12. Hearts on the Trail
12
HEARTS ON THE TRAIL
brOOKS
The Buchanan estate buzzed with baby cries, soft coos, and the warm chaos that only a family gathering could stir. It seemed too surreal how they all fell into step as a family, trading stories about sleep training and diaper blowouts like they were battle wounds. Rex had Chelsea now, and a kid. Richard had Vivian now, and two kids.
On the outskirts were three bachelors: me, Archer, and Kingston. As Sophie captured their attention, my sights set on the only woman in the room that mattered.
Maisy sat on the couch near the window, gently rocking Isabella in her arms, her expression soft and instinctive. I caught sight of the way she tucked the blanket just so, the tiny smile that played on her lips as the baby cooed, and something visceral stirred in my chest. My body reacted before my mind could catch up—a heavy thud in my chest, a tightening in my throat, an ache I hadn’t felt quite like this before.
I could imagine her holding our child someday, and I wanted that. But we needed to get on the same page about us before that could ever materialize. With weeks to go until her big event, between now and then I’d do everything possible to ensure she knows she’s mine. Because after that, who knew what might happen?
As Maisy handed the baby back to Vivian, the front door swung open and in bustled Flora, arms full of two foil-covered dishes and a woven basket hanging from her elbow. Her arrival brought an instant burst of energy to the already warm home.
“Gramma Flora is here,” Paris shouted, the unofficial announcer of any visitors. She hugged the woman all the way to the kitchen.
“Oh, my sweet, Paris. I brought pies and enough food to feed an army for a week. I hope you’re hungry?” Flora announced, setting a casserole dish down on the counter before pulling her and Maisy into a long, enveloping hug. “I want time with all the babies—and with my baby, too. I missed you, Maisy-girl,” she added, pressing a kiss to Maisy’s cheek.
“I missed you, too, Mom. It’s so good to be here. I promised Chelsea I’d come back to town more often. Have you seen how much Max has grown?” she asked.
“Yes, I have. I’m afraid to blink and miss anything. How’s work going, dear?”
She shrugged. “Everything’s going great in New York, really.”
I cleared my throat, hovering nearby. “And I’m there too—always happy to help if she ever needs anything.”
Flora gave me a pointed look of approval. “Knowing that makes me feel better. How are you, Brooks? So good to see you again.”
“It’s good to see you too, Flora.” I never knew how much of our situation Maisy shared with her mother, but Flora had always treated me decently, and the way she reached over and squeezed my hand just now said nothing about that would change.“But I think Maisy is being modest. Hasn’t she told you yet about winning the internal innovation idea competition?” I bragged a little on her behalf, surprised if she hadn’t brought it up.
“I think Chelsea mentioned something about it. How very exciting for you.”
“It is, but a lot of work. I’m preparing for a public presentation for it next month. I was hoping we could arrange for you to come down to New York and attend the event.” Maisy raised her eyebrows and waited.
“I would love to. I finally have a couple of very dependable employees right now, and I think I could trust them to watch over Flora’s Diner for a night.”
“Oh fantastic. I think seeing your face in the audience while I give this first major speech of my career will help a lot.”
“Don’t be nervous. I believe in you. There’s a lot of your father in you, and he was a beautiful, charismatic speaker. Now, help me get a few more things from the car, dear.”
“I’ll help, to” I called out.Flora did a double take, as Archer joined us to help as well.
“My brother and I came up to Holly Creek hoping you might have some of that incredible strawberry rhubarb pie, like we had at Chelsea’s wedding,” I flattered the woman. She really had perfected the art of pie making, though.
“You’re in luck. I brought one today.” She laughed as we all followed her out the door.
“Get in line for a piece behind me,” Rex growled, joining in. “Nothing beats my mother-in-law’s cooking.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, because I brought a few things.” When she opened her trunk and then all her doors, it became clear that Flora’s idea of a few things ended up considerably more than any of us expected.
With all hands on deck, we brought every dish of food inside on a few trips. Once we had everything spread out and organized across every kitchen surface, the island, and the dining room table, Flora stepped back and beamed.
“Let the feast begin. Dig in. We have plenty of blessings to celebrate today.” She clapped her hands together. “Now, I must get my hands on those babies. You all grab a plate and carry on.”
No one could turn down the food, and before long me and all the men had heaped our plates full, while the women trickled in for small places of food, between baby time in the nursery and talking in the kitchen. I kept a watchful eye on constant alert for any sighting of Maisy.
