Callie Jones knew trouble when she came upon it. And the
thirteen-year-old who stood defiantly in front of her
looked like more trouble than she wanted on a Saturday
morning. For one thing, Callie liked to sleep later on the
weekend, and the teenager with the impudent expression had
banged on her door at an indecently early 6:00 a.m. And for
another, the girl wasn't anything like she'd expected.
Her
long black hair was tied up in an untidy ponytail revealing
at least half a dozen piercings in her ears, plus another
in both her brow and nose. And the dark kohl smudged around
her eyes was heavier than any acceptable trend Callie had
ever seen.
"I'm Lily," the girl said, crossing her thin arms.
"I'm
here for my lesson."
Callie opened the front door fractionally, grateful she'd
had the sense to wrap herself in an old dressing gown
before she'd come to the door. It was chilly
outside. "You're early," she said, spotting a bicycle at
the bottom of the steps.
The teenager shrugged her shoulders. "So what? I'm here
now." Callie hung on to her patience. "I told your father
eight o'clock."
Lily shrugged again, without any apology in her
expression. "Then I guess he told me the wrong time." The
girl looked her over, and Callie felt the burning scrutiny
right down to her toes.
Callie took a deep breath and glanced over the girl's
head.
Dawn was just breaking on the horizon. Another hour of
sleep would have been nice, but she wasn't about to send
Lily home.
"Okay, Lily. Give me a few minutes to get ready." Callie
pointed to the wicker love seat on the porch. "Wait here.
I'll be right back."
The girl shrugged. "Whatever."
Callie locked the security mesh screen as discreetly as she
could and turned quickly on her heels. She didn't want an
unsupervised teenager wandering around her house while she
changed her clothes. Dashing into the bathroom, she washed
her face and brushed her teeth and hair before slipping
into jeans and a T-shirt.
She skipped coffee, grabbed a cereal bar and shoved it into
her back pocket. She really needed to do some grocery
shopping. But she was too busy. Busy with her students,
busy trying to ensure the utilities were paid, busy not
thinking about why a recently turned thirty ex-California
girl worked twelve-hour days trying to make a success of a
small horse-riding school situated a few miles from the
eastern edge of the Australian coastline.
Callie grabbed her sweater from the back of the kitchen
chair and headed for the front door. Once she'd locked up
she pulled her muddy riding boots off the shoe rack,
quickly tucked her feet into them, snatched up her battered
cowboy hat and placed it on her head. She turned around to
find no sign of her visitor. Or the expensive-looking
bicycle.
Obviously the teenager wasn't keen on following
instructions.
She put the keys into her pocket and headed for the
stables. The large stable complex, round yard and dressage
arena were impressive. Callie had spent nearly every penny
she had on Sandhills Farm to ensure it became a workable
and viable business.
Okay kid—where are you?
Tessa rushed from around the back of the house. Still a
pup, the Labrador/cattle dog cross bounded on lanky legs
and yapped excitedly. Obviously no kid was back there, or
Tessa would have hung around for attention.
So, where was she? Callie's intuition and instincts surged
into overdrive. Miss Too-Many-Piercings was clearly looking
for trouble. She called the girl's name. No answer.
When Callie opened the stable doors and flicked the lock
mechanism into place, a few long heads immediately poked
over the stalls. She looked around and found no sign of
Lily.
Great—the kid had gone AWOL.
And where on earth was Joe, her farmhand? She checked her
watch. Six-twenty-five. He was late and she'd have to
attend to the feeding before she could start the lesson
with her missing student.
First things first—find Lily…um…whatever-her-last-
name-is. She clicked her fingers together.
Hah—Preston. That's right. Lily Preston.
She's got the father with the sexy telephone voice,
remember?
Callie shook some sense into her silly head when she heard
a vehicle coming down the driveway. Joe…good. She swiv-eled
on her heel and circumnavigated the stables, stopping
abruptly, mid-stride, too stunned to move.
Indiana—her beautiful, precious and irreplaceable
Hanoverian gelding—stood by the fence, wearing only
an ill-fitting bridle. Lily Preston was straddled between
the fence post and trough as she attempted to climb onto
his back.
Think…and think quickly.
Callie willed her legs to move and raced toward the girl
and horse, but it was too late. The teenager had mounted,
collected the reins and clicked the gelding into a trot
Callie knew she would have no hope of sustaining.
