Chapter Four
B ayleigh sat on the porch overlooking the meadow, enjoying the early evening light with a lovely glass of Cabernet Franc. The ranch was coming along. Sawyer Lafferty had secured a good variety of mounts for their clients, from the pair of gentle, sweet-tempered Clydesdales to a bomb-proof Shetland pony to the American quarter horses that were currently being trained for therapeutic service.
His own rescue horse, Turtle, would no doubt be a favorite of the children, once they were open for business.
Her funds had been sufficient to purchase the property and she’d received a sizable grant from a therapeutic riding association, but she’d still had to take out a loan for the necessary upgrades. Not to mention payroll, once she’d hired her therapists. It would all work out. She wasn’t worried. Setting up a new business was always challenging. She’d been through worse.
The sound of tires on gravel alerted her to the return of her current guest. Lucas Landry. And he was driving a bit faster than she’d like. Whatever insanity had come over her last night when they met had disappeared by morning. Thank goodness. She shivered, thinking of what she’d been tempted to do. What she’d imagined doing.
But she was back to her normal self today. He was a guest on her property. She needed to be a good host. And he needed to follow the rules.
Annoyed, she set down her glass and got to her feet. This was a place of calm, healing. Whatever energy he was bringing back here with him from wherever he’d been, wasn’t welcome.
He skidded to a stop and shut off the engine but did not immediately get out of the vehicle, giving her time to approach him.
“Mr. Landry,” she called.
Best to keep things formal. They’d made their arrangements online, and until that moment yesterday when she’d sensed his vulnerability, everything had been business as usual.
But as she rounded the fence to the parking area, the face that met hers through the driver’s-side window was taut with... what? Pain? Fear? Anger?
She stopped, leaving a couple of car lengths between them, and waited for him to exit his vehicle.
After about a minute, he opened the door and got out, keeping his body angled away from her, as he had last night.
“Mr. Landry—”
“Lucas,” he said, turning.
Her gentle scold caught in her throat as he faced her. She’d convinced herself that she’d imagined his appearance last night. That Ted’s comment had poked a sensitive spot that had triggered an awareness of herself as a woman with... needs. Then, just as she’d discovered this unwelcome awareness, Lucas Landry appeared and she’d magically projected her desires onto him. No one could be as great as she’d thought him to be.
Except . . . he was.
He was gorgeous. Sunkissed skin, windswept hair, the body of the outdoorsman he’d billed himself as.
Great. She’d barely shed her hometown image of poor, poor Bayleigh, widow, single mother, object of pity and suddenly her libido sparks back to life?
Not convenient.
He was staring at her and suddenly she was aware that he’d said something and she hadn’t responded.
She felt her cheeks heat up. “I beg your pardon?”
The tension in his forehead faded and a faint smile took its place. “Call me Lucas. Mr. Landry is my father. And I’m sorry for my attitude last night.”
Oh my. If he was attractive when he was brooding, he blossomed into full-blown fantasy when he smiled.
“Yes,” she said, flustered. “Lucas. Of course. And I’m Bayleigh. But you know that.”
Her face was burning.
His eyebrows lifted. He’d noticed her discomfiture. Of course he had. Because that’s the kind of luck she had.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, that slow grin creeping up to his eyes. “You look like you had something you wanted to say.”
Oh, my.
She swallowed, desperately searching for composure. She had it. She knew she did. Somewhere.
Right! Speeding.
“Mr. Landry,” she began again.
“Lucas.”
Damn.
“Lucas.” Her throat was dry. “You are familiar with horses, I believe.”
“I am.”
“And you’re literate, yes?”
He blinked. “Literate?”
“You have the ability to read.”
“Of course.”
“Then, given those two factors, might I remind you,” she said, her strength returning, “to employ those skills when you are driving on Belle Vista property.”
He cocked his head. “Talk to me like I’m five,” he suggested.
She rolled her eyes. “Read the signs. No speeding. It scares the horses.”
His expression changed immediately. He looked behind him at the corrals that ran on either side of the driveway. Two horses were in the near one, three in the far one. All of them were calm as milk and wouldn’t care if he’d backfired all the way down the lane, but he didn’t know that. That wasn’t the point.
Rules were made for a reason.
This was her place and she got to run it exactly as she wanted. And she wanted people to follow the speed limit.
“I apologize, Ms. Sutherland.”
“Bayleigh.”
