The Black Sheep and the Hidden Beauty (6 page)

Maybe he was just good with anything female, Elena thought, and found herself looking at his hands. They looked strong, with wide palms, solid, long fingers, and she found herself abstractedly wondering what they'd feel like stroking the length of her—

“So why don't you race?” Rafe asked, intruding into her reverie and thankfully pulling her back to the moment literally at hand.

“What? Oh, me, race?” She shook her head. “No. I enjoy riding, but I'm too big to be a jockey. Not that I really wanted to be one, anyway. I enjoy working with the horses themselves. All animals, really.” She smiled. “I thought about being a vet when I was little, but it turns out I don't do too well with the sight of blood.”

His lips curved just a little and, too late, she remembered that part about his charm being more lethal when he was amused. “That would certainly put a damper on things.”

“Pretty much. One of the farms I spent time on as a child was run by a woman who did all kinds of rescue work with animals. She was amazing. And I thought that's what I wanted to do when I grew up, heal wounded animals. Turns out the wounded part was a little hard for me. I ended up following my dad's footsteps more instead.”

“You said he was a show-horse trainer.”

“He was. A very good one, in fact. He worked hard to build his reputation, but we moved around a lot as a consequence of his popularity.”

“What about your mother? Did she work with horses as well?”

“Not at all. In fact, she didn't even ride.” When Rafe lifted his eyebrows, she explained further. “My mother and father met on one of the farms where he worked. He trained the horses, she worked in the main house as a housekeeper.” She held his gaze steadily now. She was quite proud of her parents, but not everybody who heard their story reacted the same way.

“My mother worked as a maid in a hotel in New York City. Amongst other things,” Rafe responded.

Apparently her surprise showed on her face, because his resulting hint of a smile was sardonic at best. “Why are you surprised?”

“I don't know. I guess I wouldn't have pegged you as being from a blue-collar background.” Which wasn't entirely true. She'd noted before that for all his casual elegance, there was something edgy about him that spoke of a life not completely without challenges. She just wasn't sure what those challenges had been. “And given that I, of all people, should know better, that was horribly hypocritical of me. I'm sorry.” Her smile was more than a little abashed. “My mother would have had such a lecture for me right now.”

He did smile then, and it wasn't any less powerful this time around than it had been in the barn the other day. His entire aura changed when he did that. He looked like someone who not only understood the concept of fun, but would enjoy getting you into trouble when he had it.

“I've received that same lecture more than once,” he said.

He was already sorely testing her sense of balance. Their chance bond was as unexpected as it was unwanted. At least on her end. She didn't mind him being more approachable, but she could ill afford to let herself become any more attracted to him. For one thing, she hadn't yet determined if he was friend or foe. But even if it was the former, she couldn't risk it. Letting anyone get close right now would be a major risk. Besides, her time here was limited, so what was the point? All she had to do was resist temptation. Very potent temptation.

Putting Springer at the very forefront of her mind, she worked to keep the conversation cordial, but professional. “I guess I had that reaction because you seem so…refined.” She gestured to his clothes. “Even in khakis and a polo shirt you look more dapper than most men would in a tailored suit.”

That got a choked laugh from him. It wasn't exactly a joyful sound, but it was nice to know he had it in him.

“
Dapper.
That's rather…stuffy, isn't it?”

She merely raised an eyebrow.

“I'm not remotely stuffy,” he protested, but she could see the wheels turning, analyzing, wondering. As if no one had ever mentioned that to him before. She had a hard time believing that.

“Maybe
stuffy
isn't the right word,” she said.
Guarded
, she decided, was closer to it, but thought better than to say it out loud. “So, it looks like neither one of us was born with the silver spoon.” She glanced down at her own battered overalls and boots and brushed at the ever-present mud and dirt that caked the front of her pants. “One of us just looks more the part than the other,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. “So, what about your father? What did he do?”

“No idea. Never met the man.”

“Oh.” And maybe her heart tilted just a tiny bit. It was only natural, she told herself. She was a sucker for all things orphaned or in need. Not that he was either of those things, but still, she couldn't imagine a life without the strength and wisdom both her parents had given her. “I'm sorry for that.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Don't be. My mother is a hell of a woman. I think she did okay by me.”

Elena couldn't help but think so, too. As much as she wanted to distrust this man and keep her distance, he wasn't making it easy. She hadn't expected to have anything in common with him, and she still felt they were diametric opposites, probably in more ways than not. She hadn't gotten all that far away from her roots, whereas, while he might have had a rough beginning, he'd certainly gone a long way toward polishing off any rough edges from his upbringing. He was downright burnished, in fact. “I'm sure she's very proud of you. With good reason.”

“We all have our lives,” he said. “All paths lead somewhere. Mine hasn't turned out so bad.”

