Chapter Twenty-One
She shouldn’t have done it. But she’d been so excited, both at the new arrival and how easy it had been for Goldie.
They’d lost a mare to a horrible delivery once, years ago, and she didn’t ever want to go through that again.
But that didn’t mean she should celebrate a normal birth by planting one on the nearest guy.
It wasn’t just the nearest guy. It was Miles.
And somehow, that made it different. Which told her she was slipping dangerously close to territory she’d thought herself well done with.
Never again, she’d sworn after Derek, and she’d meant it.
And had told herself to be thankful that she wasn’t living in the era her grandmother had continually talked about, when the phrase “old maid” was one of the worst denigrations there was.
“Well, now, that was one to remember.”
Her father’s voice, coming from the doorway to the birthing stall, made her jump. And snapped her out of the risky territory she’d wandered into. But then the words he’d said sank in, and she gave him a startled look. He hadn’t meant…that kiss, had he? Had he even seen it?
No, he was looking at the foal. That was all he’d meant. But he had that smile on his face, the one that had warned her since childhood he knew perfectly well what she was trying to hide.
“It was an easy birth,” she said carefully, beginning to clean up the detritus so the foal would have nothing in his—because it was a he—way when he started trying to get up.
Which, judging by the way he was moving his legs, as if trying to figure out how to control them, would be any moment now.
She’d immediately scanned the newcomer, and seen nothing unusual, nothing of concern. “And he looks perfect.”
She was aware Miles had also moved and wondered if her father’s sudden words had startled him, too.
Or maybe he just wanted to be sure she wasn’t close enough to plant another kiss on him.
She grimaced inwardly at the sour thought that seemed quite possible.
After all, the man worked with celebrities, beautiful ones, all the time.
But then she saw that he’d shifted over to stroke Goldie’s neck.
“I think that means you done good, girl,” he said to the mare, who was already upright, if not back on her feet yet, her equine gaze fastened on the new life she’d just brought into the world.
She liked that he’d done that. But then she liked a lot about this guy.
Including kissing him?
Desperate for distraction, she threw herself into the tasks that always accompanied a birth. And pretended to be too busy to hear when her father asked Miles, “Sticking around?”
“If you don’t mind,” Miles said politely. “I’ve never seen a birth firsthand before.”
“Not even your own kid?”
Riley froze, unable to quite believe her father had actually asked that. Or figure out why. After a silent moment in which she could sense the strain even though she wasn’t looking at him, Miles answered in a voice that was so flat it barely seemed human.
“I saw my son born. And watched him die a few minutes later.”
Riley straightened then and turned to look at the two men. Her father looked as if he regretted asking, and Miles as if he regretted answering.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, drawing his gaze. “No one should have to go through that.”
He drew in a deep, audible breath. “It was a long time ago.”
So was her doctor telling her she’d never bear a child, and yet it still jabbed at her. “It only changes over time. It never goes away.”
He shifted his feet, as if uncomfortable. And she knew then for sure he wished he hadn’t said it. “Yeah,” he muttered.
“No wonder you understand so well why Jackson had to move for Jeremy’s sake.”
His eyes widened, in a way she didn’t understand until he spoke again. “I…Jackson doesn’t know.”
“About your son?” She was surprised, as close as the two men were.
He shook his head. “It…never came up.”
“Even when his wife was killed?” her father asked. “That would seem like a good time to say something.”
It wasn’t like her father to pry, and she wondered why he was now.
Miles shrugged. “I thought about it. But I didn’t want him to think I was trying to compare losses, like it was some kind of contest.”
“You only would have been sharing that you understood,” she exclaimed.
He shrugged again and Riley, not for the first time in her life, marveled that two creatures who thought so differently, men and women, ever managed to really connect.
Before that thought could take off running, she turned back to the task at hand, trying to focus on that instead of what Miles had said. And why her father had asked. Pushing like that was very unlike him.
A text notification sounded on her phone.
“That’s Ed,” she said, with a glance at her father, who was watching the new foal carefully as it figured out what hooves and legs were for.
She pulled out the phone and read the text on the screen. Then sighed. “His wife’s a little better, but still not good. He wants to know if they can start a rotation, with two of them coming back to work while one stays with her.”
“That’d help,” Dad said.
She frowned. “I know we need the help, but I’d hate for any of them not to be with her, if…the worst happened. Maybe we should see if we can find some temporary hires. Just for the stuff I can’t physically handle.”
“Or you could call your temporary neighbor.”
Her head snapped around as Miles spoke. “What?” she asked.
“I’m going to be here a while, and I didn’t do any damage yesterday, did I?”
“Now that,” her father said, “is downright neighborly of you. Maybe you really are Last Stand material.”
The man who seemed to have a hold on her imagination, in reality even more than with the fiction he produced, held her father’s gaze.
“Don’t think I don’t know the size of that compliment,” he said.
Dad chuckled. “And that you do just proves the point. So, can you start tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
Riley blinked. Had her father in essence just hired a successful Hollywood producer to do tedious manual labor? And had that producer agreed?
“Come for breakfast at six,” her dad said cheerfully. “Riley makes a wicked good omelet.”
“Dad,” she protested, “I’m sure six is a bit early for him.”
“‘He’ is right here, and six is actually a bit late for him.” Her head snapped around, and she wasn’t sure whether to feel reprimanded or laugh. What she was sure of was that she was surprised.
“It is?” was all she managed to get out.
He nodded. “I’m usually up at five so I can get some work done before my phone starts nattering at me.”
“Won’t it start nattering at you here?” she asked.
His mouth quirked upward at one corner in that way she’d noticed from the beginning, and liked more every time she saw it.
“Not if I turn it off.” He looked at her father. “If Jackson needs me for anything, can they call you?”
“Of course. I’m tied to the damn phone lately anyway,” her father said, sounding far too much like he was enjoying every bit of this.
“I guess we’re all set, then. I’ll report in at six sharp.”
As she watched Nic’s truck pull away, Riley felt a little off-balance. It was an odd feeling for her, because she was used to being ahead of the curve, generally. Of course, her father had thrown this curve, unexpectedly. She turned then to face the man who was smiling a little too widely.
“What,” she demanded, “was all that about?”
“That,” he retorted in the same tone, “was about getting you some help around here, while still letting Ed deal with his family situation. We can get by with one good hand—you did say he was helpful?”
“I…yes. Yes, he was. For a greenhorn.”
“I’ll take that, since it’s a friend.”
A friend.
It suddenly dawned on her, what her father had really been doing. “And the rest?”
“I just wanted to be sure he was…available, that he didn’t have family responsibilities elsewhere.”
She gave her father a steady, unblinking stare. He’d always called it her “no-BS” look. He shrugged, that sheepish thing he did when he’d been caught out.
“He seems like a nice guy. Especially for a Hollywood type.”
She was certain what he’d been up to now. He’d been checking him out in that father looking out for daughter kind of way. It was just sometimes he was as subtle as a bulldozer.
“I like him, Dad. He’s nice. But that’s all.”
“Sure.” Clearly eager to get past this, he said, “Anyway, I can handle the paperwork you hate, for a while, too.”
She knew he hated being tied to the computer, although he was perfectly competent at it.
She had to admit she didn’t like it much either.
And if he did that, and Miles was as useful as he’d been yesterday, they could make it a few more days without going through the hassle of hiring someone they weren’t sure about.
She had the thought that the Last Stand grapevine could probably have a few competent people knocking on their door, but…
I like him, Dad. He’s nice. But that’s all.
She sighed, remembering her own words. They were true. That’s all it was. And she would do well to stop wondering if it could ever become something else.