Here to Stay (18 page)

“All right,” she finally said to Zach over her shoulder. “With Cookie vouching for you, I have no choice but to believe you.” Noting sourly that Cookie’s words carried more weight than his own, Zach watched as she climbed down from the gate and turned to face him. “If you didn’t hurt him, though, someone else did.”

Zach looked deeply into her eyes, and he saw pain there. Only a glimpse, but he saw it, and then she lowered her lashes.

Her mouth trembled. She licked her bottom lip. “If I jumped the gun, I apologize.” She pushed the words out, a telltale sign that he wasn’t off the hook yet and her apology wasn’t completely heartfelt. “I definitely shouldn’t have called you names.”

Zach suppressed a smile. Being called a liar hadn’t sat well with him, but
bastard
was a stable byword, uttered so often that Zach barely noticed. In fact, compared to some things he’d been called,
bastard
could sound downright friendly at times. Damn, but she was pretty, all softness and tempting curves, with a face that a man’s dreams were made of. Under the parka, she wore a pink knit top that skimmed her breasts and nipped in at the waistband of her jeans, which showcased her rounded hips and shapely legs. Little wonder Tornado, still whickering at the gate, found her irresistible.

“Name-calling doesn’t bother me much,” Zach replied. “I’m a little too country to take offense. As for your jumping the gun, I’m kind of glad you did.” He looked at Tornado. “I didn’t think of abuse as being a possible cause for his crazy behavior. I bought him from a reputable breeder, and I checked the guy out nine ways to hell. If abuse occurs in a stable, sooner or later someone reports it—an employee, a buyer, or some neighbor who happens to witness it. The man’s record is so clean, it squeaks.”

“Well, you overlooked something. Someone has been horribly cruel to that horse.”

“It wasn’t me,” Zach assured her, “and trust me, I’ve had plenty of reason. He’s pushed me to the point of almost losing it a few times,
almost
being the key word. I don’t beat my horses. Never have and never will.”

From the landing, Cookie laughed and said, “I’ve had to bail him and his daddy out of jail a fair number of times for goin’ to fisticuffs in defense of a horse. He’s tellin’ it true. When Tornado pushes the boss too far, he yells a lot, but the only violence he commits is when he goes to kickin’ buckets.”

Zach turned to glare at his foreman. “Does it ever occur to you, Cookie, that there may be some things I’d prefer the whole world doesn’t know?”

Cookie tightened the sash of his robe and straightened from the railing. Hanks of his hair, starting to dry, stood out from his head like gray wisps of cotton candy. “Well, you do kick them buckets when you get mad, and I was only tryin’ to help. As for the jail stuff, you did pound the shit outa Mose Breckenridge when you caught him beatin’ on his cuttin’ horse at the Salem show two years ago, and it took three men to pull you off. Ain’t like I told her you pick your schnozzle in public and eat the proceeds.”

Zach winced. He jerked his gaze to Miranda. “Strike that. I do
not
pick my nose.”

Faint splashes of pink colored her cheeks, and a sparkle of laughter now brightened her eyes. “Now I
know
you’re a bald-faced liar.
Everyone
picks his nose sometimes.”

Zach chuckled. He couldn’t believe the turn of this conversation. The foreman started to speak again. Zach threw up a hand. “Enough. One more helpful word out of you, Cookie, and I’ll can your ass.”

“Promises, promises.” Cookie turned toward his apartment. “I’ll never get to retire. You can’t pour piss out of a boot without instructions on the heel.” He stepped inside, poked his head out around the doorframe, and said, “Don’t convict him without a fair trial, honey. He’s gnarly, with a few rough edges, but he’s got a good heart.” Cookie started to close the door, then poked his head back out to add, “Before you go, missy, it’d save Tornado a lot of heartache if you’d remove that halter. He hates ’em so bad that he goes crazy tryin’ to get one off, and we worry he’ll hurt himself.”

Zach sighed and shook his head. When Cookie had finished making his exit, he smiled at Miranda. “My turn to apologize. Cookie thinks polish is the shine on his go-to-meeting boots.”

A dimple flashed in her cheek. Just a flash, and then it vanished. Zach found himself staring at the spot, wanting to see it again.