The sound of her married name on his lips irritated her. He was a decade younger than her, she guessed, and the way he said it made her feel like a maiden aunt who did tatting. Whatever that was. Embroidery? Crocheting?
Lucas held out his hands, palms out. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of it. This is your ranch, Ms. Sutherland, and I will respect your... desires.”
Oh. My. God.
Was he . . . flirting?
With her?
A woman old enough to be his... older sister?
How dare he use the word with her like that. Desires. She didn’t even know what that meant anymore.
“Don’t be silly,” she said, realizing as she said it that it made her sound exactly like a tatting maiden aunt.
“Silly?”
“Oh, for fu—” she muttered under her breath, catching herself just in time.
That earned her a spluttering laugh, which only made Lucas seem even younger.
“Did you just drop an eff-bomb?”
“No, of course not.”
“You did.”
She rolled her eyes. Had she done that already? Was she repeating her actions? That wasn’t a good way to look normal.
She folded her arms, then unfolded and refolded them. They felt weird, like she was doing it the wrong way, but it felt wrong both ways.
Yes, so normal.
“Are you okay, Ms. Sutherland?”
He turned back to pull something from inside the vehicle, then took a step away and closed the door. That’s when his expression changed again and she saw the flicker of pain cross his handsome features.
“I’m fine,” she said. “But you’re not.”
“Fatigue brings out my symptoms and I have had one hell of a day, so again, I beg your pardon for scaring the horses.” He looked deliberately out at the animals, who hadn’t moved upon his arrival and were still grazing peacefully. “Thank you for your hospitality. I promise to follow the speed limit from now on. If there’s nothing else, might I retire to my accommodations?”
His deliberate speech both annoyed her and softened her. He was teasing, gently.
“Of course. And I apologize as well. Speeding is a trigger for me.”
“I understand.”
Not likely.
She blinked away an image of the flatbed truck carrying the clot of mangled metal and turned to go back to the house.
Then she paused. How many times had she counseled herself and others on moving forward, on integrating the pain and making room for a new reality? That life was over. In this new reality, it wasn’t yet nine o’clock.
“Have you had something to eat?” she asked, wincing inwardly at the motherly tone she heard. Hopefully Ted wasn’t watching.
“I have,” he replied.
Whew, saved from whatever momentary madness had come over her. Good. He’d had supper. He could go to his cabin, go to bed, while she went into her house, and her own bed. By herself. As usual.
“Excellent,” she said.
“But.”
“Yes?” She paused and cast a look over her shoulder.
He was watching her carefully. Then he looked toward the veranda, where her glass of wine was glinting in the setting sun.
“I don’t want to interrupt,” he said.
“You’re not,” she said, too quickly. “I mean, I just opened a nice California red. Would you care for a glass?”
His grin sent heat thrumming through her entire body. “Yes,” he said. “I would.”
*
Lucas sat down at Bayleigh’s patio table, a comfortable wicker and glass arrangement, with thickly upholstered seating. He really ought to get stretching, but he hated to draw attention to his leg.
“So, how did your meeting go?” Bayleigh asked, coming out of the house with a second glass. She poured him a generous amount and handed it over.
He swirled it, admiring the warm tones that took on a fiery glint in the setting sun, then sniffed.
“Black currant, black cherry, leather and . . .” he thought of her scent “. . . petrichor.”
She raised her eyebrows. She had remarkable eyes. “You know wine?”
He shrugged. His tours were high-end, with meals provided by an excellent chef who knew about wine and paired accordingly. There was no reason you couldn’t enjoy great food while in the backcountry. As long as you had the money to pay for it.
“I know someone who does,” he said. “You know what they say. Life’s too short to drink bad wine.”
“Would you prefer not to talk about Leila and Brade?” She kept her eyes on him. “I see your diversion and I raise you a full-frontal attack.”
Wow. She definitely knew how to raise the stakes. But he could play the game, too.
“Full frontal.” He tipped his head, letting his eyes drift ever so quickly over her torso. “Then I have nothing to do but fold.” He exhaled, took another sip, and decided to be direct also. “It was okay. I don’t think I made the best impression.”
“How odd,” she said with a wry smile.
“Yeah, yeah.”
She was easy to talk to. There was a connection here, something worth following. He liked her and the sparring suggested she liked him, too.
He wondered what she’d think if she knew a woman was in a wheelchair because of him. “It’s my strategy. Go in hot, let people see the worst, and if they still want to hang with me, then there’s hope for an authentic relationship. I don’t believe in false fronts.”
