Hitched to the Horseman. Stella Bagwell
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breaking over the treetops.
Smiling faintly, she said, “I’d better get back to the house. I haven’t had any coffee yet, or breakfast.”
“I can’t do anything about the breakfast, but I’ve just made a pot of fresh coffee. Would you care to join me for a cup?”
She glanced questioningly around her. “Here?”
He jerked his head toward the barn. “I’ve got an office inside the barn.”
Surprise arched her brows. “I thought Cordero’s office was over by the cattle barn.”
“It’s still there. But I like it here—keeps me closer to the foaling mares. And your mother kindly supplied me with a few things to make it comfortable.”
She gestured toward the building situated several yards behind him. “I’d like to see this new office of yours,” she agreed. “And I’d especially like the coffee.”
Built when the Sandbur had first become a full-fledged ranch in 1900, the barn was one of the few original structures that had weathered more than a century of the extreme climate of South Texas. Because the building was made of heavy lumber, it stayed cooler in the summer and warmer in the winter than some of the newer barns that were built from corrugated iron. It had always been one of Mercedes’s favorite spots on the ranch.
As the two of them stepped inside the cavernous building, Gabe took Mercedes by the arm and guided her down a long, wide alleyway to a closed door. Gabe opened it and gestured for her to enter.
The moment she stepped into the room, she was immediately impressed with the large teacher’s desk and office chair, the computer, fax and copier, telephone, refrigerator and small cooking element. “Why, this used to be a tack room,” she said with amazement. “How did you make such a transformation?”
“Me and some of the hands partitioned off part of the feed room and moved all the riding equipment in there.” He gestured for her to take a seat on the long couch running against one wood-paneled wall. “Sit down. You might recognize that couch. It came from the den in the big house. Your mother said she needed a new one anyway. I think she was just being generous. During foaling season, I need a place to stretch out from time to time.”
While she made herself comfortable on the couch, Gabe poured coffee into two foam cups.
“Cream or sugar? Or both?” he asked.
“Cream. Just a splash. But I can do it.”
She started to rise from her seat, but he motioned her back down. “I can manage.”
Back at the couch, Gabe handed her the steaming coffee and then took a seat on the cushion next to her. Other than Geraldine Saddler, no woman had set foot in his private domain until now. It seemed strange and even more distracting for Mercedes to be sitting only inches away from him.
“Mmm. Thank you,” she murmured as she lifted the steaming drink to her lips.
As he sipped from his own cup, he realized he shouldn’t have invited her in here. In fact, he shouldn’t have danced with her last night. Because even now he was assaulted with the memories of her curvy body brushing temptingly against his, the scent of her skin, the softness of her sigh as it skittered against the side of his neck. He couldn’t remember a time that any woman had left such an indelible impression on him, and that could only mean trouble. Mercedes was rich, strong and independent—just like the woman who’d married him, then smashed him into useless pieces.
“So you’re home now,” he said. “What do you plan to do with your time?”
She stared into her cup rather than at him. “I—I’m not sure yet. For starters, I’m going to give myself a few days to adjust to civilian life.”
She could afford to do that, Gabe thought. In fact, she could afford to do anything she wanted to do. He couldn’t imagine having that much financial security. Sherleen had been rich, before and after they’d married. Not nearly as rich as Mercedes or her family, but wealthy enough. As her husband, Gabe had never considered his wife’s money as his, too. In fact, he’d never wanted it and had done his best to pay his own way throughout their short years together. A man of any stock didn’t want to be labeled as being kept by his wife. And to Gabe, riches weren’t measured by the balance in a bank account. Unfortunately, his ex-wife had thought differently. Now he found himself attracted to another rich woman. What the hell was the matter with him, anyway? He’d learned the hard way that he and wealthy women didn’t mix.
He said, “I guess that was a stupid question on my part, anyway.”
Her eyes were full of questions as they roamed his face and Gabe realized he needed to be more careful or his personal feelings would show.
“Why do you say that?”
What the hell, he thought. He wasn’t going to tiptoe around this woman as though she were royalty. “Nothing. Just that—well, it’s not like you have to go out and find a job.”
Disgust turned the corners of her lips downward as she rose from her seat to amble around the tiny room. “I can’t read your mind, Gabe. So I don’t have any idea what sort of impressions you have about me. But I can assure you that I don’t plan to sit on my hands.”
“I wouldn’t think so,” he drawled with a bit of sarcasm. “It might flatten them.”
She shot him a droll look and then chuckled. “Smart mouth. I’ll bet as a teenager you gave your mother fits.”
A dark cloud suddenly shadowed his thoughts. Though he reminded himself that this woman was teasing, that she couldn’t know about Jenna Trevino’s death, it still hurt to think of growing up without his mother and the horrible way she’d left this world.
“No. I didn’t give her fits,” he said curtly. “She was in her grave.”
Mercedes couldn’t have felt more awful. She wanted to walk behind the desk and crawl inside the knee hole, but hiding would hardly help her now. “Oh, boy, I messed up there, didn’t I?” she murmured more to herself than to him. Glancing regretfully at the man, she tried again, “Gabe, I—You’re a young man. I just assumed that your mother was still alive. Forgive me.”
She watched him draw in a long breath, then release it, and from the strained expression on his face, she got the notion that he felt more awkward than even she did.
“Forget it, Mercedes. You didn’t know.”
Afraid she’d worsen her foot-in-mouth disease with any sort of reply, she waited for him to say more, anything that would explain how his mother died. But after several more clumsy moments passed in silence, she decided it best to change the subject completely.
Resting a hip on the corner of the desk, she said, “So. What do you use the computer for? Keeping track of sales?”
“Yes. And I also keep a file for every horse on the Sandbur. It’s a big help in keeping track of their breeding, farrier visits, vaccinations, injuries, progress in their training. You get the picture.”
Mercedes was very impressed. Her cousin Cordero was a good horse trainer, but he’d never been that meticulous about keeping data. “You sound like a doctor keeping updates on his patients’ charts.”
“Exactly. I’ll show you.”
Leaving the couch, he walked past her and went to stand behind the desk. Mercedes swiveled around to see him switching on the computer. While the machine whirred to life, she used the time to study him from beneath a pair of lowered lashes.
Apparently he’d not taken the time to shave this morning. A black stubble of beard covered his jaws, upper lip and chin. His hair, what she could see of it beneath the brim of his hat, curled damply against the back of his neck, as though it hadn’t been long since he’d stepped out of the shower. The scent of soap and musk and man all swirled together and drifted across the small space between them.
Stirred