Sara Rand waved goodbye to her next-to-last student as the
boy climbed into his mother's minivan. Jeremy offered a
rakish grin in return before the door slid shut, then the
minivan retreated down the gravel driveway of the Rescued
Hearts Riding School. The car turned right onto Stony
Creek Road toward the tiny Sierra Nevada foothill town of
Hart Valley. Jeremy's mother had promised him a bowl of
ice cream at Nina's Café.
Only Grace Thorne remained, the last of Sara's charges in
this week's summer horse camp session. Grace's mother had
dropped her off that morning, dashing in from her well-
worn sedan, turning Grace over to Sara's teenage
assistant, Dani, then hightailing it out again. She'd left
in such a hurry Sara hadn't had a chance to talk to her or
even meet her. Sara knew only what the little girl's
therapist had been able to tell her — that Grace's father
had died a year ago and Grace had not spoken a word since.
She'd hoped to have all the children picked up before
Keith Delacroix arrived. The Rescued Hearts program
director, Jameson O'Connell, had arranged for Delacroix
Construction to volunteer a few man-hours to fence the
pasture into paddocks. Sara would need some time to show
Keith around and give him a rundown on how she wanted the
pasture divided. She hated to ask Dani to stay behind to
keep an eye on Grace. But her only alternative was to let
the little girl tag along as she gave Keith his tour.
She suspected the builder might object to Grace's
presence. She didn't know him except by reputation.
Although she often saw the Delacroix Construction trucks
around town, she'd only crossed paths once with Keith
himself in Nina's Café.
The tall, broad-shouldered man with dark blond hair and a
serious expression on his face had finished his meal just
as she sat down. His gaze had passed over her as he took
his check to the register, then he'd glanced back at her
as he took his change. Her stomach had clenched at the
lack of emotion in those piercing blue eyes. Not coldness,
but emptiness.
It might be her own history that made her so wary of Keith
Delacroix. But she'd just as soon have Grace gone before
he arrived.
The eight-year-old perched on a wooden bench beside the
covered riding arena, hands folded in her lap, fair blond
head tipped up as she stared out into the trees beyond the
pasture. She didn't squirm with impatience; there was not
an ounce of fidget in Grace's small feet. She sat
perfectly still, perfectly quiet.
Like many kids whose world had careened out of control,
where everything they'd trusted had been torn away, Grace
held tightly onto the only thing she could — her own
behavior. She'd completed every task asked of her today
without the least complaint. Halter the horse, lead the
horse, tie the horse and brush it. Clean its feet, bring
out the saddle and bridle. She did it all. Sara had never
seen a more compliant eight-year-old.
Except when Sara asked her to share her name with the
other children in the camp group. No amount of prodding
could induce Grace to make a sound. The little girl hadn't
spoken once in the entire six hours she'd been here today.
The sound of a car engine caught Sara's attention, and she
tensed in expectation of seeing one of the white Delacroix
Construction trucks approach. She'd learned to feel
comfortable around men after years of conscious effort.
She'd even managed to forge friendships with a few. But
she couldn't seem to squelch the fear, however faint, when
she first met someone new. Her brief encounter with Keith
in the café only seemed to make the anticipation worse.
A rattletrap muscle car packed with teens came into view
on Stony Creek Road, its engine roaring. The driver gunned
the engine as the wreck sailed by the NJN Ranch — named
for Nate, Jameson and Nina O'Connell — and disappeared
toward town. The sudden jolt of sound sent her heart rate
up, adding to her anxiety.
The late spring heat and the weight of her auburn hair on
her neck added to her discomfort. Sweat melted the thick
ponytail against her back where her tank top dipped low.
She lifted the hair from her neck and let the faint breeze
cool her skin.
Sara had insisted Grace wait in the shade and now she
turned to the towhead with a smile. "Your mother should be
here soon."
Grace's gaze flicked in Sara's direction, the faintest
trace of rebellion in the little girl's blue eyes, before
she resumed studying the tall pines beyond the pasture.
Rebellion — because she didn't want to see her mother? Or
because she didn't want to leave?
Sara checked her watch. Nearly three-thirty. Keith was due
any minute. She supposed she'd better take Grace over to
Dani so she could give the builder her full attention.
She held a hand out to Grace. "Let's go see what Dani's
doing, sweetheart."
Grace scooted off the bench and they started toward the
pasture where her teenage assistant was coaxing a dose of
bute into old Dudley. Dani had mixed the bitter-tasting
anti-inflammatory with some sweet feed, hoping to get
enough of the medication into the twenty-five-year-old
gelding to ease his arthritis.
"Can you watch her a few minutes, Dani? Just until her
mother gets here?"
Dani smiled. "Come on in, short stuff."
Sara unhooked the gate to let Grace through, then headed
back toward the arena. She might as well get the tack
organized while she waited.
