the barn, a roomy structure with a hayloft in the top. “Come on!” she said, laughing as she grabbed his hand and pulled him in through the open doorway.
After the bright sunlight, the barn seemed as dark as a cave inside. As Joe’s eyes adjusted, he could see the long row of box stalls for the horses, the tool rack for the pitchforks and shovels, the wheelbarrows for hay and manure, the door to the tack room, and the ladder leading up to the loft. There was no one else in the barn.
“So what was it you wanted to show me?” Joe asked.
She guided him into an empty stall. Only then did she let go of his hand. “Close your eyes,” she said. “Don’t open them until I count to three. That’s it . . .”
Joe stood with his eyes closed. He was beginning to feel foolish, but he’d come this far. He’d go along with her game for now.
“Ready?” she teased. “Here we go. One . . . two . . .” Joe could feel her standing close to him. He could smell the gardenia scent of her hair. “Three,” she whispered as her satiny mouth closed on his. Her arms went around his neck, pulling him down to her.
His pulse slammed as their lips clung. Molten heat shot through his body as his arms jerked her close. The voice of caution screamed that this was a bad idea, but with liquid fire pulsing through his veins, he wasn’t listening. He didn’t love her, but the reaction of pure, physical lust was overpowering.
For a moment he gave in to it. Then like a drowning man, he began to struggle. This was trouble. Big trouble. He had to end it now.
Summoning every ounce of strength, he thrust her away from him. “We can’t do this, Amelia. Not unless you want to get me fired. Go back to the house—and stay away from me. I’ve got work to do. I don’t need your kind of distraction.”
She stood facing him, her trembling lips swollen from his kiss. “You bastard!” Her hand flew up and slapped his face hard. Then, spinning away, she raced out of the barn.
Catching his breath, he watched her go. He’d tried to stay out of trouble, but it was already too late. Amelia would go straight to her father, who would believe everything she told him, whether it was true or not. And after that, Joe told himself, he’d be packing his bags—if Hollister didn’t shoot him first.
Expecting to be fired any minute, he went back and began working with the horse again. Earlier, he’d asked for, and been given, a few carrots from the root cellar. Protected by the sturdy fence, he laid a carrot on his open hand and thrust his arm through the rails. It was a risky move. The big blue roan could easily break his arm with a lunge or cripple his hand with a powerful bite. But maybe he’d been too cautious with the stallion. Maybe it was time to raise the stakes.
Holding his arm steady, he began to sing again. He could have worn a leather glove, but that would have defeated the purpose of what he was doing. He wanted the horse to understand that the hand, with its human smell and feel, was a good thing.
As he sang, the stallion’s ears pricked. The sensitive nostrils quivered as the horse took a step forward, hesitated, then took a few more steps, neck stretching; then he snorted and danced away. As a wild animal, he’d probably never tasted a carrot.
Carefully pulling back his arm, Joe reached under the bottom rail and laid the carrot on the ground, inside the pen. Then he walked away to do other work, leaving the horse to discover it for himself.
When he came back to the pen, after eating supper in the bunkhouse, the carrot was gone. At the sight of him, outside the fence, the stallion pricked its ears, as if expecting another treat. Leaning on the fence, Joe chuckled. “No more carrots for you tonight, boy. Wait until tomorrow. Then we’ll see what you can do to earn another one.”
He lingered by the fence, enjoying the chill of the twilight air, the smell of pine on the breeze, and the sounds of awakening night. Maybe there’d be no tomorrow here for him. Maybe by breakfast time, he’d be on the road with his gear, fired on the word of a willful beauty. Amelia’s blistering