England!” Amanda said. She was in Jacqueline’s office the next morning. “Why? When?”
“Grady wants to spend more time with Solstice and Wave, and he thought they would enjoy a holiday overseas. Since they saw National Velvet with you, they have been talking about England. They will be abroad for one week.”
She had to hand it to Grady—he said he was going to spend more time with his kids, and now he was about to be virtually attached to their little hips.
A week without students left Amanda feeling alternately free and discombobulated. In some ways she had more work, since she had to ride two more horses, and she missed having Solstice and Wave around. The upside was she got to train Rainy and Bramble so they’d be even better for their young riders when they returned.
She dined with Harris almost every night, and sometimes Jacqueline joined them. Every time the three of them had dinner, Amanda had the giddy, slightly guilty feeling she was a teenager throwing a party in her parents’ house while they were out of town. Sometimes Jacqueline would even show up for cocktail hour, and proved to be—astonishingly—funny after a glass or two of wine. Amanda resisted the urge to ask about her tattoo. She was determined to keep her discovery process “pure.”
While he was away, Grady called Jacqueline, and Amanda hoped he’d ask to speak to her. He didn’t, which helped Amanda put her feelings for Grady in perspective. Slight infatuation. Emphasis on slight.
And why not? He was a movie star, gorgeous, with a killer body, and when he wasn’t maddening, he was a nice guy. Cared about his kids. Good sense of humor. Played the piano. She was spending a summer on his property, so an infatuation was practically required. And, she was proud to admit, his absence had not made her heart grow fonder, but had made her focus on his faults and like him less.
Yes indeedy, she liked him less. Less less less.
Which didn’t explain why she felt like she’d mainlined a gallon or so of espresso the morning they were due back. She was jittery because she was so eager to see Solstice and Wave. Yes, that had to be it. Well, she’d just go about her day. She wouldn’t go to the house, or listen for a car, or call Jacqueline every four minutes. She’d do her job. When the girls were ready to see her, they’d come to the barn. As for Grady . . . there was no reason for him to want to see her or for her to seek him out. There.
That same morning, his first back in the Colonies, Grady wandered down to the barn. He was still on United Kingdom time, so six thirty in Aspen was midafternoon in his brain. Amanda was cleaning Titanium’s stall and singing the old standard, “I Won’t Dance.” Grady heard her first, then saw her. She was a siren. He stood at the end of the aisle, not wanting to disturb her, but unable to turn away. While in England, he’d not only gotten closer to his children, he’d realized how much he yearned to get closer to Amanda Vogel.
She sang about a man being charming and how it had no effect on her. Except, of course, it did. She pet the big Friesian and pushed him out of the way. She was so engrossed, she didn’t hear Grady clear his throat.
She continued to sing about music leading the way to romance and how she still wouldn’t dance.
He said loudly, “Good morning, Ella Fitzgerald.”
He stood in the aisle and looked at her through the bars. She stared, wide-eyed, shovel in hand. Her face turned an interesting shade of fuchsia.
“Morning. Welcome home.” She turned away and resumed smoothing shavings with her shovel.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. You have a beautiful voice.”
“I don’t like for people to hear me.” She kept shoveling.
“Like I said, I didn’t mean to. But it was nice.” He didn’t like making her uncomfortable—well, unless it was entertaining, such as when he teased her about the farrier.
She kept moving those shavings, leveling them out like the stall was a giant Zen sand garden. She stopped suddenly and propped the shovel against the wall, hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?” She quickly added, “Not that you don’t have every right.”
He grinned. “Still on UK time. I’m wide awake.” That, and I wanted to see you. He rubbed Titanium’s forehead, much to the gelding’s delight. “How’re you doin’, fella? Huh?”
“They’re great. I can’t wait to hear all about England.”
“Just try shutting the girls up—they had a great time. But . . . They missed you. We missed you. We all said it would’ve been more fun if you’d come with us.”
While in London, he had imagined what it would’ve been like to have her there, to be a tourist with her and the girls. Eating fish and chips out of newsprint. Taking pictures next to Big Ben. Sharing a room with her at one of the quaint inns in the countryside. Who was he kidding, making it sound all G-rated? He had fantasized about sharing his bed with her. Much more than he would have guessed.
“Someone had to hold down the fort.”
“And I wanted to thank you.”
“Thank me?”