Eventually, Richard turned the conversation toward the house plans with me and Archer. “Sorry to be in such a rush about these plans, getting you guys up here so quickly, but Miriam arrives tomorrow for a week-long stay to be with the baby and help Vivian out, so I want to get these out of the way before then.”
Suddenly, Paris ran up to him. “Daddy, Mommy won’t let me go riding. But I’m old enough and know how to saddle Winnie and do everything myself.”
Before he could respond, Vivian’s reply followed firmly from the kitchen entrance. “Ma chérie, I said you’re nine, and you still need an adult with you.”
Richard sided with his wife. “Sweetheart, we’re all visiting today. How about you wait until Miriam arrives tomorrow? You know you’ll have all week to ride with her.”
“But Mimi only likes to practice in the ring. I want to go out on the trail,” Paris whined.
Maisy spoke up. “I can take her on the trail.”
“Yeah? Okay. Just don’t stay out too long,” Richard agreed, and Paris whooped with delight. I saw my chance for some Maisy time. I’d just finished my meal anyway and could use some fresh air.
“Archer, I think you can handle this with Richard. I’ll stick by Maisy and Paris. Make sure they’re safe.” I headed to the kitchen and washed my plate quickly before Archer could protest.
Outside, Maisy crouched down to Paris’ height and whispered something in her ear. The girl beamed, hat in hand, suited up to ride, proudly wearing her pink boots like she was ready to conquer the world.
“Hold up, I’m coming too,” I yelled, bounding down the steps.
Maisy swiveled, arching a brow. “Oh? Do you even know how to ride, city boy?”
“My roommate in Cambridge, Mac, was a famous U.K. polo player. I learned to ride for something to do and followed him around to practices and matches now and then. Even played a few amateur matches before I left.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, like she was trying to decide if I was full of it. “Mac? ”
I laughed. “Real name Mac Donegal. He’s coming stateside soon for a visit. I’ll introduce you.”
“Sounds like your time in Cambridge had done you some good?”
“Not really, considering one of the main reasons I went there was to forget about you. Which didn’t work, in case you wondered.” I winked, enjoying the pink blush rising on her cheeks.
We walked toward the stable with Paris bouncing between us, chattering about her horse, the trail, and how baby Isabella spit up on Daddy’s shoes that morning, which she thought was hilarious. Maisy gave me a warm glance as Paris trotted ahead of us.
“She’s doing so well now. It’s kind of amazing to think about where she was just a couple of years ago—waiting in the hospital for her kidney transplant, with all the fear and uncertainty that brings. Now she’s out here being her bold, unstoppable self.” Maisy spoke wistfully, the sound light and familiar.
“If only the hospital she was in had your sensory room…” I teased, sort of.
She chortled. “I think she had something better—her father, Richard. From what I understand, he was tireless in his pursuit of keeping her happy and entertained.”
We reached the barn, where Paris proudly showed off her wall of ribbons from local dressage competitions, each one carefully pinned beside framed photos of her and her grandmother, Miriam Buchanan. The photos captured a legacy of love for the sport—Miriam holding the reins with confidence, Paris mimicking her posture with earnest determination. It was clear the two shared not just a hobby, but a deep bond built in the quiet, dusty corners of this barn and on the backs of their horses.
On the trail, aside from the occasional chirp of birds and the breeze rustling the trees, the clip of hooves kept time. Paris rode her plucky gray horse Winnie ahead of us, and I rode Richard’s Majesty, a tall, spirited horse with pitch black coloring. Maisy rode Vivian’s calm mare, Cheval, which Paris explained was the French word for horse.
In the saddle, Maisy rode gracefully, her posture straight, her hands relaxed on the reins. Her perfect derriere in the saddle was better than any view as we headed down the path that skirted around Rex and Richard’s properties.
“I miss riding. It’s been years.” Maisy peered into the distance.I half-expected her to ride off into the horizon like some horse-girl daydream and leave me behind.
“I didn’t know you were into horses.” Thought I knew almost everything about her, but she kept me guessing. Noted for the future, plenty of horses to ride on our property.
“When I was about ten, my dad bartered with someone who owed him on a medical bill. He was always doing that for people around here who couldn’t afford medical care. Anyway, we ended up with a horse and a pony. We had a small barn behind the house that had been part garage and part storage. We cleaned it out and made a home for those two. Jackie and Diane were their names. I rode the pony, Jackie. Often, when he’d come home from a hectic day at the clinic, we’d go riding after dinner and talk.”
“Relieving his stress, right? Bet he would have loved your research.”
“Yes.” She chuckled. “He would have talked with me for hours about it. Probably helped me analyzed data too. He wasn’t much for computers, though. Did you know he was fifteen years older than Flora?” She asked.
