The Black Sheep and the Hidden Beauty (11 page)

“No. I was just following up on before, when I came out to the paddock to see about working another lesson into your schedule, and—”

“Bonder decided he was done with his lesson.”

Rafe wandered to the other side of the aisle when she moved to the rear hoof on Springer's far side and leaned against the post between stalls. “He's pretty much a nutcase, isn't he?”

“You would be, too, if you'd been abused like he was. Kate wants to find out how far we can rehab him. And, frankly, so do I.”

“Is he really worth all the time, not to mention the possible danger? I'm guessing he'll never be allowed anywhere near Kate's kids.”

She straightened again and walked over to where he was standing. “Excuse me,” she said, motioning to the carryall behind him which had the rest of her grooming supplies loaded into it.

“Sorry.” He stepped aside, but not as far as he might have. He told himself he just wanted to see her eyes up close, get a better gauge on just how settled she really was with their conversation.

She lifted the carryall by the handle, but paused before putting space between them. “No,” she answered, “he wouldn't be. But everyone deserves a chance to get their life back, get themselves back. Even broken-down, abused horses that nobody gives a damn about. Don't you think?”

He was listening, but up close like this, with the overhead light shining across her cheeks, he got caught up in those damn freckles. For someone so forthright and confident, the innocence they projected seemed incongruous. And yet he found them somewhat endearing, and it reminded him that no matter how tough the exterior, everyone was vulnerable in some way.

“Sounds like that ideal might come from some personal place.” He held her gaze, liking it more than he should when she stood her ground. Ground that kept her in direct proximity to him.

“Isn't your business all about helping to fix the injustices in the world?”

“As I said before, it's nothing so lofty as all that,” he replied.

“Still, whatever motivates you, the bottom line comes down to giving someone a chance for a better outcome than they'd otherwise have. That's what I'm giving Bonder. A chance to regain his health, and exist in a world that he can interact with and take joy from.”

“Then he's lucky to have found you.”

“Kate found him.” Her lips quirked at the corners, and that gleaming light entered her doe-brown eyes, ensuring his rapt attention wouldn't stray even if he wanted it to, which he didn't. “I'm just the glass-half-f sap who can't say no to a head case with a penchant for grape Popsicles. I mean, what's not to love?”

Rafe's smile came slowly. “You're an interesting woman, Elena Caulfield.”

“There's an ambiguous compliment. At least I'm choosing to take it as one.”

“It was meant as one. I can't say I've met anyone like you.”

Her dry smile spread to a grin that was as unaffected as it was honest. And he swore he felt something dip somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.

“You don't hang around the right places,” she said. “Horse stables are filled with interesting women.”

“No doubt.” But there was only one who'd captured his attention. And it was becoming a real struggle to keep in mind why he'd sought her out in the first place.

“Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to see to the rest of Springer's grooming.” She stepped around him. “I don't get to spend as much time with her as I'd like to.”

“Is that a subtle way of telling me you can't fit in another lesson? Or would rather not?”

She set her carryall on a stool and pulled out a flat, wooden brush with a strap she slid over the back of her hand. She began stroking the sides of her horse with the brush, glancing back at him over her shoulder. “No, it just means I don't get to spend as much time with her as I'd like. When do you want to take another lesson?”

“I'll defer to your schedule. What would be best for you?”

She paused and turned to look at him more fully. And smiled. “How early do you get up?”

E
lena backed down the ladder from her loft apartment over the outer stables, yawning deeply and wishing like hell she'd remembered to set the timer on the coffeepot the night before. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, and last night the temperatures had dipped down a bit further than they had recently, making for a chilly late-spring morning. She shivered despite the long underwear top she'd donned under her overalls this morning. Teach her to be a smart-ass and offer a dawn class. But then, she hadn't really expected him to take her up on it. He struck her as more night owl than early bird. Serve her right if he stood her up. Her luck, Rafe was probably still tucked in his nice, warm bed. Which was where she should be. Well, not in Rafe's bed, but…

No way could she stop the visuals that accompanied that little mental slip. It wasn't a shot of warm coffee, but it did have the added benefit of getting her blood pumping a little faster. Of course, if she were in the same bed as Rafe, she wouldn't need any coffee, just…stamina.

“Morning.”

His voice surprised her, making her lose her footing on the last rung. An instant later, two strong hands palmed her waist and steadied her as both feet reached the ground. She could have told him that putting his hands on her was not the way to steady her at the moment, but she was too busy trying to rally her thoughts away from imagining him manhandling her like this while they were both naked amongst tousled sheets.