She's going to fall. And before Callie had a chance to
move, Lily Preston lost control, tumbled off the horse and
landed squarely on her behind.
She was gone. Ditto for her bike. Noah Preston cursed and
headed back into the house. The last thing he'd told his
angry daughter the night before, just as she'd slammed her
bedroom door in his face, was that he'd take her to
Sandhills Farm at seven-forty-five in the morning. She
hadn't wanted him to take her. She wanted to go alone.
Without him. He should have taken more notice. The time was
now six-thirty-three and Lily had skipped. In typical Lily
style.
"Daddy, I'm hungry."
Noah turned his head. His eight-year-old son, Jamie, as
uncomplicated and placid a child as Lily was not, stood in
the doorway.
"Okay," he said. "I'll make breakfast soon. But we have
to
go find Lily first."
Jamie rolled his big eyes. "Again?"
Noah smiled. "I know, mate, but I have to make sure she's
safe."
"She is," Jamie assured him in a very grown-up
fashion. "She's gone to see the horse lady."
"She told you that?"
His son nodded. "Yep. Told me this morning. She rode her
bike. I told her not to."
The horse lady? Callie Jones. Recommended as the best
equestrian instructor in the district. He'd called her a
week ago, inquiring about setting Lily up with some
lessons. Her soft, American accent had intrigued him and
he'd quickly made arrangements to bring Lily out to her
riding school.
So, at least he knew where she'd gone and why. To make a
point. To show him he had no control, no say, and that she
could do whatever she pleased.
Noah spent the following minutes waking the twins and
making sure the three kids were clothed, washed and ready
to leave. Jamie grumbled a bit about being hungry, so Noah
grabbed a few apples and a box of cereal bars for the trip.
He found his keys, led his family outside, bundled the
children into his dual-cab utility vehicle and buckled them
up.
He lived just out from Crystal Point and the trip took
barely ten minutes. Sandhills Farm was set back from the
road and gravel crunched beneath the wheels when he turned
off down the long driveway. He followed the line of
whitewashed fencing until he reached the house, a rundown,
big, typical Queenslander with a wraparound veranda and hat-
box roof. Shabby but redeemable.
So where was Lily?
He put Jamie in charge of four-year-old Hayley and Matthew,
took the keys from the ignition and stepped out of the
vehicle. A dog came bounding toward him, a happy-looking
pup that promptly dropped to Noah's feet and pleaded for
attention. Noah patted the dog for a moment, flipped off
his sunglasses and looked around. The house looked
deserted. An old Ford truck lay idle near the stables and
he headed for it. The keys hanging in the ignition
suggested someone was around. He spotted Lily's bicycle
propped against the wall of the stable. So she was here.
But where? And where was Callie Jones? He couldn't see a
sign of anyone in the yards or the stables or in the
covered sand arena to the left of the building. The stable
doors were open and he took a few steps inside, instantly
impressed by the setup. A couple of horses tipped their
heads over the top of their stalls and watched him as he
made his way through. He found the tack room and small
office at the end of the row of stalls. The door was ajar
and he tapped on the jamb. No one answered. But he could
see inside. There were pictures on the wall—all of
horses in varying competitive poses. The rider in each shot
was female. Perhaps Callie Jones?
Noah lingered for another few seconds before he returned
outside. The friendly dog bounded to his feet again,
demanding notice. The animal stayed for just a moment
before darting past him and heading off around the side of
the building. Noah instructed the kids to get out of the
truck and told them to follow him. As he walked with the
three children in a straight line behind him, he heard the
sound of voices that got louder with every step. When he
turned another corner he stopped. The breath kicked from
his chest.
A woman stood by the fence.
Was this Callie Jones? Not too tall, not too thin. Curves
every place a woman ought to have them. Her jeans, riding
low, looked molded onto her hips and legs. Long brown hair
hung down her back in a ponytail and his fingers itched
with the thought of threading them through it. Noah's
heart
suddenly knocked against his ribs. Lightning, he thought.
Is this what it feels like to be struck by lightning?
Noah probably would have taken a little more time to
observe her if he hadn't spotted his daughter sitting on
the ground, her clothes covered in dust and a big brown
horse looming over her.
"What's going on here?"
Callie jumped and turned around on her heels.
A man glared at her from about twenty feet away.
"Hey, Dad," called Lily.
Uh-oh. The father? He looked very unhappy. Callie switched
her attention back to the girl sitting on the ground. She
was sure Lily's butt...