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“Let’s not phone him yet,” Colton decided, knowing how his headstrong older brother would take the news. “It’ll wait until he gets back. There’s nothing more he or Tessa could do.” He sliced the twine on the second bale. “Besides, I still intend to talk to Ivan Aldridge.”
“I don’t envy you that,” Curtis muttered.
Colton grimaced. He wasn’t crazy about facing Cassie’s old man again—but it had to be done. As soon as he checked this place again, he would confront Ivan Aldridge and see what the old man had to say for himself.
And what about Cassie?
Colton sighed loudly and rubbed the back of his neck. Oh, yes, what about Cassie? There had to be some way to get her off his mind. All night long he’d dreamed of her, imagined the scent of her lingering on his sheets, envisioned the soft, blue-black waves of her hair tumbled in wanton disarray against his pillow, pictured in his mind’s eye the creamy white texture of her skin and the soft pink pout of her lips.
Whether he wanted to or not, sooner or later he’d have to face her again.
* * *
Cassie slipped the bridle over Macbeth’s broad head. A rangy roan gelding with a mean streak, he snorted his disgust and sidestepped as she climbed onto his wide back.
“Come on, fella, show me what you’ve got,” she whispered, leaning forward and digging her heels into his ribs. The horse took off, ears flattened, neck extended, as he galloped over the soggy earth.
A low-hanging sun cast weak rays across the fields, gilding the green grass and streaking the sky in vibrant hues of orange and magenta.
The wind caught in Cassie’s hair, tangling it as she leaned closer to the roan’s sleek shoulder. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and the long day at work faded into the background. She’d come home dead tired, found that Ivan was out, and decided to ease the aches from her muscles by riding. Besides, she couldn’t help but satisfy her curiosity about Colton and his allegedly stolen horse.
She pulled on the reins, slowing Macbeth at the edge of the woods. As she guided the horse through the undergrowth, she remembered another time she’d ridden this very path—eight years ago—to tell Colton about the baby that hadn’t existed.
“It’s been a long time,” she consoled herself, but she couldn’t shake the gloomy feeling as Macbeth picked his way through the shadowy pines.
Before the horse had stepped from the trees, Cassie heard the river rushing wildly. The Sage, engorged with spring rain, slashed a crooked chasm through the wet earth.
The path curved toward the river’s banks, and Cassie stared across the wild expanse of water, a physical chasm between the McLean and Aldridge properties. Though the river was the natural dividing line, there was a stretch of grassy bank between the swirling Sage and the McLean fence line, where Colton McLean himself was stringing wire.
Wearing mud-spattered jeans and a work shirt that flapped in the breeze, he winced as he stretched the barbed wire taut between red metal posts. His broad shoulders moved fluidly under his shirt, and his jeans were tight against his hips.
He glanced up when Cassie urged Macbeth forward. A cynical smile twisted beneath his beard. “Here to see the scene of the crime?” he shouted.
“If there was one.”
“See for yourself.” Straightening, he rubbed his lower back.
She did. Her gaze wandered to the far bank where tire tracks were visible in the soggy ground. The fence had been repaired, but Cassie was convinced that Colton could tell that the wires had been cut. It was just too bad he thought her father was involved.
“So your horse hasn’t returned?”
“Not yet. I don’t really expect him to.”
“Last time he did.”
“So I heard.” Colton ran the back of his hand across his forehead, and his eyes met hers. “Is Ivan home?”
“He wasn’t when I got home.”
“Tell him I want to talk to him.”
“I have.”
“And?”
“He thinks you’re out of your mind,” she said, tossing her hair from her face. “If anyone took your horse it wasn’t Dad.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