Then he was turning her around, and she was getting her first look at a scruffy, early-morning Rafe. And whatever words she might have found evaporated like morning mist under a rising sun.

Goodness knows, her temperature was rising.

He had on an old, forest-green sweatshirt and an even older pair of jeans if the frayed edges and faded thighs and knees were any indication. It was standard weekend-morning clothing for most men, but until that moment, she'd have been hard-pressed to visualize it on him. Of course, on most men, that combination would have given them a disheveled look at best. In fact, she was feeling incredibly disheveled herself at the moment. Rafe, on the other hand, without even trying, looked like he'd just stepped off the pages of the latest Ralph Lauren ad. She would have resented the ease with which he made scruffy so damn sexy, except she was too busy fighting off the waves of lust the look inspired.

“Need help getting something down from up there?”

She somehow managed to drag her gaze away from his face to look, probably somewhat blankly, back up the ladder. His hands were still gripping her waist, so she had to be forgiven for her dazed reaction.

“Uh, no, I don't think I forgot anything. Except coffee.”

“You keep coffee in the stable crawl space?”

She frowned, then realized the source of his confusion. “I live up there. It's an old manager's office that Mac converted to a small efficiency for Kate when she first came. I thought you would know that.”

A smile played around his lips. And really, should he still have his hands on her? And why wasn't she moving away? Sure, he had her sort of pinned between him and the ladder at her back, but if she really wanted to get away from him…She gave up the pretense.

“I don't know that Kate ever actually used it,” Rafe said. “In fact, I'd forgotten all about it. You're the first manager she's hired.”

Elena knew that Kate lived with Mac in his bungalow, situated by the creek down past the lower horse field.
Smart woman
, she thought, knowing which living space she'd have chosen, if given the option. Especially considering the roommate that came with it. “Any wedding plans there?” she asked.

“Does there have to be?”

“No, of course not. I wasn't passing judgment, just wondering. In fact, it's not even any of my business. I haven't been around all that long, but anyone can see they're great together.”

Rafe shrugged and finally dropped his hands and stepped back. “Exactly. They seem pretty happy with the status quo.”

Figures—mention commitment to a guy, even indirectly, and he bolts.
“Power to them, I say. Relationships are hard enough. Whatever's working, works. It was nothing more than good wishes on my part.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“What about me?”

“Relationships. You seem to believe in happily-ever-after and saying I do's, so why aren't you married? Or are you?”

She was a little taken aback by that. Not that they'd been doing anything more than a little flirting, but she wasn't the type to even engage in that much if she was otherwise involved. But she could hardly act insulted, as that would imply there was some involvement with him. “No, single. But I've nothing against the institution. My parents had a long, happy marriage, so I've seen it work and work well.”

“Not one of the battle-scarred, then.”

She smiled a little at his characterization. “Said like a true war veteran.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Not in the first person, no. I've avoided most of them. But I've witnessed my fair share.”

“Sounds like you made a point of that. Avoiding them, I mean.”

“Might have. Nothing wrong with occasionally
not
learning a lesson the hard way.”

“How did you learn it, then?”

“Well, none of us—”

“Who is ‘us'? Your family?”

“Me, Mac, Finn. Which is as close to brothers as I'll ever have.”

“I suppose with a nickname like ‘Unholy Trinity,' I shouldn't be surprised that none of you is looking to get shackled. That is how you look at it, I suppose. Shackled. Although Mac seems pretty happy to be, at least, somewhat entangled.”

“He is, but trust me, no one is more surprised about that than Mac. Kate, too, come to think of it.”

“Why is that?”

“We each came from different walks of life, but none of us, Kate included, came from what would be considered a traditional upbringing. In fact, none of us had what you had.”

She frowned. “My dad moved us all over the place—I never stayed anywhere for more than a few years. I had no siblings. I did have a horse pretty much all of my life, but that's hardly traditional.”

“I meant your parents. A long, happy union. Role models for what can be. None of us had that.”

“I'm sorry.”

He lifted a shoulder. “I'm not whining over it, just stating facts. All in all, I think Finn's the only one who'd consider going down the aisle. He's a glass-half-f kind of guy.” A dry smile curved his lips. “Of course, he'd have to slow down long enough to actually develop a relationship in the first place, so small chance there.”

“So, Mac is happily involved with Kate, who was also, you say, without the role models, and now Finn is a possible candidate for matrimony—or something enduring, anyway, or at least open to the idea. And yet you avoid it entirely. No curiosity? No desire for family? Perfectly happy with the idea of growing old alone?”

She had no business asking him this, but she was truly curious to hear his answer.

He folded his arms and leaned back against one of the post beams. “What about you?” was his response. “What are your hopes?”