All paths lead somewhere.
Elena couldn't help but wonder about her own, and wished she could say the same. “Where is your mom now?”

“Florida. She's retired, although someone needs to tell her that. Woman volunteers more hours a week than most people put in at a paying job.”

That last part sounded familiar. “Maybe that's her way of relaxing. My mother was happiest when taking care of others, no matter what my dad and I said.”

“You two would get along famously,” he said dryly. “She's worked so hard her whole life, she should be out playing golf or something now.”

Elena laughed. “I couldn't imagine my mother on a golf course. My dad could have probably gotten her out there, though.”

“Where are they now?”

“Gone. Car accident, almost nine years ago now, during a freak ice storm.”

“I'm very sorry,” he said, quite sincerely. For all his dark intensity, he had a very warm, soothing tone to his voice. It made a person want to lean closer.

She nodded and shifted away. It was an easier physical shift than the mental one she really needed to make. “Thank you. I am, too. I miss them very much.” She put on a smile. “Well, I suppose we should get on with the lesson, huh?”

Thankfully, he didn't press any further. It was going to be difficult enough being around him and keeping her guard up. The less they shared the better. It was just…a lot harder than she'd expected it would be. In less than twenty minutes, he'd already learned more about her than the people she worked next to all day, and had for the past two months.

She turned back to the horse. “Continue to stroke her neck,” she instructed. “Talk to her. Get her used to your touch, your smell, the sound of your voice. It's important that you not only trust her, but that she trusts you.”

Of course, Petunia wouldn't really care if Rafe were the demon saint from hell. She was notoriously easygoing, but Rafe didn't know that, and regardless, it was good procedure.

Sensing that Rafe wasn't completely comfortable with the whole meet-and-greet routine, much less in front of her, she said, “I'm going to the tack room to get a few things. You two continue to get to know each other.” She didn't wait for him to respond, but ducked back down the row of stalls to the tack room located in the center of the two-aisle building, along with her small office.

She already had the things laid out in the parallel aisle and grabbed the halter and lead rope from where they lay next to the western saddle and saddle pad she'd slung over the bench rest. She could have just as easily set up the gear in their aisle, but she wanted him to have the experience of leading the horse, however briefly, before saddling her for the first time.

She walked back through to the other side, but paused at the corner between the tack room and the aisle where Rafe stood at Petunia's stall door, and watched the two get acquainted.

As she suspected, without her presence, he was less guarded. Earlier, when he'd stroked Petunia's neck, his touch was very natural. She suspected he liked animals well enough, but maybe he just hadn't been around one this size before. At least, not up close and personal. Or maybe he was just a tactile sort, and touching came naturally to him, she mused. She cursed the thought when her gaze drifted to his hands, presently stroking along Petunia's neck, and her body reacted to the renewed image of what those wide palms would feel like stroking her.

Petunia moved forward a bit more, lowered her head, and nuzzled his shoulder, bumping him a little with her nose. A definite sign of affection from the old mare. Of course, Rafe was probably used to females asking for more attention. She should have gotten him a gelding instead.

What, you're jealous of an old horse now?
She shrugged off the notion as ridiculous, which it totally was, and stepped into the aisleway. What did she care what kind of relationships Rafe had with the opposite sex? She was his riding instructor, nothing more, nothing less.
Nothing less
was all she could afford to be. That
more
part would only get her in trouble.

And she was in enough trouble already.

R
afe had never touched a horse before. The closest he'd ever come to being near one was on the opposite side of the paddock fence. He'd always been perfectly okay with that.

It wasn't that he didn't like animals, he did. Small animals. Smaller than he was, anyway. He stared at Petunia, who was looking at him with soulful brown eyes from behind ridiculously long eyelashes. “You look innocent enough,” he said quietly, “but I've met plenty of women who looked equally innocent, only to bounce me on my ass at the first turn.”

Petunia made a sort of whuffling sound and edged closer to her stall door, swinging her muzzle toward him and nudging his shoulder. He accommodated the request by stroking her neck.

“Sure, sure,” he said, “flirt with me now. But the first second I do something you don't like, we both know who is getting tossed to the curb, don't we?”

He swore she bobbed her head in agreement, which made him smile despite himself. Probably just rubbing at his hand, but he couldn't help but think she had an understanding of what he was talking about.

He ran his hand along her neck, toward her haunches. “Just don't embarrass me in front of the teacher, here, and I promise I'll bring you a carrot or something next time, deal?”

Petunia shuffled her feet, nudged him again.

“What, you don't like carrots? I thought that was a horse thing.”

She stepped back, shook her head so her mane tossed, and nickered. If he didn't know better, he'd swear they were actually communicating. Which was ridiculous, of course. But there was something about those huge chocolate-brown eyes, and the way she looked at him…He shook his head. Crazy.