“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have thought to take the girls away to spend time with them. I won’t kid you, there were some rough spots, but I’m glad I did it. And I owe it all to you.” He paused and made sure he held her eyes. He needed her to know he was sincere. “And, hey, any chance I can get a lesson today?”
“Sure. When?” The red had sprung up in her cheeks again. It was adorable.
“Sooner the better. Before I fade. Hey, why don’t you come have breakfast? The girls are dying to tell you about our trip; then you can give me a lesson.”
“Okay.” Her voice sounded shaky.
“Brilliant,” he said with an English accent. He gave her a slow smile that started at mischievous and would have dialed all the way up to naughty in another context, then left the barn.
Boy, but she looked great even at the god-awful hour of six thirty. Watching her work, he had appreciated the play of muscles in her arms and across her back. Then there was her bottom, which was on display in jeans today. Would he ever tire of looking at her? The way things were going—no way in hell.
Amanda knew that when it came to sleep, Harris was a teenager, and breakfast at dawn was not typically on the menu. But today he cheerfully played short-order cook at the Brunswick Diner. Jacqueline, the girls, and Grady sat at the table on the patio. Grady wore a blue dress shirt, tweed jacket, and jeans. His sapphire eyes glinted, and his slight laugh lines set them off even more, like starbursts. A day’s worth of stubble and mussed hair made him look . . . edible.
When the pancakes, waffles, eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and toast were on the table, Harris joined the group. Wave and Solstice prattled on about their vacation, especially about the day they took a riding lesson.
“They don’t call halters halters, they call them headstalls,” Wave said to Amanda as though this might change Amanda’s life. “And a stable is a yard.”
“Yeah,” Solstice added. “And a stall is called a box.”
“So, what if you have a box in a stall in a barn? How do you know what you’re talking about?” Amanda asked, to make the girls laugh.
“I don’t know!” Wave said, giggling. “But they call stuff funny names.”
The girls told her about the guards at Buckingham Palace and the ducks and swans in St. James Park. Grady commented on how green everything was in Britain, as opposed to the brown alpine valleys and mountains of Colorado in the throes of a dry summer. The trip sounded fabulous and, more important, they had experienced it as a family and not as a celebrity traveling with his children, who may or may not have been under his care.
“Best of all,” Grady said, “the paparazzi were almost nonexistent. I don’t want to know how she does it, but Jacqueline knows who to bribe and what bodyguards to hire.”
They ate and talked and laughed for more than an hour. Amanda sipped her second cappuccino and reveled in the moment. It occurred to her that she was content: she was in a postcard-worthy vacation spot, she had just eaten delicious comfort food prepared by someone who had become an important friend, she was surrounded by people she liked immensely, and she was listening to two little girls she felt great affection for—or did she love them?
She took another sip and looked at the sisters, their faces animated, their eyes dancing. Yes, she did. She bit her lip and let the thought permeate her. Her throat tightened, her nose tingled, and her eyes started to get wet. Yes. She loved Wave and Solstice Brunswick.
After breakfast the girls napped and Grady changed into his new riding kit, as he called it, having temporarily adopted British vernacular.
“You had breeches and boots made?”
“When in Rome . . . What do you think?” He modeled his beige breeches and tall black boots.
“Very nice.” Her comment encompassed the exquisite craftsmanship and precise fit and the fact that Grady was incapable of looking bad in clothes. She guessed he was even less capable of looking bad out of them. “Don’t you want to digest that breakfast before you ride?”
“Aha, I thought of that and didn’t eat much. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
They sauntered to the barn in comfortable silence. Amanda was glad she had kept Titanium in the small enclosure adjacent to the barn so she wouldn’t have to fetch him from the pasture. “Do you know how to tack up?”
“I think so. Stick close so you can fix anything I screw up.”
Grady groomed and tacked up the tall horse easily, with minimal input from Amanda.
“What movie was he in?” she asked.
Grady buckled the girth. “This indie film. A period piece called Amid the Oaks. A friend made it, and I did it as a favor. It was set in the Carolinas, and we filmed on a plantation. Great script, critics loved it, but not exactly a blockbuster. I rode this guy and fell in love with him.”
“Who could blame you? He’s got such personality. He’s completely wrong for that movie, by the way. Back then, Friesians were carriage horses, period, and probably not even in America. But they’re so pretty, they’re in lots of movies now, accurate or not.”
He smiled at her, looking amused. “I’ll let the studio know.”
