Backlash Tender Trap Aftermath - Lisa Jackson Page 0,127

plain in his gray eyes.

“So he wasn’t stolen after all?”

“Oh, he was stolen, all right. Whoever took him decided to put him back.”

“That’s crazy!”

Colton tugged thoughtfully on his lower lip. “Maybe they were running scared.”

“You think.”

“I wasn’t here, but Curtis is convinced the same thing happened last year.”

“Curtis could be wrong.”

“I doubt it. Someone ‘borrowed’ the horse—either for free stud fees or just to get under my skin. Anyway, it won’t happen again.”

“Why not?”

One side of his mouth lifted, and he snapped the towel from around his neck. “I’ll show you. Just give me a minute.”

“You don’t have to . . .” But he had turned, disappearing into the house.

Cassie waited, listening to the sound of his retreating steps and feeling like a fool. She’d raced over here fully intent on giving Colton a little of his own back. But seeing him stripped to the waist and beardless, she’d been nearly tongue-tied, and the fire that had propelled her over here had been doused by the water of bittersweet memories.

Fingering the rail surrounding the porch, she told herself she should leave, that being alone with him was doing more damage than good, but she didn’t want to take the coward’s way out. Just as anger had forced her over here, pride kept her from running away.

At the sound of his returning footsteps, she stiffened.

“Okay, let’s go,” Colton said, striding across the porch. He was stuffing his wounded arm through the rolled sleeves of a loose blue work shirt. He winced at the effort while the tails of the shirt flapped in the breeze.

“Go where?”

“I thought you’d like to see what all the fuss was about.” Before she could protest, he took her hand, led her down the porch and around the side of the house.

“Maybe I should just go.”

“I don’t think so. You came over here to bait me, didn’t you?”

“I thought you might apologize.”

“Apologize?” he repeated, then laughed. “For what?”

“Let’s start with accusing my dad of being a horse thief!”

“The jury’s still out on that one.”

She yanked hard on her hand, but his fingers only tightened. “You’re out of your mind!”

“So you keep saying.”

He was walking so fast, she had to half run to keep up with him. Her black denim skirt billowed, the soles of her boots crunched on the gravel. They crossed the yard and headed straight for the stables. Colton shouldered open the door and pulled Cassie into a darkened interior filled with the scent of horses and dust, oil and leather. Stallions snorted and rustled in stalls as they passed, but Colton didn’t stop until they came to an end stall.

She recognized Black Magic instantly. Denver’s prize quarter horse stallion was the most famous horse in the county—possibly the state. Magic’s glossy coat gleamed almost blue beneath the lights, and his only marking, a jagged white blaze, slashed crookedly down his nose.

“This is Black Magic,” Colton said grandly, dropping Cassie’s hand and eyeing the horse as if he didn’t much care for him.

“We’ve met before.” Cassie couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“Well, take a good hard look at him, Cass. Because no one on the ranch has laid a hand on him since he got back.”

“So?”

“So how do you explain that a horse who was supposed to have been wandering around the ranch in the hills for the better part of a week is in such good shape? Shouldn’t he be filthy? It’s been raining and yet he hardly has any mud on his coat. And he’s obviously not starving. In fact,” Colton said, nodding to himself, “I’d say Magic here looks better now than when he was taken.”

“Which proves someone took him to use him as a sire,” she mocked, blowing a loose strand of hair from her eyes.

“Bingo!”

“But that doesn’t wash, Colton. Even if your theory were true—and I’m not saying it is—the thief couldn’t claim that your horse was the sire to any of his foals. They wouldn’t be any more valuable. So what would be the point?”

“Better offspring. And you’re wrong about the value.” Colton slid a knowing glance her way. “What’s the name of your father’s best stud?”

“Devil Dancer.”

“And is he a black horse?”

“Yes, but—”

“Just suppose that Devil Dancer’s foals turn out to be the best horses you’ve ever raised. Better than you expected. Better than both the sire and the dam. Not only would the foals be worth more, but Devil Dancer’s stud fees would go up.”

Cassie almost laughed out loud. The idea was too absurd. “You’re really