Chapter Two

      All he had to do was simply not think of Cait as a woman.

      Impatiently Clint popped the shine cloth across the toe of his right boot one more time, put that foot to the floor and set his left one up onto the woven-bark footstool. It was stupid that he’d ever even noticed that she was a woman, anyhow.

      She was his brother’s wife—widow or not—for heaven’s sake! She was forward and stubborn and she had no tact whatsoever in any situation. He didn’t have the slightest interest in her.

      Except, of course, as to how her cockeyed school was going to impact his ranch operations. He popped the cloth in the air and then pulled it vigorously across his already-shiny left boot.

      He snorted. Her staying out of everybody’s way and using only the old outdoor pen was nothing but a pipe dream. Just let the temperature go above a hundred, let the wind blow dust in their eyes at forty miles an hour, and Caitlin and her little-rich-girl clients would be cluttering up the indoor arena from one end to the other. They’d turn the whole place upside down and probably drive his trainers so crazy they’d quit.

      And that kind of trouble he did not need—especially not now, when he was making so many decisions about the ranch and its future. He absolutely would not lose two top trainers who were winning at all the big shows and bringing attention and dollars to the ranch.

      What he would do was find a way to get Cait’s silly school off this ranch and to another location as soon as humanly possible. He’d talk to Bobbie Ann and start pushing for that just as soon as Christmas was over.

      He could see his face in his boot, so he threw the rag back into the wooden box and went to wash his hands before he touched his white shirt. It was time to go downstairs and get on with this poor excuse for a Christmas Eve. Dad, John and Monte all being absent was an unbearable thought, especially for the late-night hot-chocolate family time, and Caitlin’s presence was the icing on the cake. As if he didn’t have enough to think about!

      All he wanted was to get this Christmas over with.

      Tonight he would simply look at Caitlin as a sister-in-law, exactly as he did Darcy, Jackson’s new wife. That was the one bright spot of the past year—Jackson’s sudden marriage and his gradual rejoining of the human race.

      Clint tucked in his shirt, went to the armoire for a belt, selected the saddle-tan one that matched the boots, put a buckle on it and threaded it through the loops of his pants. It would serve Caitlin right, pushy as she was, if he did convince Bobbie Ann that this riding school business was a bad idea. He had a ranch to run, he was responsible for everything that happened on it, he didn’t have time to deal with the trouble Caitlin was bound to bring to it and he didn’t owe her the time of day.

      He hooked the buckle, gave his hair one last, quick swipe with the brush and headed for the door. Well, if he were perfectly honest, he did owe Cait an apology. That crack he’d made about family traditions had been cruel and he hated the sharp pain it had brought to her big dark eyes.

      Least said, soonest forgotten, though. No sense in bringing it up and hurting her feelings all over again.

      He strode across his room and out into the hallway, glancing toward the guest rooms on that wing. Cait had slept all day, Bobbie Ann had said—not that he’d asked about her—and he’d heard that before breakfast, even, Manuel had asked her for instructions so his crew could feed her horses and take care of them for her.

      Poor Manuel. Evidently he was as goofy as all men were about the tall, black-haired, long-legged horsewoman with the million-dollar smile. He’d probably hire a couple more stable hands just to wait on her hand and foot.

      He started down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

      Manuel had said her horses were good, sound stock but not world-class. Said half of them weren’t tall enough to compete in English classes, which was Cait’s specialty over at Roy’s.

      That right there made him wonder what she was really up to. Maybe she was planning a horse-trading business here on his ranch, where all the chores were done efficiently and on schedule and any problems would be taken care of by him and Manuel.

      Which, come to think of it, would explain her smiling at him this morning and teasing him and saying let’s not fight, when they had never been in the same room in their lives when they didn’t fuss and wrangle about something. That must be it.

      All Cait wanted from him was free rent at an efficiently run stable.

      Even if that were true, though, it didn’t excuse him for not helping her unload and get her horses settled. He felt ashamed every time he thought about that—he would’ve extended the courtesy to anybody else in the world, since none of the hands had come to work yet.

      He had never shown anyone such a lack of hospitality.

      What was it about Cait that made him behave like a stranger to himself?

      What was it about Cait that made him obsess about her every time he saw her?

      Cait hardly knew the woman who looked back at her from the mirror.

      She wore a skirt, for one thing, a very feminine, clingy, black velvet skirt cut with a bell flare at the below-calf hem, and with it, a white silk blouse that had cost as much as a good work saddle. Never in her entire life had she owned such an expensive garment. She still could not believe she had bought it.

      Or that the moment she’d tried it on at that expensive shop in Dallas, she’d thought of Clint. Had imagined Clint seeing her in it.

      Tears stung her eyes at her own foolishness, but she forced herself to blink them away and meet her own gaze.

      “Face reality,” she told her reflection.

      She hadn’t survived this long without knowing how to do that.

      Lifting her chin, she looked it right in the eye: Clint might be attracted to her, too—maybe—but what he also felt for her was scorn.

      And she was not accepting any scorn tonight.

      Tonight was Christmas Eve. She was invited to a family celebration. Of her family.

      For the four months of her marriage to John, the two of them had lived on the ranch in a small house about two miles away from headquarters. They had come back from their elopement in time for New Year’s Eve and she’d been in the family for Easter that year, but this was her first Christmas.

      Tears stung her eyes. How could she ever have believed it would be a true Christmas without John?

      If she had gone with him to Mexico instead of doing her job for Roy, would it have saved him—as Clint believed it would?

      Dear Lord, I hope I wasn’t the cause of his dying. Please help me know, once again, that I wasn’t.

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