Chapter Three
Miles had been smiling all morning, so much his jaw muscles were starting to complain.
But it was hard not to. He just kept remembering the broken, listless boy Jeremy had been back in L.A.
and comparing him to the lively, interested child in front of him now.
The child he’d had a rather deep conversation with after he’d first arrived.
A little to his surprise Jeremy’s dog, Maverick, had greeted him with delight, as if they were old friends long separated.
It had given him a jolt, remembering another golden dog who had once been the center of his life, and he’d gratefully bent to pet the animal because it gave him a chance to hide the silly fact that his eyes had teared up at the very old but somehow no less potent memory.
Jeremy had seemed to take Maverick’s welcome as a sign that he meant what he’d said, that he wasn’t here to try and talk his father into coming back. And that removed the wall of wariness the boy had put up whenever he’d been around in the beginning.
“Dad says you’re the opp’site of mean Mr. Swiff,” Jeremy had said the first time they’d met.
“I’ll have to thank him for that.”
“An’ he said you’re the one who made Stonewall. That you wrote all the stuff in the beginning, and kept it from going…” The boy’s brow had furrowed. “Haywire, I think he said. I don’t know what that means, though.”
“How about off the rails?”
Jeremy’s expression had cleared. “Like a train crash. Okay.”
But it wasn’t until yesterday that, in a quiet moment, Jeremy had brought up something he never had with Miles before. The boy had hesitated but then gone ahead. “Dad says you knew my mom.”
Feeling as if he’d just stepped into a mine field, he had answered carefully, “I knew her and liked her.”
“Dad says we’ll always love and miss her. But that she always said what she wanted most was for me to be happy, so I can’t feel bad when I am.”
“She did always say that, Jeremy. I heard her more than once say all that mattered to her was that you be happy.”
Jeremy had given him a sideways look then. “I like Nic. A lot.”
“I know you do. And you know what else I know?” Jeremy had shaken his head. “I know your mom would have liked her a lot, too.”
Somehow he had found the right thing to say, and the rest of last night had been a happy time, more full of laughter than any evening he’d spent in L.A.
in recent memory. And he’d smiled inwardly at Jackson’s serious demeanor as he talked about how the Baylors were doing okay because of their specialization, Nic’s training and her dad’s Angus breeding, but that other ranchers weren’t doing so well.
His friend was well on his way to being absorbed into this life.
As was his son. It was so clear with Jeremy it was undeniable.
And as the boy came politely over to say good night before his bedtime, Miles had told Jeremy that one of the reasons he’d decided to come was that he’d been sitting in the beach house, staring at the painting on the wall above the fireplace.
The same painting Jackson had told him had inspired them to come here.
“That’s why we came!” the boy exclaimed. “And it’s real, Mr. Miles—the hills really look like that when the flowers come.”
The feeling he’d truly made a connection with the boy had been borne out early this morning when he’d awakened to a bounce on the guest room bed and something very wet swiping across his cheek.
His eyes had snapped open to see a happy, grinning, golden dog and an equally grinning Jeremy telling him it was time to get up so he could show him everything.
“Dad said you didn’t look around when you were here before, so you need to now.”
That much was true. That trip had been a last-ditch effort to try and talk Jackson into coming back, and he’d barely noticed anything about this place that had so captivated his friend.
So he’d rolled out, quickly showered and dressed, and presented himself for the guided tour—after grabbing a slice of the great-smelling-and-tasting cinnamon toast Jackson had set out on the counter for breakfast.
“Got a surprise coming for him later,” he’d whispered to Miles with a nod at Jeremy. “Should be fun.”
And so now, after their tour of the barn and his introduction to a row of horses—and his beloved pony, Pie—when Jeremy waved and called out to the new arrival, he figured this must be the surprise.
He turned to look. And felt the ground shift under his feet. Or thought he did. If he’d been back in L.A. he’d have thought “earthquake,” but here, not so much.
He stared at the woman Jeremy had waved at.
She was fairly tall, five-seven at least, slim, with very dark hair that would probably reach halfway down her back if it wasn’t pulled up through the back of that baseball cap.
She wore a red, white and blue plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled partway up, tucked into a pair of nicely snug but clearly well-broken-in and faded jeans.
She had on a pair of cowboy boots that he could see even from here were not just an affectation but well worn.
Oddly, she made a slightly jerky motion, as if she, too, had felt that split-second jolt. But after that she moved easily, gracefully, turning to walk toward the back of the horse trailer hitched to the dark blue truck. And he caught himself watching her backside a little too intently.
“That’s Nic’s friend Riley,” Jeremy explained. “She has the next ranch over. An’ sold us the land here.” The boy’s forehead wrinkled. “But it used to belong to Nic, before Riley bought it. Anyway, she’s the best, Nic says.”
At what?
Reining in an imagination that suddenly wanted to run wild, Miles made himself look at Jeremy instead.
And noted not for the first time how expressions from this life had become cemented into the language, even if meanings might have changed over the years.