She nodded. “Efficient. You have a lot of friends, do you?”
He laughed. “Enough. More than I deserve. I’m a solitary person. I’m comfortable with my own company.”
“Is that what drew you to being an outdoor guide?”
He’d listed his occupation to her when he’d applied to rent the cabin. He deliberately hadn’t given her his business name but thanks to Sawyer Lafferty, that cat was now wandering freely. At any time, it could knock the vase off the shelf in Bayleigh’s mind and any brownie points he had with her would be shattered.
“It was definitely part of it.”
“You like to challenge yourself, too, I expect.”
He lifted his glass to her. “As do you, from what I’ve seen here. To challenging ourselves.”
“To overcoming barriers,” she said. “Will you meet them again?”
“Wow,” he said. “You sound like my mom.”
“Ouch,” Bayleigh said.
“Oh, no, she’s great. She’s a pit bull when she wants to get me to talk about something.”
Why had he said that? His mom was great, but she was... his mom.
Bayleigh Sutherland was also great, in an entirely different way.
“The three of us are going riding together tomorrow.” He took a breath. “You’re nothing like my mom, Bayleigh.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, looking out over the meadow. “I’m Ted’s mom, after all.”
“My mom is very nice-looking, for her age.”
Oh, great, digging in even deeper.
“I mean, you’re—” He stopped and blew out a breath. He was on steep, muddy ground, about to fall on his ass. “You’re both beautiful, but in very different ways.”
“What a sweet thing for a son to say,” Bayleigh replied. “Mine reminded me recently that I’m somewhat... antiquated.”
She gave a light laugh, but he could tell it had touched a nerve.
“Antiquated? How old are you?” he asked.
“How old are you?” she countered, meeting his gaze evenly.
“Thirty-one. You don’t look older than that, but you have a mostly grown son, so unless you had him in middle school, I’m guessing you must be.”
He usually loathed this kind of getting-to-know-you chitchat but with Bayleigh it was kind of fun. They were exempt from the expectations of dating, so it felt... natural? Yes, that was it. This was most definitely not a date, yet an underlying tension sizzled nicely, reminding him that he was a young, relatively healthy male and she was a young, attractive woman.
She hesitated. “Almost forty-two.”
“Pfft. Boys are morons.”
“Agreed.” She took another sip of wine. “But, still true.”
“Don’t forget that women hit their prime a little later than men,” he added. Then kicked himself mentally.
“Their sexual prime,” she corrected. Then she looked up, color flooding her cheeks. She tugged the edges of her hoodie together. “We’ve gone way off topic here.”
Yes, but Lucas wasn’t sorry. He was intrigued. He wanted to continue on this path, to see why this subject brought such discomfort to his host. She appeared comfortable with her body—and what a body it was!—which made sense, given her background. Did she really not know how beautiful she was? How attracted he was to her?
“Where will you be riding?” Bayleigh asked, clearly determined to change the subject.
Fine. Anything to prolong the conversation.
“By the river,” he told her. “Brade called it the badlands, part of some land he purchased recently. I’m assuming he’s got horses for us all.”
He missed Stella. They had a special connection. She’d been with him so long, she could probably lead groups on her own. If Tanya’s family had their way, he’d be forced to sell his other horses, but he’d live under a bridge before he’d lose Stella.
“They’re probably using horses from Running River, Weldon Scott’s ranch.”
Lucas frowned. “Yes, I think he mentioned that.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Would Scott’s daughter be there? Diana was his half sister and he had to meet her at some point, but he was still getting acquainted with Brade and Leila. He’d dived headfirst into a big, full world and he needed to catch his breath before meeting another new relative.
“You’re welcome to ride here, too.” Bayleigh gestured toward the barns. “Most of our horses are being trained for therapy but several of them are great trail horses. Exercise and socialization are important, so you’d be doing me a favor.”
“Thanks.” He fingered his glass. “Can I ask you a question?”
She lifted her head. “Sure,” she said, cautiously.
He should feel just as awkward and suspicious around Bayleigh; she was a stranger too. But instead, he felt relaxed, energized. Attracted.
Excited.
Did she feel it too?
He inhaled, then spoke. “Is there something going on here? Or is it my imagination?”
Immediately, she flushed again, swallowed, and looked away. “I’m not sure...”
“Because you invited me here to have a glass of wine. Is that standard hospitality? If it is, you’re going to be mobbed. I’d rather think that maybe it’s something else.”
