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Authors: Denise Hunter
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scent of rain, then let out her breath as she watched the horses.
A few minutes later, when a drizzle began to fall, she put the animals away for the night. Dylan had watched her working most of the evening but had slipped into the house awhile ago. She was already dreading the column, and though Sierra’s cowboy had left, Annie’s frustration with Dylan had not.
She shut the gate to Braveheart’s stall and headed toward her truck for her folder, then made a dash for the house as a bucket load of rain fell from the sky. She was drenched by the time she reached the porch. She knocked on the door, pushing her wet hair from her face. Thunder cracked, and she jumped just as Dylan opened the door.
“You’re soaked.” He pulled her in, his hand warm and firm on her arm, his scent filling her nostrils. “I’ll get a towel.”
Annie closed the door, pulled off her boots, then waited on therug. The room was surprisingly cozy with its hardwood floor, braided rugs, and stone fireplace. Framed pictures, mostly old black-and-white shots, filled the mantel.
“Here you go,” Dylan said, his voice lower than she remembered. He handed her a thick beige towel.
“Thanks.” Annie dried her arms and face and soaked the moisture from her hair.
“Wrap up in this.” He handed her a quilt and tossed the wet towel over a rocking chair as he left again. She watched him go, admiring the way his T-shirt clung to his shoulders, the way his damp hair curled at his nape. She couldn’t deny he was nice to look at.
A moment later he returned with a hot mug of coffee. His fingers brushed hers as she took it, and she pretended not to feel the shock of electricity that zinged up her arm.
“You’re tough to stay mad at, Dylan.”
He smiled, his dimples showing up. “That’s what I like to hear. Have a seat. Warm enough? I can get a fire going.”
He already had—he just didn’t know it. And if she were smart, she’d stick to the porch. But the thunder cracked again, making the light fixture overhead rattle, and she reminded herself she could handle Dylan Taylor just fine.
“That’s okay.” She sat in the recliner, leaving him the sofa, and opened her folder. “Braveheart is getting along okay. I put your mare in the field with him awhile to see how he did.”
“What for?”
“Sometimes another horse will step in to guide and protect the blind one. You can introduce other horses into the pasture with him one at a time, but watch him when you do. If he gets bronc-y, it’s a bad mix.”
“Gotcha. Thanks for your help.”
Annie pulled out the letters. “You’re about to earn your keep.”
He smiled. “Bring it on.”
She handed him one of the two letters and snuggled into the quilt while he read. She wasn’t going to tell him about the negative reader response. Shay was probably right. It was just the vocal few. She was sure her next column would fare better.
Dylan’s lips moved as he read. His top lip had a dip in the center, the lower one was pleasantly full. Nice, she had to admit. Of course, they’d probably touched the mouth of every available woman in the tri-state area.
Annie being the exception. And Sierra. She frowned suddenly, wondering if that was true. How was she to know what happened on those nights Sierra went out?
He handed her the letter. She jumped as thunder struck again, piercing the air, rattling the windowpane behind her.
His eyes danced in the lamplight. “Want me to come over there and keep you safe?”
Dylan keep her safe? “I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.”
He settled back into the sofa and gave her a cocky grin. “Suit yourself.”
She held up the letter. “What’d you think?”
“Seems pretty simple. You should tell him to go for it.”
Of course that’s what he’d say. She sighed. She had to get these answers right. “What about their friendship?”
“A true friendship would weather the course.”
“If he brings his feelings out in the open, it would make
A few minutes later, when a drizzle began to fall, she put the animals away for the night. Dylan had watched her working most of the evening but had slipped into the house awhile ago. She was already dreading the column, and though Sierra’s cowboy had left, Annie’s frustration with Dylan had not.
She shut the gate to Braveheart’s stall and headed toward her truck for her folder, then made a dash for the house as a bucket load of rain fell from the sky. She was drenched by the time she reached the porch. She knocked on the door, pushing her wet hair from her face. Thunder cracked, and she jumped just as Dylan opened the door.
“You’re soaked.” He pulled her in, his hand warm and firm on her arm, his scent filling her nostrils. “I’ll get a towel.”
Annie closed the door, pulled off her boots, then waited on therug. The room was surprisingly cozy with its hardwood floor, braided rugs, and stone fireplace. Framed pictures, mostly old black-and-white shots, filled the mantel.
“Here you go,” Dylan said, his voice lower than she remembered. He handed her a thick beige towel.
“Thanks.” Annie dried her arms and face and soaked the moisture from her hair.
“Wrap up in this.” He handed her a quilt and tossed the wet towel over a rocking chair as he left again. She watched him go, admiring the way his T-shirt clung to his shoulders, the way his damp hair curled at his nape. She couldn’t deny he was nice to look at.
A moment later he returned with a hot mug of coffee. His fingers brushed hers as she took it, and she pretended not to feel the shock of electricity that zinged up her arm.
“You’re tough to stay mad at, Dylan.”
He smiled, his dimples showing up. “That’s what I like to hear. Have a seat. Warm enough? I can get a fire going.”
He already had—he just didn’t know it. And if she were smart, she’d stick to the porch. But the thunder cracked again, making the light fixture overhead rattle, and she reminded herself she could handle Dylan Taylor just fine.
“That’s okay.” She sat in the recliner, leaving him the sofa, and opened her folder. “Braveheart is getting along okay. I put your mare in the field with him awhile to see how he did.”
“What for?”
“Sometimes another horse will step in to guide and protect the blind one. You can introduce other horses into the pasture with him one at a time, but watch him when you do. If he gets bronc-y, it’s a bad mix.”
“Gotcha. Thanks for your help.”
Annie pulled out the letters. “You’re about to earn your keep.”
He smiled. “Bring it on.”
She handed him one of the two letters and snuggled into the quilt while he read. She wasn’t going to tell him about the negative reader response. Shay was probably right. It was just the vocal few. She was sure her next column would fare better.
Dylan’s lips moved as he read. His top lip had a dip in the center, the lower one was pleasantly full. Nice, she had to admit. Of course, they’d probably touched the mouth of every available woman in the tri-state area.
Annie being the exception. And Sierra. She frowned suddenly, wondering if that was true. How was she to know what happened on those nights Sierra went out?
He handed her the letter. She jumped as thunder struck again, piercing the air, rattling the windowpane behind her.
His eyes danced in the lamplight. “Want me to come over there and keep you safe?”
Dylan keep her safe? “I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.”
He settled back into the sofa and gave her a cocky grin. “Suit yourself.”
She held up the letter. “What’d you think?”
“Seems pretty simple. You should tell him to go for it.”
Of course that’s what he’d say. She sighed. She had to get these answers right. “What about their friendship?”
“A true friendship would weather the course.”
“If he brings his feelings out in the open, it would make
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