“You haven’t seriously considered putting Tornado down, have you?” she asked, her eyes dark with apprehension.

“With horses, there’s not always a choice. No matter what caused it, he’s dangerous, and nothing I’ve tried has changed that. He’s about out of chances at this point. I have to think about the safety of my employees.” He hooked a thumb toward the landing. “If he took after Cookie the way he did me this morning, Cookie couldn’t move fast enough to save himself. As sad as it makes me to think about euthanizing Tornado, I may end up there. I couldn’t live with myself if he killed somebody.”

She shook her head, sending her hair into a glistening tumble around her shoulders. “You need to readjust your thinking, Mr. Harrigan. Maybe Tornado
is
dangerous, but it’s due to fear, not viciousness.”

“The reason’s not going to change the outcome if he seriously injures anyone.”

She shot him an unfriendly look and retraced her steps to Tornado’s stall gate, crawled up onto a lower rung, and began removing the halter. The stallion whickered and fluttered his lips over her hair as she struggled with the clasp. When the headgear was finally removed, she hugged the horse’s neck and kissed him on the cheek, whispering words of farewell that Zach couldn’t quite catch.

Moments later, when she handed Zach the halter, she brought her dainty chin up, met his gaze, and said, “I’ll accept that job. Working with him, I mean. I know nothing about horses, but if you think I can help, I can’t turn my back on him. And, Mr. Harrigan ...”

“Make it Zach. Yeah?”

“About what you said earlier. I mean, about what you’d do on the steps of the courthouse. I won’t hold you to it.”

Zach felt a surge of heat come up his neck. “Sorry about that. I was mad when I said it. I don’t usually talk to women that way. And I was only joking about the job. It’ll take someone with a lot of experience to turn him around.” He fiddled with the halter, straightening the straps, then tucked them over his belt. “If I do some checking and discover he truly has been abused, it’ll give me a leg up. I’ll go at everything differently.”

“Can a badly abused horse be turned around?” she asked, her gaze clinging to his in hopeful appeal.

Zach nodded. “Sometimes, sometimes not.” The concern that flashed across her face had Zach readdressing the question. “I think I can do it, though. It won’t be easy, but yeah, I can probably turn him around. I just never thought—” He broke off because his throat had gone tight. If Tornado had been abused, Zach had done absolutely everything wrong. That bothered him. Other people paid big bucks to have him work with their animals. How could he have had Tornado for nearly two months and failed him so miserably? Swallowing hard, Zach decided to change the subject before his emotions got the better of him. “With all the hullabaloo, I never thought to ask what brought you out here. I’m assuming you had a reason for coming.”

Until that instant, Mandy had all but forgotten why she’d come to see Zach Harrigan. Now her brain went blank. She stared at him, trying to collect her thoughts. That was nearly impossible. She’d never been a great admirer of cowboys, but Zach Harrigan was, hands down, one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen.

Thumbs hooked over his belt, he stood with one hip cocked, his opposite leg bent. A wash-worn blue shirt, partially unbuttoned to reveal a sun-bronzed chest furred with black hair, clung to his muscular shoulders. The cuffs, folded back to the elbow, showcased the hard thickness of his wrists, the square breadth of his hands, and the grace of his strong fingers. His jeans, dusty from a day of hard work, were covered by chaps to below the knee, the front cutout in the soft, worn leather showcasing the fly of his Wranglers—and the bulge beneath it. Mandy tried not to look there, but controlling the direction of her gaze was difficult.

He tipped back the brim of a new-looking black Stetson, which was flecked with bits of hay, to give her a questioning look, his dark eyes searching hers. Miranda struggled to regain her composure. What on
earth
was the matter with her? He was incredibly attractive. But so what? When she spotted a beautiful dress, she didn’t drool over it unless she happened to be shopping for one. Well, hello, she absolutely, positively wasn’t shopping for a man. So why did his appearance unnerve her so?