“What else—” her voice was hoarse “—might it be?”
A flip-flop dangled off the toe of her nearest foot, inches from his leg. He wanted to grab that foot and bring it into his lap, to touch those toes, so tantalizing with their glossy-tipped nails and smooth skin. Her ankles, visible beneath the ragged edges of her boot-cut jeans, were elegantly shaped, the bones graceful, delicate but probably strong enough to send that foot straight into his groin if he’d miscalculated.
“It might be,” he said carefully, “that we are two souls who don’t connect easily with others but find ourselves unexpectedly connecting. For some strange reason.”
“Very strange,” she said. “You make such a bad first impression.”
“Yet,” he said with a grin, “you offered me wine. You see? My strategy works.”
The tension between them ramped up, but not unpleasantly. He’d made the first volley and it had struck exactly where he’d intended. Something simmered between him them. Was it just that she’d caught him at a particularly vulnerable time?
Instantly, his spirits dipped.
“Hey,” she said. “Where’d you go?”
He shook his head, hoping to dispel the bad memories. “Nowhere. Just... stuff. It’s been a long day. Long month. Long summer.”
“Bad stuff?”
An injured client, a ruined reputation, a career in tatters, and a whole new complicated family to sort out.
He nodded. “You could say.”
“Well, then,” she said, eyeing him beneath lush lashes. A pregnant pause hung between them while she bit her lip.
“Well, then, what?”
“I was thinking...” She met his eyes and held, her gaze frank and assessing.
His breath was lodged in his throat. He swore the air around them had grown ten degrees hotter.
“Thinking is good,” he managed to say through dry lips.
“I thought maybe,” she began, then blinked and started over. “I thought maybe... the week you’re here could be the highlight of your summer.”
The way she said it sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin. Was she really that bold? Or was she kind of innocent, instead? Was it possible that she wasn’t aware of her effect on men? On him?
Suddenly she straightened and put her hands on the table, like she might get up and flee.
He smiled, reached out and rested his palm on one hand. “Are you propositioning me, Ms. Sutherland?”
Her eyes widened, then her face relaxed into an answering smile. She turned her hand and grasped his lightly, her fingers intertwining with his, her touch electric.
“Now who’s antiquated?” She laughed, a musical tinkle over the warm evening air. “You’re here to meet your brother and sister, right? This should be a time of celebration.”
Disappointment blossomed inside him. Had he misread her?
“They’re strangers.”
He’d blow them off in a heartbeat if it meant he could have more time with Bayleigh.
“We’re strangers, too,” she reminded him. “Family is important and I don’t want to get in the way of that. If anything, I’d like to facilitate it.”
“Are you about to give me professional advice?” he asked.
“Oh, no. This is strictly personal.” She leaned forward, keeping his hand firmly in hers. “But habits are habits. If you were to share anything... private... with me, you can trust it would stay safely in the vault.”
She was bantering with him again and the lightness felt almost as good as the arousal.
“I can trust you, huh?”
She put her other hand over her heart. “Absolutely.”
“Then, can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course.” She was grinning and it felt unbelievably good to have that aimed at him. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss her. Probably about a million times better than this, and this felt pretty damn great.
“I like making you smile. I think I’d like to spend the week trying to make you smile. What do you say?”
“Promise not to speed and I’d say you’ll be a huge success.” She dropped his hand then, leaned back in her chair and looked him up and down. “You know, you really do make a bad first impression. But your second impression makes up for it.”
“Told you.”
She swallowed the last of her wine, her throat rippling as it went down. He wanted to trail his tongue along that creamy length.
“We’re going out for dinner after our ride,” he said. “Why don’t you join us?”
She jerked her chin back. “Me? Why?”
“You want to facilitate,” he said. “Why not start there? It might be nice to have someone on my side, in case things get touchy.”
“Why on earth wouldn’t they be on your side, Lucas? Why are there sides at all?” She frowned at him in concern. “They asked you out here because they want to know you. If you let them. Do you not understand that?”
He finished his own wine. “Never mind. I’m a skeptic, a morbid pessimist who has to be convinced of the good in the world. You’re probably right. Thanks for this. See you in the morning.”
“Maybe,” she answered, watching him. “I hope your visit goes well.”
He got to his feet, not bothering to shield Bayleigh from the view of his bad leg. The way he was feeling, she should see all the darkness that made up Lucas Landry, so she’d know to run away and not look back.