“Isn’t he beautiful?” she cried, reaching for the iodine and dousing the colt’s umbilical stump.
Red Wing snorted, eyeing the dark, straw-flecked, spindly legged bundle.
“Watch out,” Cassie warned. Colton jumped before Red Wing’s teeth found his back. “I think Mama wants to take over.”
He flashed her a quick grin. “Good. Let her. I don’t think I’m much of a midwife.” He moved out of the mare’s range.
“Oh, I don’t know, McLean,” she teased, unable to stop smiling over the lump swelling in her throat. “For a man who swears he hates anything to do with ranching, you did a fair job.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It was meant as one.” She glimpsed at him from the corner of her eye. His shirt still open, Colton fastened his gaze on mare and foal. Virile and tough, yet tender and caring—no wonder she’d never stopped loving him. Quickly Cassie worked on the mare, making sure that eventually all the afterbirth would fall from the mare naturally.
Ignoring Cassie, Red Wing washed her new charge with her tongue, stimulating the colt’s circulation and cleaning him. She nudged him with her huge head, nickering softly, urging him up on spindly legs that refused to hold him.
He would struggle upright only to fall in a cross-legged heap or to land on his head.
“He could use a few ballet lessons,” Colton said.
“Maybe you should name him Misha.”
They stepped out of the stall and washed as best they could. Colton chuckled. “I’ll tell Tessa when she gets back.”
“Do.” She didn’t pull away when Colton’s arm surrounded her, and yet she felt suddenly awkward. There were still tremendous hurdles between them. Denver’s accusations for starters. Did Denver really think her father could be a part of such a heinous crime as deliberately infecting Black Magic with a virus? Once that was cleared up, which she was sure would happen soon, then there was still Colton’s need for danger and thirst for faraway places, while she belonged here. And the past—there was always that black cloud threatening to spill over them. Had Colton really put it to rest?
The little colt nuzzled his mother’s flank and finally found his first meal. A huge smile spread across Colton’s square jaw, and he hugged Cassie even tighter. “Finally!” he muttered.
“Tessa will be proud.”
“She should be.” He glanced down at her, and the kindness shining in his flinty eyes received an answering grin. “You, Ms. Aldridge, are a first-class mess.”
“I am?”
To prove his point, he plucked a piece of straw from her hair. Cassie stared down at her clothes, ruined with blood and amniotic fluid. “I guess you’re right.”
“How about a shower?” he suggested, his eyelashes lowering seductively.
“Not a chance.” But she laughed, imagining a rush of water tumbling over Colton’s bare skin and thick, dark hair.
“Why not?”
“Oh, I can think of about a dozen reasons. Let’s start with Curtis, Len, Daniel, Milly—”
“I already told you the hands are busy, and we could have Milly run an errand to town.”
“No way.” But she giggled.
“It could be fun.”
His gaze delved into hers, and she suddenly felt as if a tight leather strap had been placed around her chest, making it impossible to breathe. Her stomach trembled. “You’re positively wicked, Colton McLean.”
“One of my most endearing qualities.”
As the foal suckled and a few of the other horses nickered softly, Cassie was caught in the magnetism of Colton’s eyes. “I, uh, think we’d better find Curtis,” she said. “He’ll want to see Red Wing’s new foal. And then I think I’d better go home.”
Colton leaned a shoulder against the rough boards of the wall. His jaw slid to the side. “Afraid?” he asked.
“Of what?”
“Of me?”
“No!”
“Of us?”
“There is no ‘us.’ There never was. Remember?” Her heart pounded crazily, and the atmosphere in the barn became even more intimate.
“No us—then what was that a little while ago?”
“Passion.”
“So you’re afraid of passion.”
“No!”
“Then why not stay?”
She gulped, her mind spinning. All these years she’d wanted to be with him, and now her emotions were stretched taut. Their relationship had gathered the steam of a freight train running out of control. “You’re the one who so graciously pointed out what a mess I am,” she said, not ready to tackle the more serious issues.
“You could change here. Wear something of Tessa’s. Or”—his voice lowered—“something of mine.” He slid a sizzling glance her way.
“I’d look pretty silly in a Stetson, leather jacket and Levi’s.” Shaking her head, she said, “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think so. I’ve—I’ve got to get home.”
“Why? Ivan’s