When Grady finished, Amanda inspected his work and only had to tuck a few straps into their keepers. Grady donned his helmet and gloves, led Titanium to the mounting block, and got on as though he’d been riding regularly since childhood. Amanda was impressed and said so.
He said, “I took a lesson in England so I wouldn’t completely embarrass myself.”
“It shows. Nicely done. Now walk him, no rein contact. Just let him loosen up and get a feel for him. Let your seat move with him and if he moves off the rail, lead him back with your outside rein. Understand? That’s one of my rules—if you don’t understand something, you have to tell me. Agreed?”
He saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”
Without thinking, she said, “I mean it. Don’t be macho, Brunswick. Ask.”
He laughed, then squeezed his calves against the horse to ask for a walk.
Amanda had dreaded giving Grady a lesson because she worried she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. To her relief, she found she could view him as just another student. The only dangerous moment was when she was adjusting his leg position and placed his leg against the horse. The lower-leg part was okay—that was essentially a boot—but the thigh, well, that was definitely not a boot. She touched him as little as possible while still getting the position right, but there it was: his long, hard thigh. She felt a blush begin and was grateful that the bill of her Devon cap hid her face.
Grady was a good student, with excellent body awareness and control. He listened carefully and could do what she asked. He was also sensitive to the horse, balanced and athletic, much like Solstice.
At the end of the hour, Grady untacked Titanium, rinsed off the sweat, and scraped off the water. He picked out the gelding’s hooves, fed him carrots, and turned him out. Then Amanda showed Grady how to clean his tack.
“My kids do this every time?”
“Every time.”
“And they don’t complain?”
“They know it’s pointless.” She looked at him. “You weren’t thinking of complaining, were you, Mr. Brunswick?”
“Who, me? Never.”
“You’re going to hire someone to clean your tack, aren’t you?”
“I thought I already had,” he said, firing her a look, but accompanying it with a devastating grin.
What Grady didn’t tell her was that he didn’t mind cleaning the saddle and bridle, and he enjoyed being with her. He even liked her telling him what to do. She was a good teacher; she explained things clearly and gave him instructions the moment he needed them. And after their talk the night he told her about Annie’s death and kissed her, he felt closer to her. As he worked on the bridle’s thin straps, he said, “My mother’s coming on Tuesday.”
“That’s nice.”
“She’s a character. You’ll definitely know she’s here.” He paused, rubbing a sweat mark. “Priscilla Mason’s coming, too. You know her?”
“Uh, yeah-ah,” she said in a tone that implied, Duh, who doesn’t?
“You know she did Deadly Horizon with me, right?”
“Yes.”
“She’s been begging to come. She’ll stay a few days, then we’ll leave on the tour.”
“That’ll be nice.” She paused. “Are you two an—um—item?”
“No, no, just friends. We dated a year ago, while we were filming. She’s great, though. I think you’ll like her. Anyway,” he continued, “our routines are going to be interrupted. Then there’s the tour, then the horse show, and then we go back to LA in time for the girls to start school. I can’t believe the summer’s almost over.”
“Me neither,” she said quietly.
Amanda showed him how to “put up” the clean bridle, wrapping, crossing, and buckling the throatlatch and hanging it on a hook. “My girls do this, too?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, they do everything I tell them.” She slid him a sly, sidelong glance. He recalled his bedroom fantasies where she seared him with that look.
He appraised her and said, in a voice silky enough to seduce nuns, “I just bet they do.” He wanted to raise her temperature. He wanted to make her fantasize about him. And he wanted to kiss her. If this were a movie, some savvy screenwriter would have ended this scene with a shamelessly steamy kiss.
But the timing wasn’t right, and she wasn’t ready. If he kissed her, he’d scare her into next week. So he looked around the tack room and asked, “Anything else I should do?”
She shrugged. “You’re free to go. You rode well today. I can see where Solstice gets it.”
He smiled, genuinely pleased. “Thanks.” He stood near the bridles on the wall, looking at her. “You sure you don’t need any help with anything?” Geez, could he sound more pathetic? But he couldn’t help it.
She looked up at him from where she sat rubbing Vern’s bridle. She pursed her lips and said, “Nope. Everything’s done.”
“Okay.” He had run out of his admittedly pitiable stalling techniques. “I’m going to walk on that fantastic rubber floor and go on up to the house. See you later.”
