as she lagged behind them.
“I think maybe I should stay out here for a bit, maybe take a walk. I don’t belong in there right now.”
“Of course you belong,” Laurie said at once. “You’re my friend.”
“And mine, too, I hope,” Harlan Patrick said. “Though I can understand why you might prefer to stay out of the cross fire. If you’d rather go for a tour, I can get one of the hands to take you around.”
She nodded eagerly at that. “Yes. That would be wonderful.”
“Wait here. I’ll see who’s around.”
As he headed for the stables, he saw the newest hire bringing a horse into the paddock. Slade Sutton was an embittered ex–rodeo star, barely into his thirties, who’d been brought aboard to work with the horses and to start a breeding program. With his taciturn demeanor Sutton wouldn’t have been his first choice for tour guide, but Harlan Patrick suspected his choices were going to be limited at this time of day.
“Hey, Slade, you got a minute?”
The no-nonsense man scowled predictably at the interruption and limped over. “Just about that. No more.”
“I need you to do something for me,” Harlan Patrick said, ignoring the man’s testiness and his obvious reluctance to be drawn into any task that didn’t involve the horses.
“What’s that?”
“I’ve got a real tenderfoot out here who needs a tour. I wouldn’t ask except the next hour or so is going to be tense inside and there’s no need for her to be a part of that.”
Slade’s scowl deepened. “You didn’t hire me to play tour guide. I’ve got horses to work with.”
“Then let her watch. She’ll be content with that, as long as you manage to throw a smile her way every now and again, along with an explanation of what you’re up to. I’d be grateful if you’d help me out.”
He walked off to get Val before the man could protest again. When he came back with her in tow, Slade didn’t even bother to look up from his work until Harlan Patrick called his name insistently.
“Slade Sutton, this is Val Harding. She’s Laurie Jensen’s assistant.”
There was a brief flicker of recognition and surprise at the mention of Laurie’s name, but no more. Slade tipped his hat and went back to using his pick to clean the caked-up dirt in the horse’s shoe.
“Slade doesn’t say much, but most of what he does say is profound,” Harlan Patrick told her, drawing a sour look from the man in question. “I’ll be back for you when the fireworks are over.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Val assured him, proving that she would rather be any place on earth than inside White Pines. She sent a beaming smile toward Slade. “I’m sure Mr. Sutton and I will get along very well.”
Harlan Patrick was pretty sure he heard Slade mutter a contradictory response under his breath, but he let it pass. As cantankerous as he knew the man to be, he also knew he would never be overtly rude to a woman. Silent, maybe, difficult definitely, but not rude. Sutton prided himself on being a cowboy through and through, and basic courtesy was ingrained. It might be interesting to see how the ever cheerful Val handled him, but unfortunately he couldn’t stick around to watch. He had his own awkward situation to deal with.
Naturally, by the time he walked back to the front of the house, everyone had poured into the yard and Laurie and his daughter were surrounded. She might have feared being cast as the bad guy, but at the moment she appeared more in danger of being smothered by eager Adamses, anxious to get a look at the newest addition.
“Hey, give the woman some room,” Harlan Patrick called out. “Otherwise, she’ll make a break for it the first chance she gets.”
There was more truth than jest in his words, and everyone there seemed to know it. They backed off instantly, everyone except his grandfather. He stood his ground, his gaze on the little girl in Laurie’s arms.
“She has Adams eyes,” he noted with pride. “And an Adams chin.” He held out his arms. “May I?”
Laurie never hesitated. “Of course. Sweetie, this is your great-grandpa Harlan,” she said as she handed the baby over.
“Oh, darlin’ girl, I’ll bet you are a handful,” Grandpa Harlan said with tears shimmering in his eyes. “Come along with me and I’ll tell you all about being an Adams, then I’ll explain how I’m going to go about spoiling you rotten.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,”