She took in his face, all masculine planes and sharp angles, and decided it was the raw power that seemed to emanate from him. Then she realized he was staring at her, one eyebrow elevated slightly, waiting for her to speak. Oh, nuts, what if he’d guessed why she was gaping at him like a tongue-tied schoolgirl? She rushed into unplanned speech. “I, um—” She broke off, pushed at her hair, and swallowed to steady her voice.
Don’t look at his fly
. “I came to talk to you about Luke.”

His cheek muscle bunched, a telltale sign that her brother wasn’t on his list of favorite people. His tone wasn’t encouraging, either. “What about him?”

Mandy clasped her hands, decided that would make her look nervous, disentangled her fingers, and crossed her arms instead.
Perfect
. A defensive posture. That wasn’t the message she wanted to convey. She jerked her hands free and stuck them in her pockets. “After the way I acted, you probably don’t even want to hear it.”

“I just asked, didn’t I?”

She pulled her hands from her pockets and forced her arms to her sides. They hung from her shoulders like stiff boards. “It’s just ... well, I know Luke made a very bad impression yesterday. I also sensed before we left that you’d decided he isn’t suitable to have Rosebud.”

“That was intuitive of you.”

Mandy’s heart sank because he didn’t deny the charge. She could also tell by the set of his mouth that he had no intention of changing his mind. “Mr. Harrigan, I don’t blame you for deciding Luke shouldn’t have Rosebud. His behavior was deplorable, and afterward, I jumped all over him. During that exchange, I found out—” His eyes narrowed as she broke off, gulped, and took a different tack. “He said things to make me realize—” Mandy threw up her hands. “I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?”

His lips curved into a crooked smile. “The truth? Yes. But I have a talent for making a mess of things, too, so I’ll cut you some slack.”

Mandy took a bracing breath, wishing the shadow of his hat brim weren’t hiding the expression in his eyes. Her brother’s entire future hung in the balance. She had to convince Zach Harrigan to give him another chance. She simply had to.

“Then please,” she said just above a whisper, “give me five minutes and listen to me. Just listen to me. Nothing’s the way I thought it was, and I have to make you believe it.”

Chapter Seven

G
azing down at Miranda’s lovely face, Zach felt as if he were walking on a frozen pond about to crack beneath his weight. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to speed for the edge and safety, or stay where he was. He had an idea what she wanted to ask him, and with those big hazel eyes pinned on him, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to say no.

She stopped, started, and then caught her lush lower lip between small, perfectly shaped white teeth. Then she pushed at her tousled hair, which he thought looked fine just as it was.
Too fine
. He could barely think straight around her.

During her visit tonight, he’d experienced a gamut of emotions—paralyzing fear, disbelief, amazement, outrage, and an inexplicable attraction. Now she was going to try to pitch her snotty brother to him.

“You know,” she finally said, “not all of us are fortunate enough to have a father like you do. I mean, well, I don’t really know him, but I could tell you and he are very close.”

Zach couldn’t see how his relationship with his dad had anything to do with anything, but he nodded to indicate he was listening.

“Luke got a raw deal when it came to parents. His father is abusive, and his mother took off when he was four. I was thirteen at the time and the only person he had left to count on. I was fifteen when he was blinded. Mature for my age. I had to be. But I was still a kid and knew nothing about raising a sight-impaired child. I tried so hard to be his eyes, to help him every way I could ... but I didn’t understand he needed discipline, too. And I didn’t have a clue about the emotional scars he’d suffered when our mother abandoned him.” Her eyes went bright with what Zach suspected were tears. “She was his whole world, and one morning when he woke up, she was just ... just
gone
.”

Zach wanted to interrupt for clarification.
What about you? Weren’t you abandoned, too?
But he managed to keep his mouth shut. Better to let her tell the story her way.

“Anyway, Luke has issues. But until yesterday when we quarreled, I didn’t understand that most of them are my fault. I should have realized long ago how insecure he is and known that was why he refused to become independent.” Her small larynx, about the size of a shooting marble, bobbed in her throat as she swallowed. Her gaze chased off to the far end of the arena. “If he learns to use a cane and do everything for himself, he won’t need me. If he agrees to get a guide horse and attend college, he
truly
won’t need me. In that event, what will stop me from abandoning him just like our mother did? And that’s what he thought I was planning to do.”