Monday night, the eve of Estelle and Priscilla’s arrival, Amanda and Harris had what would be their last cocktail hour before what Harris referred to as “the onslaught.” As she sat in what she thought of as “her” chaise longue, sipping a mojito, she blushed as she heard Grady play “I Won’t Dance” on the piano.
Harris noted her stricken expression and said, “What?”
“That is a sneaky, sneaky man.”
“No argument there. Why this time?”
“Do you know that song?”
“No.”
“What kind of gay are you? You’re going to have your membership revoked. It’s ‘I Won’t Dance.’ ”
“Honey, it’s not like Celine or Gaga or Cher sing it.”
She told him about Grady catching her singing in the barn, and Harris laughed for what felt like an entire horse-show season. She switched topics to the soup kitchen—and the dashing Alonso, captain of the soup kitchen—and he took the bait like a thirty-something actress takes free Botox.
Moments later Grady came to the patio looking cool and sophisticated in a black linen shirt and white linen pants. “Hey, Harris,” he said, then looked at Amanda. “Did you like this evening’s selection?” His eyes crinkled.
Amanda felt herself blush anew. “You’re a very mean person.”
“Mojito, Brunzy?”
“Can’t. I’m taking two very lovely ladies to dinner before all hell breaks loose with Grandma.”
Amanda beamed at him. “That’s great!”
Tonight she wore a skirt that revealed her legs from the knees down. Grady’s eyes brazenly roamed over her, from her loose hair to her polish-free toes. “Speaking of great, you look . . . great.”
“Thanks.” She stared at her knees. She felt his eyes linger on her legs.
“Hot date?”
“A date, yes.”
He frowned. “Oh. I gotta go. Good night.”
“Those Brunswick women will soak you,” Harris called as Grady moved toward the house.
“Two words: Black. Amex.” He looked at her, holding her gaze for an intense three seconds, then disappeared through the sliding glass doors.
Harris looked at Amanda. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice how he stared at your gams for an hour. When he wasn’t staring at your face.”
“Didn’t mean anything. Anyway, they’re all pale. Horse people have terrible farmer tans.”
“If Jacqueline were here, he wouldn’t have noticed she had legs. But you . . . that’s a whole ’nother ball of bikini wax.”
“You’re just trying to manufacture excitement, drama queen.”
“Not this time. I know him. He. Likes. You. A lot.”
Amanda had another date with Luke. Luke, who knew all of her quirky, restrictive romance rules and dated her anyway. Luke, who was the best farrier she’d ever seen and loved horses almost as much as she did. Luke, whose rugged good looks and hubba-hubba sexuality made even the jaded women of Aspen sit up and take notice. Luke, who could talk to her for hours and was an all-around good guy.
So why wasn’t she leaping into his bed? Because she was using him to divert her attention from Grady.
She thought all this as she sat next to him in a dark movie theater that evening. She could smell him, all spicy and horsey. She could feel the heat from his body. So why wouldn’t her body act normal and melt?
Before Rick, the trainer who had betrayed her, she had never had a serious relationship because she had broken them off before they’d gotten too intense. She rode and won and rode some more, and that was plenty. For her, Mr. Right would be a freakishly talented horse who could jump the moon. Now she found herself in the enviable position of dating one great guy while having another great guy possibly interested in her. Too bad. Romance was a luxury she couldn’t afford. She had to devote all her time and energy to training . . . when she got back in the game.
However. Maybe she should sleep with Luke. If she slept with him—repeatedly—wouldn’t she naturally think about him instead of Grady? Maybe she just needed to release some stress the old-fashioned way. Okay. She’d invite Luke to her place tonight.
As she made this decision, she nodded and firmed her lips into a determined line. She laced her fingers through Luke’s and rested their hands on her thigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glance at her.
After the movie, she invited him up for coffee. He agreed instantaneously.
Once in her apartment, Amanda revved up her coffee maker. She was going to sleep with Luke. She needed coffee because she was going to have sex with the farrier and she wanted to be peppy. It would be fun!
They were in her kitchen. She leaned back against the counter next to the hissing coffee maker and he sat on one of the stools, facing her. She stared at his strong jaw and imagined kissing it. She ran her eyes over his shoulders and chest, envisioning her hands taking the same paths. She looked at his hands and predicted what they’d feel like on her body.
