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Spring asked, “You come to see me or your intended?”
“Is she awake?”
“She’s mucking out one of my stalls.”
That caught him off guard. “Really?”
“You do know she grew up on a ranch, right?”
“She mentioned that in her letters, but I assumed—”
“That she had hired hands to do the work?”
“Yes.”
“She must’ve worked beside them because she went at it without any instructions from me.”
Something else Colt had to reconcile about the surprising Regan Carmichael.
Spring added, “I know my opinion doesn’t mean much, brother, but I think she’d be good for Anna. And you could do a lot worse for a wife.”
“We’ll see.”
“You need someone in your life to challenge your thinking besides your disreputable sister.”
“You’re more than enough.”
She smiled and shoveled more feed into the trough. “How’s the old man?”
“Crotchety. Told me he’s prepared not to like Miss Carmichael.”
“That surprise you?”
“No.” His grandfather seemed to have problems with headstrong women. He hadn’t gotten along with his mother, Isabelle, either. Watching Spring work, memories rose of the good times they’d shared growing up. He knew she and Ben would probably never bury the hatchet, but he found himself wishing he could find a way to make peace with her so they could be back in each other’s lives again. She was his sister. Over the years, she’d cleaned up the scandal-filled mess that had once been her life, and proven her ability to take care of herself. But as her brother, the need to watch over her remained strong.
Leaving Spring to her chores, Colt entered the shadow-filled barn and walked to the stalls. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised to find Regan wearing a snug pair of denims and a man’s shirt as she worked. She hefted the big hay-filled pitchfork and shook it to sift the hay from the clods of manure before tossing the offal into the wheelbarrow beside her.
“Good morning.”
She jumped and swung his way, pitchfork tines pointed out like a weapon. “Goodness,” she said, lowering the fork. “Don’t creep up on a person that way. You scared me half to death.”
He hid his amusement. “My apologies.”
She nodded an acceptance then went back to work. “You come to send me home?”
Watching how efficiently she went about the task, he saw that his sister was right. Regan Carmichael knew what she was about. He raised his gaze from the denim-covered curves of her behind. “I’m not sure.”
She stopped, set the fork’s tines against the stable floor, and used her free hand to pull a bandana from her pocket to wipe her brow. Her eyes grazed his shoulder. “How’s your wound?”
“Healing.”
“So how and when will you be sure?”
“I thought we could talk about that.”
“Do you mind if I work while we do? I’d like to finish up here. Should only take a few more minutes.”
Colt had expected to have her undivided attention, not compete with sifting manure. He debated leaving and riding to town, but decided against that. This needed to be settled as soon as possible for both their sakes. “Meet me outside when you’re done.”
