Jillian Hart: The Horseman

He tossed her a sideways glance and blushed. The memory of his lovemaking sizzled through her, making her hot when she ought to be freezing.

The stallion watched and waited, not pacing today, just watching. Quivering.

“He can’t be happy with me. I brought him here. Caged him in.”

“Doesn’t he resent you for it?”

“Maybe a little.” Honest, Dillon held out both hands, waiting. “He knows I’m helping him, and he’s grateful, but he’s not the kind of animal anyone can pen in for long.”

The stallion lifted his head, his wide nostrils flaring, scenting the candy. Debating.

“You’re going to lure him close with the peppermint and then rope him, aren’t you?”

Dillon realized she wasn’t only speaking of her fears for the stallion. “If I trick him, I teach him I’m not a man he can trust.”

“But you need to break him. You’ll have to trick him sometime.”

“Never. I don’t trick horses. Ever. Besides, I told you all I want to do is help this stallion. I swore that to you, remember?”

“I know.”

“Did you think I’d forgotten?”

“No. That never crossed my mind.”

“Good.” He hauled her against his chest, turning her so he spooned her and protected her from the wind. All she had to do was lean against him and he sheltered her from the elements, held her up and kept her steady as the stallion ventured close, wary, enticed by the candy Dillon offered once again.

Snug in his arms, she waited with him. Watched, spellbound, as the stunning creature ambled forward. She noticed the gash on the animal’s shoulder, where the bullet had grazed him, for the first time. A large scab marked his black coat. “Is that the bullet wound?”

“Yep. My brother and I had a hard time holding him to get the bullet out and lancing it.” Dillon’s chin rested on the crown of her head, light and affectionate, and nestled against him she felt wanted.

Loved. Valued. A month ago it had been unthinkable that any decent man would want her.

And this man, the most decent and honorable of them all, wanted her. Just her.

Dillon spoke in the magical language, as it sounded, of gentle words and sounds that eased the worry from her heart. Made bearable the wounds in her soul. She watched the stallion stand taller and the shadows ease from his eyes. It was the emotion behind the words, she realized, the steady affection that any creature wanted.

Especially her. Grateful, she kissed Dillon’s jaw and he grinned at her, lopsided and handsome. So very handsome. How was it that he became more dear to her and more attractive with every day that passed?

Because I love him. It was true. The warm, bursting affection, the emotion that thrilled through her when they touched. She kissed him again.

“Be careful what you start, ma’am, because I’m the man who will finish the job.” He was still erect, his hardness something she began to think about more and more. How treasured he’d made her feel. And he wanted her again. So soon.

Does he really want me that much? It seemed incredible, and she closed off the memory of another man, who had turned away from her touch. Who had come to her at night out of duty. Whose touch had not sparked a connection within her and whose kiss had not lit a fire of want and need.

Dillon was making her love him, the same way he charmed the horses with words and gentle touches, and she could not stop the current of feelings drowning her with need and caring. The stallion reached over the top fence rail, warily, but beginning to believe he would come to no harm, and stole the treats from Dillon’s hand. Crunching greedily, he backed away.

“Good boy,” Dillon praised in the magic voice that swept through her, knocking down every defense, and laid her bare. She was as vulnerable as the sand to the ocean tide, and he was sweeping her away.

“One day he’s going to stay close and ask for another piece. We’ve got him interested. He’ll start negotiating soon.”

“Negotiating?”

“He wants something, and we want something. I’ve started with the peppermint. He likes it and wants it, and I want him to get used to coming to me when I show up. So it’s mutual. That’s how it starts, the partnership between him and us.” Dillon pulled a wrapped disc from his pocket. “Want one?”

“Well, I do have a sweet tooth.”

“Lucky me.” He unwrapped the candy and focused on her mouth.

She parted her lips before he moved. The candy slid across her bottom lip and over the tops of her teeth. His fingertip followed, stroking craftily along the sensitive surface of her mouth.

“Good?” When she nodded, he blushed, growing bashful. “Why, thank you, ma’am. I’m glad you think so.”

He kissed her with great care, so she could feel what sang in his heart.

It had been a wonderful day. Katelyn glowed with contentment as she looked over the top of her book and across the breadth of the hearth where Dillon was stretched out on the length of the couch. His brows frowned in concentration, the thick book standing on end in the center of his chest, lost in reading.

I love him. She felt like a bird caught on an uprising wind, lifting her frighteningly fast and far from the solid, reliable earth. Drawing her so far up, where she’d never flown before.

She loved a thousand things about him. He was handsome and gentle and as steadfast as the mountains. He was shy and confident, all at once. He was strong and smart and good-hearted. He made her content just to be in the same room with him. He made her feel with a part of her she didn’t know existed. So new and fragile.

He turned the page with a rustle of paper that warred with the pleasant crackle of the fire. She looked around the room, sparse and in need of a woman’s touch, but it was snug on this cold winter’s eve. It was home.

How long has it been since I’ve felt safe and loved? Katelyn hugged the book to her chest, thumbing through all the years in her mind. The years of loneliness and unhappiness married to Brett. The bleak decade after her mother had married Cal Willman. The lean, desperate times after her father’s death when her mother could not make ends meet and crumbled beneath the burden of it.

A long time.

The clock bonged the hour ten times from the emptiness of the dark kitchen, echoing through the house and stirring Dillon from his reading. He watched her over the top of his book.

“It’s damn good to have you here in my parlor.” He grinned, that bashful, self-conscious smile of his that made him appear both vulnerable and invincible. A tough western man with a tender soul.

“It’s good to be here.”

“Yeah?” One brow quirked, as if he were surprised. “Then you don’t regret marrying me.”

“This is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Her confession stunned him. Dillon marked his page and put the book aside, overwhelmed with the emotion flaring to life inside him. He’d seen it over and over again, and he didn’t know how wealthy people could be so poor.

He could see it in Katelyn, the devastation of it, the wonder in her eyes whenever he held her, as if surprised he’d want to do that. As if it had never occurred to her that any man would desire and cherish her.

It made him furious how she’d been treated. He could see the wariness in her as he climbed to his feet and grabbed the poker from the iron hook. Wariness. She’d been hurt, and he hoped to high heaven that she didn’t think he’d ever hurt her.

Maybe, he reasoned, hers was a deeper kind of distrust. That she wondered if he would be good to her for the long haul of a marriage, the day in and day out of it. The tough times that inevitably came along through the cycles of a lifetime.