And then her imagination broke ranks and placed Grady’s hands on her instead. To switch her train of thought back, she gave Luke her most seductive stare, sauntered around the bar to him, slid her palms around his neck, and kissed him deeply. He moaned and held her close, returning her kiss.
“Mmm . . . You keep that up, I won’t need any sugar for my coffee.”
She smiled. The coffee was ready, so she said, “Why don’t you sit on the couch and I’ll get the coffee. Sorry I don’t have anything else. Harris feeds me and is my own personal bartender, so I don’t have much here. Unless you want cereal or popcorn. Those I have.”
He laughed. His easy, Luke laugh. His appealing, easy, Luke laugh. “Nah. Don’t want to deplete your stores.” He sauntered to an end table and the framed pictures of her jumping. “That’s a mighty tall fence.”
Amanda looked up. “The gray horse is Edelweiss. My mare. Former mare. That’s us at Devon.”
Luke sat on the couch. She set spoons, napkins, a sugar bowl, and creamer on the coffee table in front of him.
“So what’s a big jumper rider like you doing in a place like this?”
“I told you, I wanted a break.” She poured coffee into two mugs on the counter.
“Come on.”
Should I tell him? If I’m going to be physically intimate with him, maybe I should risk my emotions, too. Don’t be a wuss, Amanda. He’s a nice man. He’ll understand.
As if Luke could read her mind, after she set the mugs on the coffee table, he took her hand with his callused one and said, “Come sit. Tell me.”
She sat next to him. The homey smell of coffee scented the air. As she poured milk into her mug, she said, “It was winter on the Florida circuit. A freak accident. My best friend got a catch ride on this big, young stallion, really talented. It was a big class in Wellington. He caught a rail somehow and flipped over on top of her. I was next on course, so I galloped over. She died instantly.” She paused. “It affected me big-time. I couldn’t show. It wasn’t fear, exactly, it was more like panic, like I couldn’t breathe when I was warming up or at the in gate. PTSD—post-traumatic stress disorder. I could train just fine, jump anything, but competition was out of the question. I had to see a shrink for a while—I, um, took too many pills once, but that was the worst it got—and then decided to skip the summer season. I wasn’t ready. I wanted to get as far away as I could, and Colorado seemed like a good idea.”
Luke looked at her, distress darkening his usually soft green eyes. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry. The pills—you tried—”
“To kill myself. Luckily I didn’t take enough and I called someone before I passed out.” She tightened her lips into a small smile. “I haven’t told anyone here about any of this. I’d appreciate it—”
“I won’t tell a soul.” He put his arm around her and drew her to him so that her head rested on his chest. He stroked her hair for a time, then said, “You poor thing. Maybe the silver lining is you can see what it’s like to take a break. You could get hurt jumping.”
“But I love jumping! It’s what I do. After I get to the Olympics, maybe . . .”
“How many people are on the Olympic team?”
“Four, plus an alternate.”
He nodded toward the photographs. “I can see you’re a great rider, honey, but those are long odds.”
“That’s what makes it special.”
“What about other special things? Marriage, family? What about those?”
A warning beep sounded in Amanda’s head. She sat up and faced him. “Maybe. After the Olympics.”
“The Olympics may never happen. Family is its own reward. It’s like winning the Olympics every day.”
She kept her voice steady. “You don’t think I can do it?”
Luke flinched as though a fly had landed on his cheek. “’Course I do, but it’s a hard road.” He took both of her hands in his. “Some women put off getting married and having babies and then when they want to, it’s too late. You don’t need the Olympics. You’re an accomplished, amazing woman already. I’d hate to see you pass up a happy life with a man who loves you because you’re chasing a pipe dream.”
Chasing a pipe dream? She knew he was trying to be helpful, but if his goal was to flatter her with a veiled suggestion of marriage, he had made a miscalculation of . . . Olympic proportions.
She smiled. “Will you excuse me? I have to use the ladies’ room.” She had to leave so she wouldn’t throw her coffee at him.
In her small bathroom, Amanda stood in front of the mirror. He was right, the Games were a crapshoot, but they were her crapshoot. He was trying to protect her from disappointment—as though she didn’t know the staggering odds better than anyone. He didn’t know how close she and Edelweiss had come. But most of all, he didn’t understand what made her tick, not one bit.
How could she expect him to understand? Most people wanted marriage and family. But, as Harris had pointed out, she wasn’t most people. Luke was a good, kind man, and she liked him. She was going to sleep with him, by God. Tonight. She had to shake this off and get her head in the game. And have sex.