“Your father sounds like a good man. I wish I’d have met him.”
“He would have liked you. How about your father? You told me long ago how he’s a tough man to get along with?”
“Yep. Still an old curmudgeon.”
Paris twisted around in her saddle. “What a crumb dungeon?”
“Curmudgeon. A cranky old man.” I snickered. “Anyway, thankfully, I have my brothers, Archer and Tucker. They’re all the family I need. Until I marry one day.”
“Any prospects in that department?” she arched a brow and tilted her head.
“Maybe.” I gave her a smoldering smile back.
Paris twisted around again. “Are you two in love?”
Maisy nearly choked on her own breath. I held back a laugh.
“With this woman?” I said, thumbing at Maisy with a playful side-eye. “She can’t even knit a straight stitch.”
Maisy snorted, eyes narrowing. “Hey! Says the man who wore that crooked scarf anyway, and multiple times, from what I could tell when I picked it up off the floor at Orion. I saw the frayed edges.”
I leaned over in my saddle a little to get closer to her. “What can I say? It’s one of a kind and I wear it proudly.”
“Well, I made a second attempt at knitting while I was on the ship.”
My jaw ticked. “No, don’t even tell me you gave one to Thorne?”
“Relax. He’s never worn it. Said thank you, but I saw the face he made. Pretty sure he thought I was handing him a tube sock. You, on the other hand…”
“I wear mine with pride.” I practically beat my chest like the king of the jungle would do. “But you’re right. It’s not what it once was.” I glanced at her. “Doesn’t smell like you anymore.”
She shifted slightly in the saddle, watching the trees ahead.
“I think I should give it back,” I said, tone light. “You can wear it for a night. Then return it to me. That way, it’ll smell like you again. Could be good for my stress hormones if you’d like to test the theory and track my response to it.”
She tried not to smile. Failed.
“You’re incorrigible,” she muttered through her grin.
“I’m persistent,” I corrected. “Big difference.”
“I suppose you could give it back and I could see what I could do to fix the frayed edges?”
“I’ve got a few frayed edges myself. Maybe more time with you would fix them.”
She blushed, about to respond, but Paris urged her pony into a faster trot. “I’m gonna go along the creek!”
“Not too far!” Maisy called after her.
When we finished the entire trail, back at the barn, Paris rushed through unsaddling and brushing her pony down with record speed. Maisy and I helped with the tack, both of us somehow working in sync like we’d done this before.
The moment Paris ran off toward the house, taking her chatter and a million questions with her, the barn went quiet. The low nickering of horses and the scent of hay, leather, and something warmer surrounded us as we finished cleaning up.
Maisy stood on tiptoes and reached high to hang the bridle on a hook. One look at her back, the soft inward curve of her narrow waist opening up to rounded hips, the way the light caught in her golden hair—and something inside me broke wide open.
“I will not survive another seven weeks of pretending.” I spoke deliberately.
She turned, brow furrowed. “Pretending what?”
“That I don’t want you.”
Her mouth parted, but she didn’t speak.
I crossed the space between us, slow and purposeful, until there was barely room for air.
Her voice was tight, staring up into my eyes. “We said we’d be professional.”
“I’m trying.”
She blinked. “It’s only six more weeks, Brooks,” came her breathy reply.
“And after? What then?”
A moment passed. Then two. And then?—
She kissed me first, launching herself at me with her arms around my neck. She surprised me, so I almost tipped backward into the hay.
Then I took back control, wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her closer, and it turned into something else entirely.
Heat. Hunger. Heart pounding. The kiss you don’t recover from. Ever.
When we broke apart, both of us breathless, I whispered, “Tell me to stop.”
Maisy shook her head. “Don’t you dare.”
I kissed her again, backing her slowly into the empty stall to the right of us. Her fingertips played along the brushed flannel neck of my shirt: I kept my smile to myself, running my brief experiment, proving soft textures were her thing. Starting tomorrow, I’d hire a stylist to refit my wardrobe to include any kind of luxuriously soft fabric they could find... all for the pleasure of Maisy’s fingertips.
“Brooks? Maisy? Are you in here?” Archer called into the stable. I heard Richard and Rex’s voices, too.
I sighed and kissed her forehead. “I should go.”
“I know.”
“This is just a minor interruption. We’ll pick this up again later.”
“Promise?” she fluttered her eyelashes at me.
I nodded, smoldering, and backed away from her, as she stood there touching fingers to her lips. We just took a huge leap of faith. This wasn’t over yet. Not by any measure.