“Why not?”
She added pressure to her finger to stop the bleeding. “Because that’s not who I am. You know Teddy thinks I’m too old for that sort of thing.”
Marisol laughed. “As I said before, Teddy is an old woman!” She turned serious eyes toward her but before she spoke, her attention was drawn to the barnyard. “Is that him?”
Evie turned her head, following Marisol’s line of vision to see Antonio and Oscar walking toward the bunkhouse, a big black stallion with a fancy saddle inlaid with silver and turquoise following behind. “Yes. Antonio is showing him around.”
“He’s attractive.” Marisol sounded amused. “Nice-looking horse, too. And that saddle!”
“Yes, I suppose he is, but he’s so young. More than ten years younger than me.”
“So what? A younger man would be…energetic.” Marisol winked.
Evie shook her head as her face warmed. “I just…couldn’t.”
“What about the other one? Mr. Hannigan?” She suggested. “You’ve been drooling over him all afternoon. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Evie said, even though shehadbeen admiring him. It was difficult not to. She was attracted to him—and more than just a little. Indeed, watching him as he did his chores left her stomach quivering and feeling flushed all over.
Marisol looked at her. “I think you do.” She finished the lemonade in her glass and rose to her feet. “What’s more, I heard you sigh a couple of times as you were watching him.” She picked up her basket of mending, which she hadn’t touched all afternoon. “Why not, Evie? Tom passed away a long time ago and you’ve concentrated all your energies on raising the children and running Montaña del Trueno. The children are grown and married now. The boys run the ranch. It’s your turn.” She laidher hand on Evie’s shoulder in a gesture of sympathy. She’d been there when Tom had passed. She’d been there every step of the way since. “And with that thought stuck in your head, I shall take my leave.” She bent down, dropped a kiss on Evie’s cheek. “I’ll see you next Tuesday. I’ll bring my mending, just in case.”
Evie rose as well. “I’ll see you out.”
“No need. You just stay and watch your mystery man and think about what I said.” Basket in hand, she strolled over the grass toward the garden gate, waved one last time, and disappeared around the corner of the house to head home to her own ranch.
Evie took her seat, her gaze immediately drawn to Jake once more. He finished chopping the wood, and with one last thwack, buried the head of the axe in the stump then slipped into his shirt, hiding his perfectly sculpted back from her sight.
She watched him stroll toward the barn, sunlight reflecting off his black hair, highlighting the strands of silver. He moved with innate grace, his long legs eating up the short distance to the barn, the cats and dog following closely behind him. “Why not, indeed?” she asked quietly.
But that left more questions than answers. Like how to even approach him. Would he consider an arrangement instead of marriage? And what about her? The only man she’d ever been with had been Tom, and that was only after they’d become engaged. There had been no one since, but she wasn’t the type of woman who gave herself freely. She’d been in love with Tom, loved him deeply and without reservation. The physical side of their relationship had been an expression of that love.
Could she consider the physical side without the emotion?
No answers presented themselves as Jake disappeared into the barn. Evie let out a sigh and continued working on Miguel’s shirt, but it was no use. The stitches were more lopsided than before and the reason for her inability to concentrate wasn’teven in sight. She put the mending away, picked up her basket, and strolled into the house, but that didn’t stop the thoughts running through her head nor the flush that seemed to encompass her entire being.
CHAPTER 4
Lightning flashed behind the window, illuminating the interior of the bunkhouse for a split second. Jake opened his eyes and silently counted the seconds before thunder rumbled in the distance, something Father O’Malley had taught him many, many years ago to judge how far away a storm was. At that point in time, he’d been very young and afraid of the fury of a storm, most especially the crashing boom of thunder. As he grew older, he came to love it—the thunder, and the lightning, the smell of the earth after a good soaking, the electricity in the air. It made him feel alive.
He lay still in his bunk, listening to the sounds around him, feeling the weight of Flower the calico, who nestled against his leg. Cesar, one of his bunkmates, snored like a broken concertina, high pitched and wheezy. And the new man, Oscar, talked in his sleep, though for the most part, the words were mumbled and undistinguishable, except for the occasional shout. His night-time talking competed with Grub’s. Sometimes, listening to the both of them made his head hurt, but for the most part, he could ignore it. There were other noises, too. Grunts and groans and other, less savory bodily functions, the rustle of bedcovers as the men shifted position, the occasionalsigh—the sounds one heard when several people shared close quarters.
Thunder rumbled, becoming louder as the storm moved closer. He didn’t hear rain patter on the roof, but that was only a matter of time. He settled himself deeper into the mattress and just listened, mentally counting the seconds between flashes of lightning and the deep rumble of thunder. He closed his eyes, letting the sounds ease him into sleep.
His eyes flew open. The horses! He might love the sound of a storm, but he would bet the horses did not. He sprang up in his bed, dislodging Flower from her sleeping position. The cat blinked her wide eyes, which seemed to glow with an unnatural light.
He grabbed his trousers from the top of the lock box at the end of his bunk and slipped them on, careful not to make noise, though he doubted anything he did would wake his bunkmates—they slept like the dead—then grabbed his shirt and his boots. The cat stretched, then leapt to the floor, following him as he walked quietly across the room, avoiding the floorboard that squeaked, and let himself out of the bunkhouse, closing the door carefully behind him. The wind buffeted him immediately, bringing with it the smell of impending rain and making the limbs of the trees around him bend and groan. Lightning flashed, illuminating the barnyard. He glanced at the house and saw the glow of a lantern behind one of the windows on the second floor, though he didn’t know whose room that window belonged to. Had the storm awakened someone else?
He sat on the edge of the stump where he chopped wood and slipped on his shirt, not bothering to button it up, then pulled on the boots Antonio had given him. He started walking toward the barn, the cat right behind him, and noticed weak beams of light leaking from beneath the edge of the doors. Was someone in thebarn? Thieves intent on stealing the horses under the sound of the storm?
He retraced his steps and picked up the axe from the stump. If there were horse thieves, he’d have a weapon. He’d always depended upon his fighting skills in the past. A well-placed punch was all he’d ever needed against those that would do him harm, but this was different. He wasn’t in San Francisco anymore.
He sidled up to the big double doors and listened, but couldn’t hear much against the whooshing of the wind. He opened one of the doors, just a little, and slipped into the building.
Two lanterns were lit against the darkness inside, the source of the light he’d seen. He heard the noises he expected to hear—hooves against straw as the horses moved about, their chuffs and nickers and snorts. There was no noise from the milk cow in her stall. She lay on a matt of fresh straw, asleep.
He strolled down the central aisle, checking each horse as he passed. And then he heard something he shouldn’t have, not at this hour of the morning. A voice—hervoice—soft and soothing. A moment later, he saw her. Evie. She was in the last stall, calmly brushing her horse and singing to her like she’d sing to a frightened child. He recognized the melody of an old lullaby, though she sang it in Spanish. It had the desired effect. The horse stood still except for occasionally turning her head to look at Evie.
He should leave before she noticed him, but he couldn’t. He was held, enthralled, her voice touching a part of his soul, soothing him just as it soothed her horse, despite the fact he didn’t understand the words. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come and help me.” She said it in the same singsong way she sang, and turned to face him.
