lodging in her throat and swiped the wetness from her cheeks with the back of her right hand.

Michael knelt beside her. “Let me see.” His warm fingers closed over the wrist of her left hand. “You've got a ton of needles in here. I need to get you back to the house. Can you walk?”

“I think so.” She allowed him to help her up. Her breath hitched in her chest with the need to cry.

He slipped his arm around her waist and helped her hobble back. “Did the horse scare you?”

“No. I. . . I just couldn't go in the barn.The last time . . .”

“The last time you were in a barn?”

She drew a deep breath. He'd opened up to her. Could she do less? “The horse that threw me killed my mother. I couldn't take the smell of the hay.”

“I'm sorry.That's why you didn't want to talk about it before.You feel responsible?”

Her throat dammed a torrent of words. She couldn't swallow them down. Her gaze locked with Michael's, and she nodded miserably. “I knew Diablo was dangerous,” she whispered. “I don't know why I climbed on him. It was stupid.”

“You were a kid. Kids do stupid things.”

“When Mom saw him bucking me, she ran to help. H-he trampled her.” A boulder formed in her throat.

His hand tightened around her waist. “It wasn't your fault, Gracie. You were a scared kid.”

She was still scared. That word pretty much summed up how she'd felt about her life ever since. All these years, and all she'd managed to do was keep putting one foot in front of the other. And what did she have to show for it? A life stuck in poverty and dependence on other people. On Michael.

G
RACIE'S PALM STILL BURNED, THOUGH
M
ICHAEL HAD REMOVED THE
needles with duct tape. “Duct tape works for everything,” he'd joked. His light banter kept her from thinking about how she told him what she'd never revealed to anyone else.What was there about her new husband that got under her skin and made her open up?

His big hand circled her calf as he cleaned her abrasions. Caesar pressed his warm body against her other leg.The heat of Michael's fingers should have relaxed her, but she sat on the edge of her seat and wished Allie were here instead of in the barn. She didn't want to be alone with her new husband.

She looked down on the top of his head. His short brown hair was thick with a slight wave. She wondered how it would feel. Coarse or fine? Like she'd ever know.

“There, all disinfected,” he said, rising from the floor. “Does it still hurt?”

“I'll be fine.” She kept her left palm turned up.The reddened skin throbbed, and she wished she could slow her pulse. If he'd step away from her, it might return to normal on its own. He stepped back, and she hastily rose. “I think I'll go outside and see if the kids are coming.”

“I'll go with you.”

Great. Couldn't he let her be for a while? He filled her head with cotton. Out on the porch, she inhaled the desert breeze, a mixture of sunshine, dust, and desert vegetation. The scent looked as green as new grass.

A pickup pulling a trailer caught her eye. Dust spewed from the truck's tires and from the trailer it pulled. She shaded her eyes and stared.The man behind the wheel wasn't familiar.The truck rolled to a stop, and the burly man inside got out. Caesar growled and lunged toward him.

“Easy boy,”Michael said, grabbing the dog's collar. He exchanged a puzzled glance with Gracie.

The man strode to the trailer without speaking. A clang followed as he lowered the ramp and went inside. Moments later he reappeared, pulling the lead of a horse that looked like its next stop should be the pet food factory. The horse's hair was sorrel, though skin showed through in more places than she could count. Its head drooped and the bones of its back showed under the hide. The poor thing wobbled on its spindly legs.

Tugging on the lead, the man stalked toward the porch. He tied the lead to the porch rail. “Here's another horse for you. Bailey didn't want me to shoot it, so it's all yours.” He spun on his heel and got back in his truck.

Gracie coughed at the dust the truck stirred up. She exchanged a glance with Michael. “Is that what people do? Just drop off horses that are nearly dead?”

“So I hear.” Michael rubbed the blaze on the horse's face. “This poor boy hasn't had enough to eat for a long time.”

Gracie took a step nearer.This horse looked enough like Diablo to be his son. Same white blaze, same black socks. If she dared to stroke him, he'd most likely bite off her fingers.The horse raised his head, and his dark eyes met hers.The misery in his eyes made her gasp.

“You poor thing,” she whispered.This wasn't Diablo.This was an animal as mistreated as any she'd ever seen. She believed he knew as much about misery as she did. She wanted to take him home with her and help him.When she glanced at Michael, she found him glaring at the last trace of dust left by the truck.

“That guy should be prosecuted,” he muttered. “This was a nice horse once. Good lines. Sweet temperament.” He stroked the gelding's neck. “Easy, boy.”

Gracie wished she had the courage to draw closer to the creature. “He might make a good horse for the kids,” she said.

“And for you,” Michael said. A slight smile lifted his lips. “How long since you've touched a horse? Since the one threw you?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“He's yours,” Michael said.

She retreated a few feet. “I don't want a horse.”

“It will be good for you.”

“Rick might want him.”

“Rick will just want him in a good home.”

It took all her courage to hold his intent stare.Was he remembering the way he'd kissed her? She'd been able to think of little else. His gaze dropped to her lips, and she dropped her hand from the horse's neck.

“I. . . I'm afraid, Michael.”

“I'll help you get over it.Would you deny the kids a horse?”

He always managed to back her into a corner. “They'll have to care for him.”

“That's fine.”

“I. . . I'll be right back,” she said. “I'd better get my purse so we can load him up and get out of here.”

She fled to the house. She wasn't up to the task of picking her way through this minefield of emotion. Her purse was in the kitchen. She splashed cold water on her face, then grabbed a paper towel and patted it dry.The shock of cold cleared her head. She stared out the window at Michael, still patting the horse. How could she go from total frustration with him to feeling she'd die on the spot if she didn't step into his embrace? She knew about physical attraction—that's what had gotten her into trouble in the first place.What she felt now was more, something deeper that she didn't understand.

