Deborah Fletcher Mello - Sweet Stallion

Her prayers were swift as she whispered the childhood chant their mother had made them recite nightly, and her own appeals for mercy, strength and guidance. With the litany billowing skyward, she crawled back into the queen-size bed and pulled the covers up around her lean frame. Minutes later, she was sound asleep.

Chapter 2

The morning sun was shining brightly, indicative of the high temperatures that had been forecast. The sky was mostly clear, a rich shade of blue dotted with an occasional cloud. Everything about the landscape fulfilled Naomi’s wish list, and it took all her fortitude not to jump up and down like an excited five-year-old. The property itself was slightly overgrown, with high grasses interspersed with patches of brown dirt. There was a small abandoned home, condemned by the city, two outbuildings, a tree here and there, and nothing else but open air as far as the eye could see.

This was the only morning that the property was accessible for viewing, and several real estate agents in hiking boots or running shoes were tramping through with perspective buyers. Naomi eyed them all, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible as she tried to assess who might be her most serious competition. She ruled out the two women who’d shown up in high heels and designer dresses, both fanning away imaginary bugs from their newly coiffed hairdos. Eavesdropping on their conversation made it clear that neither had any interest in the property; they’d stopped only because they’d seen the open-house signs along the road. It seemed to be the case for many, who took one look at the abandoned house—an amalgamation of rotted wood, rust and mold—and scurried back to their vehicles, anxious to be far from the land Naomi coveted. There were a few men who seemed to be there with purpose, but only one or two looked like they might be interested in giving her a run for her money.

Naomi and Noah stood beneath a tent that had been pitched as a makeshift information center for perspective buyers. A Realtor from Cushman and Wakefield was pulling papers from a file folder that rested on a folding table. Other agents were trying to stir up interest from the few people standing with them, to no avail. The chatter shifted from hushed whispers to lighthearted quips and back. There were only a few serious questions posed, and most had come from Naomi.

Noah took a step closer to her, leaning in to speak without being overheard. “Someone’s got their eye on you!” he said, his singsong tone reminding her of when they’d been much younger and he would tease her about some boy having a crush on her.

Naomi’s eyes darted back and forth. “Who? What?” she whispered back.

Noah laughed. “Behind you. In the corner. Working his Rico Suave looks. Don’t turn around!” he muttered, grabbing her forearm.

They both froze for a second. “Okay, look now,” he told her in a low voice.

She shook her head. “You play too much,” she snapped as she tossed a quick look over her shoulder.

The man was standing with his back only slightly to them, but she could see his gaze reaching out into the distance toward where the property bordered hers. He appeared to be lost in thought, oblivious to all else around him. Naomi gasped, so loud that even her brother noticed.

Noah laughed. “Yep! Thought you’d like that!”

“Shut up, Noah,” Naomi said, her voice an even lower whisper. She took a deep breath, holding the air at the bottom of her lungs. She shifted her gaze back in the man’s direction.

Whoever he was, he was breathtaking. He could have easily graced the cover of any men’s magazine. His complexion was butterscotch with an abundance of rich cream. He sported a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. His auburn hair had deep red undertones and he wore it closely cropped to tame his loose curls. He was dressed in torn jeans, a black cotton T-shirt and paint-stained work boots. On first impression, he looked like one of the many migrant farm workers who made the area their home seasonally, when it came time to pick crops. At the same time, he appeared out of place and slightly uncomfortable.

Naomi was eyeing him intently when he suddenly turned and they locked gazes. His eyes widened, a hint of surprise teasing the edges of his dark orbs. They stared and then his full lips lifted in a bright smile that filled his face.

It wasn’t until Noah gave her a light pinch that she felt her own face lift in response, smiling back. She turned abruptly, spinning toward her brother. Her knees were shaking, and for the first time in a very long while, Naomi felt out of control and couldn’t explain why.

* * *

Patrick O’Brien was still smiling as he moved toward the man and woman standing near the outer edge of the tent. He’d taken notice of the two earlier, when they’d walked from the property across the way. It was the woman who had caught his attention, her lithe frame moving purposely, her arms swinging, her stride closer to a stomp if it hadn’t been for the sway of her hips and extremely delectable backside. She had the tiniest waistline of any woman he’d ever seen, and legs that were miles long. Her figure was complimented by formfitting denim jeans, a white button-down blouse and black leather cowboy boots.

He cleared his throat as he reached where they stood, extending his hand toward the man in introduction. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt, but you look very familiar. Have we met before?”

Noah nodded. “Actually, I was just thinking the same thing. At the courthouse, maybe? Probably in passing.”

Patrick pondered the comment for a moment before he responded. “You’re with the Salt Lake City police department?”

“I was. I’m in private security now. Noah Stallion.”

He smiled. “My name’s Patrick. Patrick O’Brien. I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation you and your wife were having. I was hoping I could ask you a question?”

Naomi’s brow rose curiously as she lifted her eyes to stare at the man. Her brother answered for them both.

“Patrick, this is actually my sister, Naomi Stallion. She is not my wife,” he said with a soft chuckle.

Naomi cut her eyes at her brother, grimacing slightly. She shifted her gaze back to the stranger, her palm sliding against his as he shook her hand. The touch was like silk gliding across her flesh, and she mused that he had probably never done a day’s worth of hard labor in his life. “It’s nice to meet you, Patrick,” she answered. “How can we help you?”

“I heard you mention the property next door. Do you mind sharing what you know about it?”

She looked him up and down, her mind’s eye assembling a photographic journal for her to muse over later. His eyes were hazel, the rich shade flecked with hints of gold and green. He was tall and solid, his broad chest and thick arms pulling the fabric of his shirt taut. His jeans fit comfortably against a very high and round behind, and he had big feet. Very big feet in expensive, steel-toed work boots. He exuded sex appeal like a beacon. She hadn’t missed the looks he was getting from the few women around them, one of whom was openly staring at him as they stood there chatting.

“What would you like to know about Norris Farms?” Naomi asked. She crossed her arms over her chest.

Patrick’s smile widened, his cheeks flushing with color. He struggled not to stare, drawing attention to the curve of her cleavage. “Norris,” he repeated. “That’s an interesting name. Is it a fully functioning farm?”

“It is. They use ecologically-based production systems to produce their foods and fibers. They are certified organic.”

“Is there a homestead?”

“There is.”

“Have the owners had it long? Is there any family history attached to it?”