Taming Blackhawk. Barbara McCauley
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…Seth Ezekiel Blackhawk and Elizabeth Marie Blackhawk…were not killed in the car crash that claimed the lives of their parents
…not killed…not killed…
He heard the sound of Grace’s voice, but it took a moment for her words to register. She’d asked about the television set.
“It was Sam’s idea,” Rand said absently. “We all figured it was about time she had one. When my brothers and I were little, we’d go into Maiman’s Department Store and we’d see her staring at all the televisions on display, watching whichever show happened to be on. She always had a look of such longing on her face.”
“You mean she’s never had a television before now?”
“Not for twenty-nine years.” Rand rocked the swing into motion with the heels of his boots. “To quote Edward Sloan, ‘They weaken a man’s mind and spew propaganda.”’
“So your father—”
“Not my father,” he said sharply. “Edward and Mary adopted me when I was nine, after my real parents were killed in a car accident, but he was never my father.”
The tone of Rand’s voice alone spoke volumes, Grace thought. Mary had said there was no love lost between Rand and Edward. Grace was beginning to see more than a glimpse of that.
“Sam and Matt,” she said carefully. “Were they adopted, too?”
Rand shook his head. “Sam came along a year after they adopted me, Matt a year after that. Quite the joke, isn’t it?” he said dryly. “The doctors told Mary she could never have children, so she and Edward adopted me, then right away she has two kids of her own. Just goes to show you can’t believe a damn thing people tell you.”
Grace had the distinct feeling that Rand’s last comment wasn’t directed at the doctors. That there was something else behind that dark, mysterious mask of his, something that had nothing to do with Edward and Mary or being adopted.
Something that was none of her business.
In the dim light, Grace watched the play of shadow on Rand’s face. She had to resist a sudden and overwhelming desire to reach out and touch that handsome face, to run her fingertips over the hard set of his jaw and lay her palm on his smooth-shaven cheek. The thought alone made her pulse skip; she couldn’t imagine actually doing it. Not only were she and Rand practically strangers, she was certain he wouldn’t appreciate the gesture at all. Rand Sloan did not strike her as being the kind of man who wanted, or needed, comforting.
“You wasted a trip here, Grace.”
Her hand hesitated on the bite that was halfway to her mouth. Well, now, that was certainly to the point, she thought. No, “I’m sorry,” or, “It’s too bad,” or, “Wish I could help you.” Just, “You wasted a trip.”
“Hardly,” she said lightly, then slid the cake into her mouth and licked the frosting off the fork. “This cake alone made the trip worthwhile, not to mention that dinner your mother made. She should open a restaurant when she gets to Vegas. She’d make a fortune.”
There was a light in Rand’s eyes Grace hadn’t seen before. When he turned that light on her, she felt her breath catch.
“What makes these horses so important to you?” he asked.
He wasn’t the first person who’d asked her that question. Her father had, her mother, every person she’d ever hit up for a donation. She’d never been quite sure how to answer. Wasn’t certain herself that she knew the answer.
She looked out into the night, heard the distant howl of a coyote, felt the loneliness there.
“Was there ever something you felt,” she said softly, “something that went so deep and was so important, that words simply fell short?”
When he said nothing, she went on, “My uncle has a ranch in Austin and I used to spend three weeks every summer there, riding and taking care of his horses. I’ve been riding since I was eight.” She stared at the plate in her hands and shrugged. “Starting this foundation just happened. One morning I was sitting at my kitchen table, drinking orange juice and eating cinnamon toast, trying to decide what to wear to my mother’s hospital charity luncheon that afternoon. If my pink pumps would look better with my floral skirt or my leather dress sandals.”
Rand lifted a doubtful brow. “Pink pumps?”
“Hey—” she pointed her fork at him and lifted her nose “—these were serious decisions in my life. A girl can never be too careful about her footwear.”
Grace could swear she saw a smile tug at the corners of Rand’s mouth. Shaking his head, he drew in a slow breath, then said, “Somehow I’ve missed the connection between shoes and wild horses.”
“While all these important things were going on, I was watching the television, too,” she said. “A documentary about an organization in Nevada that was formed to save a band of wild horses outside of Reno. I ended up calling the number asking for donations and spoke to a man named Mitch Tanner. He invited me down to see what their group was doing. I accepted, then came back and started my own foundation. The rest,” she said, stabbing another bite of cake and popping it into her mouth, “is history.”
Rand’s gaze rested on her mouth. That light she’d seen in his eyes a moment earlier turned dark and sensuous. There it was again, that heat simmering between them. Grace felt her pulse stumble, but she steadied herself before she did anything foolish.
“Why are you here?” he asked, leveling his gaze back with hers. “Why me?”
“These horses—” she hesitated “—this roundup, is a little more complicated.”
“Why?”
“The horses managed to break off from the main herd we’ve already rounded up and disappeared into Black River Canyon, a canyon that’s notorious for flash floods. If they are still alive and we don’t get them out soon, they will either starve or drown.”
He stopped rocking and looked at her. “You’re telling me you want to go into a dangerous canyon after a bunch of horses you aren’t even certain are still alive? How many horses are you talking about?”
She swallowed hard. “Four or five, maybe six.”
“You’re kidding, right?” He sat up straight now, his brow furrowed. “You’d risk your life, or someone else’s, to maybe save maybe six horses?”
“If they are there, and they are still alive, they haven’t got a chance if we don’t go down there and get them out.” Grace closed her eyes. “Everyone else has turned me down. Told me it was a waste of time.”
“They were right.”
She opened her eyes again, narrowed them at him. “I refuse to believe that. You could do it. You’re probably the only one who can. I’ve got two volunteers waiting to hear from me, two good horsemen who are willing to go down into the canyon with you and help.”
“Mother Nature can be brutal. Life is that way sometimes and there’s no way around it.” He sighed, then added more gently, “Some things are best let go, Grace. Accept it.”
She shook her head, not certain if her overwhelming disappointment was that Rand wouldn’t take the job, or that he didn’t believe in it.
Whichever it was, the bottom line was that he wasn’t going.
He was right, she thought sadly. She had wasted her time coming here.
As much as she wanted to, she wouldn’t cry. At least, not now. Later, after she checked into her motel room and crawled under the covers, maybe then she’d give in to the pain in her chest.
Forcing a smile, she stood and looked down at him. “Can’t blame a girl for trying. I’ll just say goodbye to everyone and be out of your hair.”
He