She tried not to stare at the way his folded arms pulled the fabric of his sweatshirt tight over his biceps. Or the way it made his shoulders look wider. She forced her gaze up to his. “I guess I would want what my parents had. I mean, who wouldn't, you know? Doesn't necessarily mean marriage, but that kind of life—a long bond. They were each other's best friends. And, I guess, I wouldn't settle for less than that, either. But, to be honest, it hasn't been something I've been focused on.”

“That makes two of us, then.”

“Yes. Yes, it does,” she agreed.

There. Independence clearly stated.
Sexual tension resolved,
she thought.
He's not looking, and neither am I
. So why wasn't she relieved?

Because the sexual tension hadn't abated one whit. Mostly because commitment had nothing to do with lust. She could be as lustful as she wanted, crave his touch, want to know what he tasted like, felt like…and have absolutely no intention of settling into any kind of relationship with him. She wasn't a one-night-stand type. But she found herself actually thinking there might be exceptions. Circumstances being what they were, and all, she could be forgiven for simply taking what she could have. Right?

Hardly. In her dreams was the only place she was going to do all the things she wanted to do with Raphael Santiago. And that's the way it was going to stay. Had to stay.

“So,” she said, her tone overly bright. “You ready for lesson number two?”

“As I'll ever be.”

They left the barns and climbed into the golf cart he'd ridden over in. The sun was just breaking fully over the treeline in the far distance, at the back of the lower fields, making her shade her eyes as he expertly steered the cart over the rutted path back to the main stables. A heavy mist hung in the air, chilling her skin. But, after their heated little encounter, the dampness felt good. Refreshing. Head-clearing.

Once at the big barn, she led the way down the aisle toward Petunia's stall. “It's been a while since your first lesson, so keep in mind that you'll probably need to reestablish your rapport with Petunia.”

“Check.” He said nothing else, just followed behind her.

She stopped at the tack room door and went inside. “I haven't set anything out, so we need to get her saddle, pads, bridle, everything.”

He followed her into the smaller room. “Just point to what we need.”

She could feel him behind her, her awareness of him as finely tuned as her senses were to the animals she worked with. Except with him, there was all that sexual energy jacking things up. She cleared her throat, maybe squared her shoulders a little, then made the mistake of looking back at him before reaching for the first of the gear.

Something about the morning beard shadowing his jaw, the way his hair wasn't quite so naturally perfect, made his eyes darker, and enhanced how impossibly thick his eyelashes were. And she really, really needed to stop looking at his mouth. But the ruggedness the stubble lent to his face just emphasized all the more those soft, sculpted lips of his.

Her thighs were quivery, her nipples were on point, and the panties she'd just put on not fifteen minutes ago were already damp. The morning air might have been head-clearing, but her body hadn't gotten the message at all.

“You take the saddle there,” she said, trying not to sound as breathless as she knew she did. Dammit. “On the third rail,” she added, pointing, when he kept that dark gaze on her.

“What else?” He didn't even glance at the rack.

“Grab one of the pads. Same kind we used last time. I'll get the halter and bridle.”

“Okay.”

She waited a heartbeat too long for him to move first. He didn't.

So they were officially staring at each other now. The silence in the small space expanded in a way that lent texture to the very air between them. The room was tiny, the temperature warm, with little ventilation. The sun hadn't risen enough to slice through the panels on the roof, leaving the room deep in shadows, with thin beams of gray dawn providing the only light. There was a light bulb overhead, but she'd have to reach past him to get to the switch.

He stepped forward. “Elena—”

“Rafe—”

They spoke at the same time, then both broke off.

He paused. “Yes?”

She really wanted to know what he'd been about to say before she'd potentially made a very big fool out of herself, but went ahead before she lost her nerve. “I can't—I mean, not to be presumptuous here, but I can't—don't—mix business with pleasure.”

“Are we?”

She didn't back down. She might not be the most experienced person in the world when it came to relationships, but she knew the way he was looking at her wasn't of the innocent teacher-student variety. “It feels like more than a simple riding lesson to me.”
There. She'd said it
.

He took another step closer, and her breath suddenly felt trapped inside her chest. So much for being brazen.

“It is a simple riding lesson,” he said. “Not a corporate merger. So what if there is more? I don't really see a conflict of interest here.”

“You're a close friend of my boss.”

He stepped closer still. It was a small room to begin with. He was definitely invading her personal space. Again.

“And you're not planning on staying here long-term anyway, right?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Meaning that as potential conflicts go, that one is temporary at best. As is anything that may happen between us. No commitments, right?” His voice was all just-rolled-out-of-bed rough.