Rein it in. Dude. Ace in the hole. Cash in.
He’d learned more than he’d ever thought about such things when Stonewall had taken over his life.
Cotton to. Yeah, there was another one.
That the phrase for taking a liking to something—or someone—popped into his head at that moment was purely coincidence. He was long past looks alone getting to him.
“C’mon!” Jeremy said, grabbing his hand and tugging. “Dad wants us over there.”
Belatedly he realized Jackson was indeed waving them over. He had to hustle to keep up with Jeremy’s running, and dodge the enthusiastic Maverick dancing between them as they went.
“Riley found an early birthday present for you,” Jackson said as Jeremy skidded to a halt beside the horse trailer. Instinctively Miles looked at the trailer but couldn’t see anything.
But he heard something. A snort, and the sound of hooves on the floorboards of the transport.
“A new horse?” Jeremy asked.
“Not exactly,” Jackson said, grinning. “Stay there.”
And then the woman reappeared, a lead line in her hand as she walked down the ramp, looking back toward whatever it was she’d brought. She looked even better up close, and Miles made himself look at the rope she held instead, waiting for what was on the end of it.
The moment the brown and white head appeared, Jeremy yelped excitedly. “Another pony!”
It was indeed a pony. And it looked similar to Jeremy’s beloved Pie, except this one was brown and white, and he thought a little taller. He assumed there was a name for the color combination, as Jeremy had seriously explained to him Pie’s black and white was called piebald.
“A brown and white to go with Pie!” Jeremy was so excited he was practically dancing.
“Exactly,” the woman, who had the horse down on the ground now, said. She was smiling, and it was killer. “Happy birthday, Jeremy, a little early.”
“Wow, thanks!” The boy fairly glowed with delight. “Now there’s a black and white one and a brown and white one.”
“You think your visitors will like that?” the woman asked, and Miles felt an odd little tingle at the low, sweet sound of her voice, and even more at the sincerity of her tone.
“They’re gonna love it. This is gonna be fun!” the boy crowed.
“And anything that’s fun for our kids is a good thing,” Jackson said softly.
And once more Miles was impressed with how strongly his friend felt about what they were doing here.
And rightfully. So now there were two solid reasons Jackson Thorpe would never leave this place where he’d found such happiness and meaning. And Miles couldn’t blame him.
“Obviously you know piebald means black and white, but do you know what the brown and white is called?” the woman was asking Jeremy.
“No, what?”
“Skewbald. And did you know the black or brown is their coat’s real color? It’s the white patches that grow differently.”
Jeremy stared at her, with that thoughtful expression Miles knew meant his agile brain was working through what she’d said. “I thought it was the other way.”
“Lots of people do. So now you have something new you can teach the kids who come to ride.”
Jeremy smiled at that, as if he liked the idea of him teaching something. “My aunt Tris is a teacher.”
“I know. So you know it’s a good thing to do.
” She reached out and patted the little horse’s neck.
The animal was looking around with interest, and Miles wondered if he realized he was looking at a new home.
And what the old one had been like. “And he’s almost as nice as your Pie, so you’re all going to have a great time. ”
“And since Jeremy is too distracted for the niceties, let me,” Jackson said, the smile on his face evidence of how much seeing his son so happy meant to him. “Riley Garrett, meet Miles Flint.”
That caught him off guard, but when the woman turned to face him, all he could see were her eyes.
From a distance he hadn’t been able to tell, but now he could see, they were a deep, dark blue, beyond striking with that nearly black hair.
The thick lashes fringing them were just as dark as her hair.
He found himself wondering what her ancestry was, where the stunning combination had come from.
And if she was wearing makeup—surely she had to be, to look that good?
—it was subtle enough that he couldn’t be sure, which was a change for a guy who made his living in Hollywood.
“Riley owns the ranch next door,” Jackson said.
“So Jeremy told me,” he said, and belatedly, wondering where his manners had gone, he held out a hand.
She took it, although she looked oddly wary.
Maybe she was worried about hanging on to the pony’s lead, although the animal seemed quite enraptured with Jeremy already.
The touch was brief, yet warm and…tingly somehow.
“And Miles,” Jackson went on, “is the one I blame for people recognizing me on the street all the time. He’s the one who took me from a mud flat to the Emmy Awards.”
Her expression changed. “You’re the one who saw what he did to save that horse?”
Miles nodded. And then nodded again, toward the full-sized horse in the corral behind them. “That horse, specifically.”
“Who is now one of our best ones with the kids,” Jackson said.
She smiled at that. Miles sighed inwardly as his pulse kicked up a bit. He so did not need this now. He searched for something, anything, to divert himself. “Maybe he relates so well because he knows what it’s like to be that scared,” he finally said.
Jackson looked at him consideringly. “Had that thought myself.”
Miles shrugged. “Trauma gets trauma.”
And when he risked a glance at the striking, blue-eyed woman with the pony, she was looking at him intently. And differently.
And this time he didn’t look away.