A McKaslin Homecoming. Jillian Hart
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He kept coming—all six-plus feet of him—moving like a muscled tiger, sleek and confident and powerful. “I’m Caleb Stone. I live next door.”
“Next door? I only see horses next door.”
His grin widened, revealing a double set of dimples. “That means down the road. You’re a long way from home. I noticed your California license plate.”
“Uh, I’m just here for a quick visit. This part of the country is beautiful. Secluded, but beautiful.”
And so was she, Caleb Stone thought. When Mary had called him up, interrupting him in the middle of fixing his after-work supper, he’d wanted to know the who and what of her request. She’d been tight-lipped about it. He’d been curious about her keeping quiet, but now he understood. The family resemblance was pretty strong and that meant that this woman could only be the lost granddaughter come home.
“You’re Lauren, aren’t you?” He said it in a friendly way because she seemed like a worrier. She glanced uncertainly around her with wide eyes; her hands, holding on to her keys and backpack strap, were white-knuckled. She stood perfectly still next to her decades-old sedan, looking wholesome in a simple summer shirt and modest shorts.
“How do you know who I am?”
“There’s a strong family resemblance. I didn’t know that Mary had kept in touch with you.”
“She hadn’t. This was all sort of a last-minute thing.”
Interesting. “It’s a long way to come at the drop of a hat.”
“Yes. Do you know how long Mary plans to be?”
He came closer until he could see the light scatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the uncertainty on her heart-shaped face. “She said I ought to get you settled.”
“I don’t feel right going into her house without her. If you don’t mind, I’ll just wait in the shade for her. And you can go home. It’s dinnertime. You must have plans.”
“I’ve got lots of time.” He wondered about her, this granddaughter and sister no one had talked about in, what, twenty years? It was as if she’d died, right along with the mother who’d taken her and fled all those years ago, destroying the family. Yep, call him curious. “I’ve got no place else to be, so I’d be happy to get your things. Want to unlock your trunk for me? I’ll get your bags.”
“Oh, I don’t mind doing it. Really.” She whirled around and with a snap of her flip-flops was heading toward the back of her little old sedan.
He’d been reading people for a lot of years—it came with being a cop—and there was something about her, something essentially lonely about her. He couldn’t pinpoint it. Maybe it was the hesitant way she’d greeted him or her reserved manner. As he followed her to the back of her car, where she was unlocking the trunk with the twist of a key, he kept back his questions. He had a lot of them. Mary had buried her husband more than two years ago and she’d never come back from the blow of his sudden loss. He wondered why Lauren hadn’t stayed in contact with the family. What had she been doing all this time? And, the toughest question of all—was she anything like that mother of hers? He didn’t think so, but sometimes people hid the most crucial information.
There were two medium-sized duffel bags in the tidy trunk and he’d beat her to them. “Don’t worry, I’ve got them.”
“But—”
“You’re in Montana now. You’ll have to get used to men being men.” He flashed her his most disarming grin and shut the trunk. “Hey, don’t worry. Most of the time I’m perfectly harmless.”
“And what about the rest of the time?”
“I’ll let you figure that out.”
That’s when it happened. Her reserve melted away and she smiled. Just a little, but the effect was dazzling. She sure looked like goodness. That was one image he wanted to believe.
Then he saw something else beyond Lauren’s shoulder—a streak of white against the amber-tipped grasses of the horse pasture. The swinging gate was wide open. Unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, Malia was up to her old tricks. That troublesome mare!
He set the bags on the walkway’s top stone step. “How good are you at herding horses?”
Lauren missed a step. Had she heard him right? Had he said—“herding horses”?
“We have an escapee.”
“What?” Then she turned to follow his gaze and saw the open gate and the horses racing away down the gravel driveway, tails flying.
“C’mon.” He flashed her that dimpled grin in a way that made him seem like the perfect Western man. He gestured toward the detached garage set so far back she could only see the front doors.
“I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”
“You’ll do fine, city girl.” He said those words warmly, but there was a hint of something else underneath.
Lauren wasn’t sure she ought to step into a vehicle with a stranger, but he was already running. She watched as he disappeared around the side of the house’s raised flower beds. Should she accept his request? How could she help? He might be a stranger to her, but it was clear her grandmother relied on him. Okay, so she had trust issues. It was simply an old habit—and a hard-learned lesson in her life—that you were better off keeping to yourself. Strangers were people who hadn’t taken advantage of you yet. Or, in most cases when she was growing up, people who hadn’t taken advantage of her mother yet.
The best defense was a solid independent streak and a look that sent people scurrying. This time she was having difficulty summoning up that look or the belief that Caleb Stone wasn’t just how he seemed—an all right guy. He drove into sight in a blue medium-sized pickup with the window rolled down. Leaning out, he met her gaze. His truck ground to a halt in the gravel, kicking up a cloud of dust.
“Get in. Your grandmother’s horses are getting away.” His grin broadened and the big rugged man became someone else with that smile. His dark eyes crinkled pleasantly in the corners. The hard angles of his face softened. Everything about him screamed capable. Trustworthy. Honest.
“I should help with my grandmother’s horses.”
His eyes twinkled. “Exactly. It’s the least you could do.”
Maybe part of it was that she really wanted to see those horses. Her grandmother hadn’t mentioned owning horses! She reached for the door but it was already swinging open. There Caleb was, straightening back to the wheel.
Okay, so he was a gentleman, too. She hopped onto the seat and the truck was already in motion as she reached for the seat belt. The air conditioner was blowing against the sun-warmed passenger compartment and the windows were down, the fresh dust-scented air blowing against her face.
“Glad you came along. I could use the company.” He reached around to grab his Stetson from above the back window. “Besides, it’s always less exasperating when you share the load with someone.”
“Exasperating? That’s making me regret that I came along.”
“Then forget that I said exasperating. Pretend I said interesting instead.”
“That’s not giving me a lot of confidence.”
“Don’t you worry. There’s no reason you shouldn’t trust me. I know what I’m doing. I’ve been doing this since I was a little guy.”
It was hard to imagine this big man as a “little guy.” But before she could think about it too much, his rugged baritone stopped the direction of her thoughts.
“There they are. Look at ’em go.”
As the truck curved around the bend in the road, the escaped horses came into sight. Four horses, their rich velvet colors glistening