His eyes took her in. “I’m sorry. The door was ajar. I knocked, but you must not have heard me. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Erin stood and stepped away from the bed. She couldn’t help wishing she could put a bag over her head. But she wouldn’t apologize for crying. Jasper had earned her tears.
“There’s nothing anybody can do,” she said. “It’s just this place. The old man who lived here for years was like a grandfather to me. Everything here reminds me of him. But I need to do this, even if it’s hard.”
“You don’t have to do it today,” he said. “I can survive in the bunkhouse.”
“You were complaining about it last night. You said it was as noisy as—”
“I know. But I’ve slept through worse. At the end of a long day, shoeing horses in the heat, I could probably sleep through a tornado.”
“I’ll get it done. I promised my dad. It won’t get any easier if I wait.”
“Well, I’ll appreciate the effort. And I’ll consider it an honor to sleep in a good man’s bed. If there’s any way I can help—”
“A stranger wouldn’t know what was worth saving. I have to do this myself. It’s just knowing that I’ll never see him again, and . . . Oh, blast!” The tears were back, trickling down her cheeks in salty streams. Erin pressed her hands to her face. “Ignore me. I’ll be fine in a minute.”
He crossed the space between them and took a clean, folded bandanna out of his pocket. Easing her hands away, he lifted her face with a thumb under her chin and began blotting away the tears. “It’s all right,” he said. “Sometimes the only thing you can do is cry.”
His face was so close that his breath mingled with hers. It was as if she could look into the depths of his eyes and see the reflection of her own raw need. Erin’s desire to be in his arms and to feel the sensual power of his kisses, sweeping away the sting of her tears, was like an unanswered cry. If she were to stretch upward by an inch, he would know....
And she would be in serious trouble.
“Here, give me that,” she said, stepping back and snatching the bandanna from his hand. Wadding it in her fist, she dabbed furiously at the tears that were already drying on her face. “I’ll wash this and give it back to you,” she said, stuffing it into her pocket. “Are you ready to work on my stallion?”
“That’s why I’m here. But it can wait.”
“No, let’s do it now,” she said. “Just give me a minute.”
In the bathroom, she splashed her face to wash away the salty tear trails. Her eyes avoided the mirror. She didn’t have to see her reflection to know that she looked a red-eyed mess. But why should it matter? Luke Maddox was her employee—that was all. He’d already seen her at her worst.
* * *
She led the way to the barns, her head high, her stride determined, as if defying anyone to notice that she’d been crying. Luke walked a step behind her, feeling strangely protective. He’d dismissed Erin as a spoiled princess. But in the past two days she’d proven herself to be strong, courageous, proud, and now, vulnerable in a way that touched his heart. Back in the duplex, when he’d found her in tears, it had been all he could do to keep from taking her in his arms. He could have rationalized that he was giving her comfort. But he’d long since learned not to lie to himself. He wanted her—wanted her in a way guaranteed to get him horsewhipped and run out of town.
Erin’s palomino stallion, a registered quarter horse, was big for his breed, powerful, and beautifully proportioned. An ideal stud. One of the cowhands had mentioned that, in this year of drought, it was Tesoro’s stud fees that had kept the Rimrock from going under. Even the foals that lacked his golden coat were superb. All the more reason to keep the horse in prime condition.
Erin led Tesoro out of his stall to the shed where Luke had set up his anvil and tools. Luke had already spent time around the stallion, talking to him, stroking him, and checking his legs. He didn’t expect trouble. But Tesoro was high-spirited and definitely a one-woman horse. Having Erin there to keep him calm would make the process of trimming and shoeing safer.
“Come and take a look.” Wearing his heavy leather apron, Luke positioned himself against Tesoro’s side. At a touch, the well-trained stallion raised a front hoof for inspection. Erin moved in closer as Luke pointed out the edge of the hoof. “See how it’s grown past the shoe. If he’s to be ridden much, it’ll wear and give him trouble. All four hooves need to be trimmed around the edge and fitted with shoes that won’t let this happen again. Make sense?”
“It does. Go ahead.” She watched him, soothing her horse as Luke pried off the shoe and began cleaning and trimming the hoof. “I had no idea there was so much involved in shoeing a horse,” she said. “Where did you learn all this?”
“I spent my teens on my grandmother’s farm in Oklahoma,” he said. “Her neighbor was a farrier. When he saw that I was interested, he took me on as an apprentice and trained me. Later on, I went to school and learned more.”
“That’s interesting,” she said. “You say you spent your teens on a farm. What about before that? What about your family?”
“That’s not a story I enjoy telling.”
“Please,” she said.
He shrugged. “You might say I grew up rough. I never knew my father. My mother and her boyfriend died in a motorcycle crash when I was eleven. After that I went to live with my half brother in Oklahoma City. That didn’t turn out so well either. That was when my grandma took me in. I’d probably be in prison now if it hadn’t been for her.”
“You were one of the lucky ones. Is your grandmother still alive?”
“Yup. She couldn’t keep the farm, but she’s still in Oklahoma, in a retirement home.”
“Sky’s from Oklahoma, too,” she said. “His mother’s people were Comanche. But Sky’s father was my grandfather, Bull Tyler. That makes him my uncle. It’s a complicated story.”