The Black Sheep and the Hidden Beauty. Donna Kauffman
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the man, and Rafe assumed he was talking to her horse.
“She’s feeding well, not putting on too much weight.” This from Elena. “So far, I think we’re doing okay.”
Her voice was low, soft, with a cadence that was naturally soothing. Rafe began to see how she seduced the headstrong animals she worked with into doing what she wanted. A man hears a voice like that, he might be inclined to do the same.
“That’s good. Really good. I know how worried you are. Although, I have to be honest, Lenie. Given that concern, I’m still having a hard time understanding why you left—”
“Kenny, I know you worry, too, but I’ve explained my reasons the best I can. Besides, it’s good here. She’s doing great.”
“She is. But what about you?”
“I’m—fine. It’s a good job, I’m good at it, they seem happy with me, and it’s the right place. For both of us. For now.”
“But you’re going back, right? Back to the track? Your dad would be so proud of all you’ve accomplished and you know he’d hate it if you gave up on your dream.”
When she spoke again, her voice was a bit deeper, perhaps a bit tighter. With what emotion—anger, regret, or grief—Rafe couldn’t be sure without seeing her expression.
“Right now the only thing that matters to me is making sure Springer has a foal that lives, and that she stays healthy before, during, and after. That’s why I came to you. You’re the closest thing to family I have. I trust you. But, as much as I appreciate you coming all the way out here, it would really be best if, from now on, as she gets closer, I brought her to you when the time is right. They’re doing right by me here and I don’t need or want to worry them with a problem horse.”
“I know, honey, and I appreciate that. Just as I’m sure you’re so overqualified, they’re jumping for joy to have you. I’d imagine, though, given the work they do here, with those kids, the last thing they’d worry about is you taking care of what’s yours. I saw that poor thing you were training when I got here. A charity case if I ever saw one—”
“That’s something else I took on, for Kate. It’s not my regular—”
“I know.” His voice gentled. “I’m just saying, it’s what they do here, they mend things. Animals. People. Souls and spirits. I guess…I just worry that you need mending, is all. I never saw that in you. Always so sure of yourself. Then, after Geronimo and that horrible tragedy—”
“I was going to leave anyway, Kenny. Even if everything else hadn’t happened. It—I wasn’t going to advance there. I just…I wasn’t sure what my next step should be. Then I found out about Springer, and it all seemed like a giant signal to just step back, take some time. So I did. No regrets.”
There was a long pause, then, “Okay. I just—if you needed to talk, about anything—”
“I know. And thank you. Just help me keep her okay and you’ll be doing more for me than you could possibly know.”
He chuckled then, and there was a rustle of clothing. A hug, perhaps. Without peeking around the door and giving himself away, Rafe couldn’t be certain.
“I’d have been upset if you hadn’t come to me,” Kenny said a moment later. “But I’m available for more than vet care if you need the ear.”
“Understood. And appreciated.”
Their voices drew closer and Rafe realized they were heading his way. He’d been so caught up in the conversation and the information it was revealing, he hadn’t exactly thought out his escape route.
Too late to duck away, so the only alternative was to stroll in as if that was his intention all along. He slid the door back a bit more, the resulting grind of metal on the metal tracks abruptly stopping the conversation inside.
The sun at his back made both Elena and Kenny shield their eyes as he stepped into the darker interior of the barn. They stopped walking as well, waiting for him to come further inside.
Elena spoke first. “Can I help you, Mr. Santiago?”
“Yes,” he said, not having a clue what he was going to say until he said it. “And it’s Rafe, please. I was—I’m interested in talking to you.”
Her expression grew wary as she looked past him. Expecting to see what, or who, he wasn’t sure. But he was too busy scrambling to come up with a reason for his sudden arrival to worry about that.
She wore the same denim overalls he’d always seen her in, with a faded yellow bandana tied loosely around her neck, and her boots caked in God-knew-what. She’d pushed up the long sleeves of her pale green tee, which was covered in the red, dusty clay that passed for dirt in most of Virginia. As he stepped closer, he noted that she had a fair share of dust on her forehead and chin, too, as if she’d dragged her dusty sleeve across them a time or two.
Not exactly an enticing picture…and yet, standing closer like this, he found himself wondering how she’d clean up. All that riding she did, he’d bet there were some Class A legs inside those baggy overalls. She could probably do a pair of killer heels some justice, too, he thought, though from what he’d seen, he doubted she even owned a dress, much less heels.
“About?” she queried, making him realize he was staring.
His gaze found hers then. Brown eyes, he noted. Not the cute, puppy-dog kind. The old-soul kind. The kind that saw way more than made him comfortable.
Distinctly aware of the older man’s attention focused on him as well, he was even less on top of his game than usual. He paused for a too-long second, then blurted out the only thing he could think of. “Riding lessons.”
To her credit, she tried to maintain her professional demeanor, but he couldn’t help but notice her quick scan of his attire, which, admittedly, was about as far from barn clothing as you could get without being in a tailored suit or tux. “You…want riding lessons?”
“Yes,” he said, trying to sound like he meant it. “I want riding lessons.”
God help him.
Chapter 2
She’d felt him watching her, earlier, when she’d been working with Bonder. It wasn’t the first time, either. Far from it. He was steady about it, open. But in the two months she’d been at Dalton Downs, he’d never spoken to her or approached her. Considering he looked like six feet of raw sex dressed up in beautifully tailored clothes, she doubted very much it was lack of confidence on his part.
So, she couldn’t quite figure out what it meant. She doubted it was any kind of personal interest. He wasn’t the ruthlessly overgroomed type who took longer to get ready than most women, but the man knew how to dress. He somehow managed to be casually suave and rugged as hell all at the same time. If she cared about things like that, she’d have felt downright shabby whenever he was nearby, with her worn overalls, ancient boots, and shirts that rarely stayed clean ten minutes after she put them on.
He was too polished, too perfect, too…everything to want a woman who spent her days reeking of horse sweat and barn muck. Which left a big question mark hanging over what the draw actually was. That very ambiguity should have unnerved her, at least a little, what with everything she had going on. But the truth was, his attention always left her feeling energized and aware, and not in a bad way. Just a way she had no business thinking about.
Not that it mattered. A woman would have to be dead not to respond to those dark eyes of his, the honey-colored skin, the thick, black head of hair, and that naturally broad-shouldered, tapered-waist-and-hips kind of physique. She, on the other hand, rarely commanded such attention. Her staring at him made sense, though she avoided the temptation at all costs. Being noticed and noticing others was definitely not high on her priority list here. Doing her job, providing a safe, quiet place for her and Springer—that was all that mattered.
He