A beep sounded behind her, and she realized it was her cell phone indicating a message.Turning from the sink, she rooted through her purse and pulled out her cell phone. It was probably Cid again. She called up her voice mail.There were two messages.

At first she didn't recognize the voice, then it clicked. Sam Wheeler, Jason's dad. And Hope's grandpa. She hadn't heard from the family since Jason's death. How on earth did Sam get her number? She was so taken aback that she missed most of what he said, so she replayed the message.

“I know you're surprised to hear from me, Gracie, but I need to talk to you about Jason's estate. Please call me.” He gave the number, then hung up.

Jason's estate? As far as she knew, the only money he had was what he'd spent of hers. His parents lived in an exclusive subdivision of Scottsdale on ten-plus acres. Her finger hovered over the keypad. If Hope had an inheritance coming, Gracie should call and find out about it. She shook her head.That family had only brought her heartache.

She called up the other message. “Miss Lister, this is Special Agent Adams. I need to talk to you about the murder of two federal agents that occurred outside your home. Please call me back.” He rattled off the number and the message ended.

Gracie forced oxygen into her lungs. Should she call him back or keep trying to hide? She'd deal with it tomorrow, she decided.

“Everything okay?”

She turned to see Michael in the doorway. Her smile had to be forced, but it was the best she could offer. “I was just checking my messages.That phone call earlier? It was from Hope's grandfather.”

“It's unusual to hear from him?”

“He's never even acknowledged her existence. I didn't think he knew about her. I'm not sure why he's calling now.”

“What did the message say?”

She told him. “I don't want to get involved with that family again. Or let them influence Hope.”

“I'll check him out.”

Michael was one of those people who had to try to fix everything. She let herself hope he could fix her life too. Her right fingers twisted the ring on her left hand. Maybe he had already begun.

10

T
HE SCENTS OF SWEDISH MEATBALLS, SOME KIND OF MUSTARD-CRUSTED
potato casserole, and limpa bread filled the worn kitchen. Michael hadn't been able to find lingonberry jam in the small grocery store, so Gracie settled for strawberry. The delicious aroma made him more ashamed of his abominable waffles this morning.

The kids were outside watching every move of the horse they'd named King, though Michael had never seen a horse more unworthy of the title. He'd warned them not to go on the other side of the fence, and though he trusted them, he kept an eye on their three small bodies through the window on the door. Evan especially could scramble under the fence in a heartbeat, and he feared nothing.

“What can I do to help?” Michael asked Gracie.

“You could get out the green beans and snap them,” she said. “We'll be ready to eat in about half an hour.”

“My least favorite job,” he muttered.

A dimple flashed in her cheek. “You asked.”

He smiled back. “And I'll do it. But I don't have to like it.”With the microwavable bag in front of him, he sat at the kitchen table and began to snap the beans and put them in the bag. “Where'd you learn to cook like this?”

“My mom. She had all these great Swedish recipes. I used to think someday I'd open a café and serve all Swedish dishes. I found out that even in California, people like variety. But this is all I know how to cook. She never taught me how to make pot roast or fried chicken.”

“I make a mean fried-chicken dish,” he said. “I'll make it one night.You shouldn't have to do all the cooking.”

“I like to cook. Maybe I'll buy a cookbook and figure out how to make something besides Swedish food,” she said with her back to him.

What would she do if he stepped up behind her and pressed a kiss on the back of her neck? He rolled his eyes. Obviously, he'd been without a woman too long. It was crazy the direction his thoughts had taken ever since she put that ring on his finger. Somehow, he regarded her as
his
. No, strike that. It wasn't the ring. It was the kiss. He'd suddenly begun to see her as a woman.A very desirable woman.Testosterone— that's all it was. Any woman living here in his house would cause the same reaction.

Who was he kidding? Not even Kate had been able to draw his thoughts away from work for long. Now it would be a struggle to work on research after dinner, when he'd much rather sit and examine Gracie's thoughts.

“You okay with the name the kids gave your horse?” he asked.

She turned to face him. “King is cute.” Her lips curved into a smile.

He stepped next to her and stuck out a thumb. “Lick,” he said. Her eyes widened, and she gently touched her tongue to his thumb. He rubbed it against the sticky mark on her cheek. “Jam,” he said. “I could have licked it off, but I thought you might slap me.”

The smile lit her eyes. “I might have.”

All he'd have to do was take one step, and she'd be in his arms. He forced himself to step back. She'd made her feelings pretty clear. “I can set the table,” he said, working for an impersonal tone.

“Fine.”

He glanced up at the bite in her voice. Her lips were in a firm line and she was stirring the sauce with a vengeance.What did he say? He gave a mental shrug. “We should redo this kitchen. I used to be pretty handy with a hammer.We could get the cabinets from Lowe's and install them one weekend.”

“I think a kitchen redo will take more than a weekend.” Her voice was still clipped.

“Are you mad about something?”

“I'm fine.” She beat the sauce harder.

He put down the last plate and grabbed a handful of forks.Women. He might as well save his breath. “Should I call the kids?”

“I'll do it.” She stepped past the table to the back door. “Kids, supper!” she called.

He watched her as she stood on the stoop and waited for them. The dying sun lit her hair and outlined her slim figure. Maybe she'd caught on that he was attracted to her and it had made her mad. It was going to be a long night.

The kids came barreling into the kitchen with Caesar on their heels. He pointed out the chairs for Evan and Jordan. Gracie and Hope sat across from them and he took the head of the table. Gracie brought the food.

“Ew, what's that?” Evan asked, wrinkling his nose. “It looks gross.”

“Swedish meatballs!” Hope said. “You'll like it. It's my favorite.”