Newly determined, Amanda returned to the couch. Their conversation stayed on neutral topics as they sipped their coffee.
When her coffee was gone, she mentally prepared for a definitive make-out session, leading to all-out, unbridled, hell’s-a-poppin’ sex. She snuggled into Luke, then pressed her lips to his. She wondered if she should brush her teeth. Would he mind her coffee breath? Apparently not. He kissed her softly at first, then harder and more urgently. She kissed him back and thought about how she hadn’t seen his dog Lena since he had come out to shoe the horses and boy wouldn’t it be nice to have a dog. She could find one that got along with Nikolai and Tatalina. The shelter had plenty. And weren’t those kittens working out well?
Stop it! She had to pay attention! And BE SEXY!
She channeled the horror-movie slutty teen—the one in the skimpy tank top who gets hacked to death early on—and got more adventurous with her tongue. As Luke responded, her brain again substituted images of Grady. The damn actor was like a green grass stain on a white horse—hard to remove and impossible to ignore. She thought of their kiss at the front door that night, and suddenly kissing Luke became effortless. What the hell. She gave her mind free rein. She’d win an award for necking and Luke would be none the wiser.
After twenty minutes they were both shirtless, breathless, and Luke lay on top of her. He smoothed his palm up the outside of her thigh and under her skirt, and she flinched, then smiled apologetically. The evening had been progressing nicely, except for one niggling, growing thought. Luke didn’t understand about her Olympic dream. How could she sleep with him?
“Sorry,” he said, and withdrew his hand.
No, no, have sex! You’ll feel better if you have sex. Sex is good. Sex is fun. So what about the Olympics? Get over it! “I’m the one who’s sorry. Don’t stop—”
“I don’t want to pressure you.”
See how nice he is? Go to bed with him! Sleep with this man! “How about we go to my room? I know it’s far.” She smiled.
He pushed himself up. “You weren’t too keen on what I was doing just now.”
I’m not too keen about you wanting me to give up my dream. Crap. Sex or no, she couldn’t let it go. She knew herself well enough to be sure of this. She could tolerate a lot, but he had pooh-poohed the dream of her heart. It was no use. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry; I can’t do this.” She picked up her blouse from the floor and shrugged it on, talking as she buttoned. “I like you, you’re a great guy, but I . . . ”
He sat up straight. “How ’bout we call it a night,” he said kindly. “You’ve been through hell, what with your friend an’ all. We’ll do this when you’re ready and not a moment before.”
She had to come clean. “The thing is, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. I don’t think I’m your soul mate. I’m not what you want.”
“Honey, you’re exactly what I want.”
“See, that’s the thing. You want a wife. I want a gold medal. We want different things. I know I’m jumping the gun here—I didn’t assume you’re about to pop the question or anything—but I don’t want to waste your time.”
“I enjoy your company. I care about you. I don’t want you to get hurt. What if you never go to the Olympics? What if you spend your whole life trying and have nothing to show for it? That’s why I said what I said.”
She smiled and tried to explain. “Don’t you see? If I spend my whole life trying, that’s plenty. That’s what I’ll have to show for it. That I did my best and went for it, all out.”
“But we’re good together. Don’t you want to see where this goes, with us?”
He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get me. “I can’t. I’m sorry; I just can’t.”
Luke sighed and met her eyes. “I enjoyed every minute with you. Lemme know if you change your mind. You want names of other farriers?”
“No!” she said, and he laughed. At least he laughed. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Be glad to shoe these horses. Maybe we can have lunch sometime?”
“Yes. I’d like that. I’d like to stay friends.”
A few minutes later in the driveway, Luke hugged Amanda good-bye. She watched the red taillights recede as the truck grumbled down the hill. The smell of diesel exhaust seemed stronger tonight. It made her sneeze. She gazed up at the house and replayed Grady’s kiss for the umpteenth time. “Good night, Grady. Maybe we’ll have a round two someday.”
From the window of his dark office, Grady watched Luke and Amanda under the light above the barn door. The tall cowboy hugged her, but never went in for the kill. No kiss. Maybe he’d kissed her enough earlier. Maybe she was tired of him. Just go home, cowboy. Keep that gun holstered and skedaddle.
Grady was running out of time; soon Amanda would go back to Florida and he would have only kissed her once. Something had to change. And there, in the dark, he started to form a plan.