Petunia stamped her front feet a bit impatiently, and took a few steps back.

“So, what, I have to guess now? Flowers? Chocolate? What's it going to take? Dinner and a movie?”

“I see you two are getting acquainted.” Elena walked up carrying a long length of coiled rope with a heavy clasp on one end, and what he supposed was the halter that went around Petunia's head on the other. “We're going to slip the halter on first.” She hung the rope over the horse's neck and handed him the green nylon halter.

“I thought you said ‘we.'”

She smiled. “We, as in, I'll explain how to do it while you slip it on and fasten it. From the looks of things, you already have Petunia half smitten with you anyway, so I don't think this is going to be a big trial for you.”

So, she'd been watching his lame attempts to woo the damn horse. He wondered if she'd overheard what he was saying, too. Refusing to be embarrassed, he took the halter from her and studied the arrangement of the nylon straps. “I'm guessing this end slips over the head first?”

Elena nodded. “Then you snap it together there,” she said, pointing to a metal locking mechanism on the side. “You adjust it here,” she added, pointing to the buckles on either side.

“Isn't there supposed to be a bar or something that goes in the mouth?”

“That's a bridle, but you won't be needing one of those today. This is enough.” She opened the stall door and stepped inside with Petunia, then motioned him in as well.

“Shouldn't we walk her out here where there's more room?”

“There are some common safety procedures you should always be aware of when you're around any horse, but you'll have to be in a stall with them from time to time, so best to understand tight quarters as well as open. Petunia is very easygoing, but don't get lax just because she likes you.”

Elena said that last part with almost a slight air of resentment, though with some dry amusement thrown in as well to temper any actual attitude. So, she hadn't expected him to make such fast friends, which meant she wasn't going to make this easy on him. Although, to be fair, the horse she picked was clearly not a handful, so she wasn't trying to get him maimed or killed, either. Or scare him into thinking he might be. In fact, he couldn't quite figure her out. But it was only their first session. He had time.

She went through a quick rundown of how to move around a horse, where not to go, where not to stand—which mostly had to do with the rear feet—as well as being careful of horses who can swing their heads around and try and nip at you. He'd looked at Petunia when Elena had made that comment, and he swore the horse gave him an innocent “who, me?” blink.

After a quick demo of her instructions, he stepped into the stall beside her. Despite the fact that the interior of the stall was roomy, they all seemed crowded into the front corner by the stall door, which, despite Petunia's relaxed manner at the moment, did little to smooth over his reservations about this whole thing.

He lifted the halter, but Elena blocked the move with her hand. “You're not through making friends yet.”

“What?”

“You just invaded her personal space. Never do this unless invited or instructed to do so by me or one of the stable hands, okay?”

“Why is it I think this isn't standard procedure?”

“You don't feel comfortable around big animals. I'm adjusting your lessons accordingly.”

“What makes you think that? About the large animals?” It was completely true, mostly because he'd simply never been around any. The neighborhood he'd grown up in was big on rats, the occasional stray dog, but that was about it. Still, he hadn't thought he'd telegraphed that in any real way. Well, other than his overt lack of enthusiasm for being up close and personal with Petunia. But that was just being smart. She was a whole lot of horse.

“Body language,” Elena replied. “You're doing fine, actually, but you're not entirely comfortable, which is understandable. The more you're around horses and get used to the spatial differences between you two, and become comfortable with—while not losing respect for—her power and size, the more swiftly you'll progress. Remember, I said it was about trust. And that goes both ways. If you're tentative, in manner or movement, she'll sense it and react to it.”

Elena beckoned him closer, but Petunia chose that moment to shift her feet a little, so he stayed just inside the closed stall door. “Seems to me we'd all be more comfortable out in the aisle. Shouldn't I earn her trust a bit more before we get this…intimate?”

Elena smiled and he thought he caught a flicker of…something else before she quickly looked back at the horse. And that something else, if he wasn't mistaken, had been a purely female reaction. He hadn't intended the double entendre and he almost wished he hadn't noticed her reaction. She might not be his type, but she did rather command a person's attention. Clearly she'd gotten his. He'd told himself he was only thinking about her night and day because he'd been doing research. He'd also told himself that he'd made the ultimate sacrifice of getting on horseback because that had been the only way to earn her trust enough to get her to talk freely. Strictly doing his job. Going above and beyond, even.

Standing here now, listening to her voice, which managed to be both soothing and no-nonsense, and looking into eyes that were quick to crinkle at the corners, yet easily held his own when challenged…yeah, he was finding his rationale a little harder to hang on to.

