Her Last Chance. Deanna Talcott

satisfaction. “I’m equal to any mount you offer me. And I know my horses.”

      A flicker of interest sparked in his steely gaze. “Really?”

      “Really.”

      “Okay. Then you can have the guest room,” Chase grudgingly allowed. “Breakfast is on the table at 6:00 a.m. The rest of the day is catch-as-catch-can. And it’s nothing fancy. We do plain food and plain hard work. We’ll start this afternoon, because I’ve got some spirited mounts I’d like to show you. In fact, we’re working with one right now that you might want to take a look at.”

      Chapter Two

      Chase watched Mallory lean over and reach in the back seat of her flashy convertible. The subtle shift of her hips, the gentle swing of her breasts enticed him.

      Bristling at his own human reaction, Chase strode over to the flatbed truck and yanked his hat off the bed, then jammed it on his head. Mallory effortlessly hauled out two small suitcases.

      A smidgen of guilt niggled into his subconscious. He didn’t mean to treat her poorly, but he had more to do than nursemaid an heiress on holiday. Particularly in the vague hopes she’d find some little trinket—in the nature of horse-flesh—to carry back to Narwhal.

      Maybe it had been memories of his daughter, Skylar, that provoked him into agreeing to this nonsense. Since she’d been gone, he’d thought a lot about what was important, what wasn’t. If this summer camp for kids was legitimate, he didn’t want any regrets.

      Huh. When he got up this morning, he sure never figured he’d be discussing sleeping arrangements with some European highbrow. Imagining her sacked out on his couch was a stretch. It offered up a disturbing vision that taunted…like the innocuous vulnerability of Snow White, prone, before a bevy of rough-edged, hard-talking, tobacco-spitting cowboys. It just didn’t equate.

      “Here. Let me help you with those,” he said gruffly, coming to her side.

      She half turned, a protest on her smiling lips, when he reached over and snagged the suitcases from her.

      A tingle of awareness immediately buzzed through his nerve endings and over his hand. Chase grimaced, and grasped the leather handles a little tighter, dismissing the sensation. Residual effect from last week, when that blasted Peggy Sue caught his hand against the manger, he told himself.

      “Thank you,” Mallory said politely, stepping aside, then following him up the wide grass walkway.

      Silently, he forged straight ahead. The heels of his boots made a hollow sound on each of the four steps. He jerked opened the front door and, with an elbow, propped it open.

      Appearing not to notice his bad humor, Mallory stopped inside the great room, her sandals pivoting on the wide knotty-pine floorboards. “Oh, my…” She glanced up at the exposed redwood beams, then down to the fieldstone fireplace. “This is so cozy.”

      Chase sent her a scathing look. “Yeah, just like your typical little hunting lodge, I suppose.”

      The comment was apparently not lost on his guest.

      “Narwhalians see no value in hunting for pleasure,” she replied evenly. “We are known the world over for exquisite animals, for fine horses and stables. But legend has it that our small island became invincible when a peasant, at great risk, freed a starving unicorn from its cruel master, giving the animal back his wild heart. Because of his kindness, the peasant came to know years of comfort and good health. His children, chaste and pure of heart, befriended the unicorn and came to know prosperity. For generations, people have honored his gesture. I honor it, too.”

      Chase stared at her, wondering if she was putting him on. She didn’t retract a word. Not one. She simply met his gaze.

      “Legends…I see,” he said uncomfortably, but not seeing at all. “Ah…well, beggin’ your pardon, ma’am. My misunderstandin’ about Narwhal and all.”

      Determined to change the subject, Chase moved ahead of her and into the room. He kicked down a corner of the black-and-russet Navajo rug. The room was scattered with them. Leather furnishings, a sofa and several chairs, were arranged in front of the fireplace.

      Mallory trailed a hand over the rustic willow and reed high back chairs and matching table. “Your local artisans do incredible work,” she murmured.

      Chase brushed off the comment. “I got it from the local discount store. If you look, you’ll probably find a gold foil Made in China sticker.”

      Mallory lifted her eyes, her gaze narrowing. “You do have a lovely home, Chase, no matter how you put it together.”

      Her grace and tact made him feel like a heel. It wasn’t hard to explain why he felt so prickly around her, but he had to put a stop to the defensive reactions and the sharp dismissals. Since Sharon—and particularly Skylar—he’d been edgy, and short with people who didn’t deserve it. “Thanks,” he said finally. “The old ranch house, the one I grew up in, burned to the ground about ten years ago.”

      “Oh, I’m sorry. That must have been dreadful.”

      He lifted a shoulder. “We’re strong. A little like the phoenix rising from the ashes.”

      Mallory brightened, her features animated, her eyes dancing with recognition. “I know that story,” she said, “and I love it.”

      In spite of himself, he grinned, setting the suitcases down. “You know a lot of them. Legends about Narwhal, the Phoenix…”

      “I’ve always been fascinated with legends and lore. I’ve found there’s a bit of truth in many of them. Particularly for those who believe.”

      The sincerity of her gaze intrigued him. “And you believe?”

      The corners of her lips lifted. “My country is steeped in legends. Stories are handed down from generation to generation, and it has been that way for hundreds of years. I believe the storytellers were the wisest, and they have knowledge to share, if we choose to listen.”

      Chase stared at her, fully aware she had not answered his question. “Well…as for our little phoenix…we were able to rebuild the house the way we wanted.” He gestured to the huge picture windows and the vista of foothills beyond. “Before, that view was hidden by a coat closet, a washroom and a two-car garage.”

      She smiled, inclining her head. “Ah, that was also the way of our forefathers. Function, not beauty.”

      Beauty. With Mallory the word took on new meaning. Chase shifted, trying not to stare into the baby-blue depths of her eyes, trying not to acknowledge the sexy, come-hither waves of her hair.

      “The Chevalles have a home on the ocean like that,” she continued. “At night, the fog rolls in, and it’s cold and drafty and miserable. I hate staying there. I like warm, cozy things around me.”

      The craziest feeling shot through Chase’s arms, as if they were incredibly empty. He imagined wrapping his arms around the woman standing next to him, giving her that warm, cozy feeling. Sharing it. In that same instant, it occurred to him that they’d be good together. Very, very good together. He hastily reached down and snatched up the suitcases, before any more goofy thoughts made Swiss cheese of his sanity. He hadn’t been with a woman for more than two years, and the end of that relationship had been filled with misgivings and regret. He wasn’t going that way ever again. “The guest room is nothing fancy,” he said, leading the way to the stairs, “but—”

      “Don’t.” She laid a hand on his arm, stopping him. “You keep saying that. ‘It’s nothing fancy.’ I didn’t come out here to be entertained, or to be impressed by you or your home. I came because I knew there was something special to be found. I’m not intending to stay, Chase. More than anything, I want to get home, to my father.”

      The room Chase offered her was charming and rustic. Mallory carefully eased her suitcase