She'd just gathered up a halter and bridle left behind by
the campers when she heard the sound of tires on gravel.
There was no mistaking the big white pickup truck turning
into the driveway. The sun's glare on the wind-shield
obscured the driver's face, but she could see his well-
muscled arm resting on the open window.
Keith drove slowly along the driveway, minimizing the dust
kicked up by his truck. The dust did the horses no good,
especially the somewhat elderly geldings and mares she
used for the camp program. Somehow that small kindness
eased the knot inside Sara.
The truck angled toward the parking area at the far end of
the arena and pulled in next to Dani's little red car. A
bit too close — he could only open his truck door halfway.
Sara remembered those broad shoulders, the tall frame.
There was no way he'd be able to squeeze his way out of
his truck unless he moved it.
The door shut again and she saw him slide across the bench
seat. When he stepped out of the cab, the midafter-noon
sun marked his face with shadows. The distance between
them gave Sara only the impression of his size, the stiff
set of his shoulders, the length of his legs.
She couldn't hold back a habitual stab of fear. She'd
become adept at acknowledging it, then setting it aside.
As he drew close enough that she could make out the rugged
lines of his face and his sharp blue eyes, her fear faded,
washed away by a sense of awareness that shocked her.
"Sara Rand? Keith Delacroix." He put out his hand as he
approached.
The impulse to protect herself pushed words from her
mouth. "I don't think we can do this today."
He dropped his hand, slowing as he continued toward her.
When he stopped maybe a couple yards away, he towered over
her, seeming a foot taller than her five-seven.
He frowned down at her. If anything, he looked even
grimmer than the day at the café, and full of tension. "I
canceled an appointment to be here today."
Now that he was closer, fear flickered to life again
inside her. She thrust it aside. "I'm sorry. One of the
students is still here. Her mother's late picking her up."
He directed his gaze toward the pasture. "Can't the girl
watch her?"
Of course she could. She'd already arranged it with
Dani. "I'll have to excuse myself when Grace's mother
arrives."
His jaw tightened; in irritation she supposed. But when he
looked off toward the pasture again, he'd relaxed his
expression into careful neutrality.
Sara turned to check on Dani and Grace. They'd pulled
grooming tools from the caddy by the pasture gate and were
brushing Dudley as the old gelding grazed.
When she turned back to Keith, he stared down at her, the
intensity of his blue eyes unnerving. "Let's get started."
He put his hand on Sara's arm.
The heat of his touch jolted through her and she pulled
away with a gasp. She trembled in shock, not because the
light press of fingers had frightened her, but because of
her sensual awareness of it.
She rubbed her arm, not liking the sensation. "Sorry."
She wasn't even sure what she was apologizing for. "If
you'll follow me."
She led him past the small octagonal structure that served
as her home and office. He walked alongside her,
shortening his stride to keep pace with her. "You teach
kids to ride here?"
"I help kids work through their problems." He felt too
close and she edged away. "Sometimes on horseback,
sometimes on the ground."
They reached the knoll that overlooked the pasture and
arena, a good vantage point to explain how she wanted the
paddocks laid out. Below them, Grace and Dani fed carrots
to the horses.
"The horses represent the problems these kids face." Sara
looked out over the gently rolling landscape. "They learn
to handle the horses and deal with their frustrations,
their fears and their sorrows at the same time."
He paced across the knoll, his work boots scuffing through
the dry grass. "Nice spot."
She gestured out at the pasture. "I want six paddocks,
each about twenty-five by fifty feet. On that end, where
the oak trees will give the horses some shade."
"Easy enough." Propping his boot on a boulder jutting from
the knoll, he bent to tighten his laces. His thigh muscles
flexed under his jeans as he pushed off and resumed his
restless stroll. "Beautiful piece of land. Jameson could
have gotten a hell of a lot of money for it if he'd sold
it."
"I would have thought he'd keep it. Build a house for him
and Nina."
Keith paused to pick up a piece of quartz crystal. "Too
many bad memories." He dropped the quartz in the grass.
Sara glanced over at him, wondering if he'd elaborate. She
doubted he would. "So Jameson's a friend of yours?"
"Yeah. Worked for me a couple years ago. Damn good
carpenter."
That was a surprise. Still fairly new in Hart Valley, Sara
knew Jameson was co-owner of the café in town with his
wife, Nina. She'd heard whispers that he'd once been in
prison and that some of his grandmother's wealth had
filtered down to him. Jameson had donated the land, but it
was his grandmother, Lydia Heath, whose largesse mainly
funded the program.
Down in the pasture, Grace wrapped her small arms around
Dudley's neck. The patient old horse stood stock-
still. "I'll need to get a barn up before winter. These
old horses will need shelter when the rains hit."
He looked over his shoulder at her. "I'm only here to
fence the paddocks." His blue eyes seemed to bore into
her, digging into the barriers she kept around herself. "I
can't build the barn, too."