His body was finding it even more difficult. But he was a man, after all, so he could hardly be faulted for noticing things like how her braided hair swung halfway down to her ass, or how, when she reached up to stroke Petunia's neck, it pulled the backs of her overalls just tight enough across her hips to showcase that very same ass in what was a surprisingly flattering way.

But he didn't need her looking at him as if she was thinking any of those same things in return. Temptation, in this case, was not a good thing. He had enough to handle just trying not to get stomped on by a thousand pounds of horseflesh. Not to mention that he was, in fact, here to do a job. He couldn't afford to be noticing things, or noticing her noticing things, either.

“Keep doing what you were before,” she instructed, motioning to the horse. “Rub your hand down her neck, along her flank.”

And all he could think, looking at the amused spark in Elena's eyes, was what it would be like to run his hands along
her
long, lean flanks.

Trying like hell to rid his mind of that little visual, he stepped closer and reached out once again to stroke Petunia's neck. She swung her head around, and though he instinctively shifted his shoulder back out of reach of her mouth, he left his hand on her neck. “Easy now,” he said quietly. “It's true, I have no idea what I'm doing, which you have undoubtedly figured out, but my intentions are honorable.”

Petunia made a snorting noise, and he could have sworn he heard Elena swallow a similar noise. He didn't dare look at her, though. This entire experience was proving humbling enough as it was.

“So, how about I promise to try not to hurt you. And you don't take a chunk out of my shoulder when I'm not looking. Deal?”

Petunia's ears flickered, but, all in all, she didn't seem all that interested in his proposition.

“Just keep at it,” Elena coached. “She'll get used to the sound of your voice, to your touch, your scent.”

Jesus, she was trying to kill him. Shifting to accommodate the sudden lack of room in his khakis, he kept his focus on the horse. “Scent?” he asked, damning the slight roughness of his voice. Did she have any idea the effect she was having on him? Probably not. He didn't even fully understand it. But tell that to the rest of him, which was having no problem at all responding to her.
Think about the horse,
he schooled himself.
And only the horse
. Not about touching Elena, stroking those long legs, and finding out what her scent was like. Would she be sweet? Musky?

“Everyone has a distinct smell, their own natural scent,” she said.

He might have groaned a little. If she said one word about taste, he wouldn't be held accountable for his actions.

“And that scent is layered with shampoo scents, soap scents, laundry scents. And then there are other things, like smoke, alcohol—”

“I don't smoke. And I don't plan on drinking and riding, so—”

“I wasn't saying those things were necessarily bad, just that she'll come to know your scent and identify it with you. She may sense you coming before she even sees you, just by the cologne you wear.”

“I don't wear cologne,” he said.

She glanced at him, looking briefly surprised. “You don't?”

Which meant, he gathered, that she'd smelled him. Wonderful. This was turning into one big pheromone fest. And they hadn't even gotten the horse out of the damn stall yet. “Just the regular laundry and shower stuff.” And how in the hell had they gotten into this, anyway? He was supposed to be finding out more about her, not the other way around.

“Hmm,” she said, looking mildly embarrassed, but smiling all the same. “Remind me to ask what detergent or shampoo you use, then. Smells nice.”

His body leapt in response to her softly spoken compliment, urging him to do something—anything—about it. Hard to keep telling himself she wasn't his type when the sexual tension between them was clouding the stall in a thick fog.

Petunia took that moment to nod her head and whinny softly. It might have just meant she was suffering from a sudden lack of attention, but it looked like she was agreeing with Elena about his scent, which made Elena laugh. It was a rich, full-bodied sound that invited a person to join in, and brought an unbidden smile to his face.

“Well, at least I'm doing something right,” he said, not wanting to be charmed by her. Needing not to be. Despite Mac's suggestions—and his own body's response—to the contrary, he had rules about how he did his job. Rules that didn't include getting involved with his subjects.

“You're doing pretty well, actually,” she responded.

He was pretty sure she meant with the horse, but neither of them was looking at Petunia. “You sound almost surprised by that.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe. A little bit. As I said before, for a guy who wants to learn to ride, you just don't seem all that excited about the actual prospect of being around a horse. And it's hard to ride one without encountering that minor detail.”

“I suppose I thought it would be like signing up for a trail ride at a vacation resort. You line up, climb on a horse, and meander along a bit until you figure it out. I thought I would be coming down here, hoisting myself up, and trotting around the ring a few times while you told me how to do it right. I guess I didn't realize there would be so much more to it.”
Or you
. “I didn't think—”

“That maybe the horse cared who climbed on its back?”

“Well, they're used to it, aren't they? Does it really matter who climbs on once they get used to being ridden?”

“They're highly sentient creatures. It matters.”

“I didn't mean any disrespect.”

“Tell that to Petunia.” Her lips curved then, and the dry smile put them back on an even keel.