The Rancher and the Runaway Bride Part 2. Сьюзен Мэллери

truck. “Let me get another shoe and I’ll replace it.”

      The gelding shifted, again bumping into Brady. He pushed back. Unfortunately, the horse didn’t budge. “What’s your problem?”

      “He’s establishing dominance,” Rita said.

      “I thought we’d taken care of that already.”

      “Not really.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think the basic problem is that he doesn’t understand enough English to know that you’re threatening him. Otherwise, I’m sure he’d be terribly respectful.” She spoke seriously, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

      “Right,” he said, fighting a grin of his own. “Sort of like you.”

      “I’m very respectful.”

      “To whom?”

      She laughed.

      The gelding took another step. Brady saw it coming and ducked under the animal’s head. The horse was just as quick. He shifted back, catching Rita unaware, pulling her forward and making her stumble. As Brady moved to keep her from falling, the gelding stepped between them. Rita hit the ground, knees first.

      Her shoulders were shaking. Fear darted through his chest. Had she hurt herself? He grabbed the halter and forced the gelding back two steps, then crouched down beside Rita.

      “Are you okay?” he asked.

      She rolled onto her rear, and looked at him. Tears streamed down her face, but they weren’t from pain. She was laughing. “He’s so bored,” she said, motioning to the horse. “He’s been bugging me ever since you brought him in. I think he hates not being outside with the cattle.” She brushed the moisture from her face. “No horse has caught me so off guard since I was fourteen.”

      Her reaction surprised him, then he reminded himself that it shouldn’t. Rita wasn’t like other women he’d known. Working on his ranch for only a few weeks proved to him that she was tough and sensible. Competent, not that she would consider his assessment much of a compliment, however he might mean it that way.

      “You fell pretty hard,” he said, and touched her left leg. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

      He squeezed her knee, trying to feel for swelling or tenderness. As he slid his hand a few inches down her shin, then up her thigh, he watched her face, looking for a hint of pain. He ignored the pleasure touching her brought. This wasn’t about desire, it was about making sure she was all right. Even so, it was difficult not to let his hand linger on her knee.

      When he paused in his actions, she shrugged. “It’s a little sore from the fall, but I’m fine. I’m tougher than I look.”

      “I know.” He stood up, then held out his hand to help her to her feet.

      As she straightened, they were standing very close. He was once again reminded of their brief hug last week when her trial period was over and he said she could stay on. He swore under his breath. Every time he was close to forgetting that hug, along with the kiss he’d stupidly given her, something happened to make him remember. He didn’t want to remember. He wanted to take the whole thing back. It had been inappropriate behavior, and not his style at all. He’d had female employees before and had never once been tempted.

      He couldn’t explain the impulse that had made him kiss her, and he couldn’t forget.

      Rita didn’t seem to be having the same problem. She stepped up to the gelding and took his large face in her hands. “Don’t do that to me again,” she told the animal. “You know better.”

      The horse snorted gently, as if apologizing.

      “Like I believe that,” she said.

      “Believe what?” McGregor asked as he entered the barn.

      “Anything a man says to me. You all tell wonderful stories that don’t have a lick of truth.”

      “I’m wounded, lass. At least let me share a story or two before you start accusin’ me of somethin’. In fact, I’ll think up a good one to tell you at the barn dance next week. What do you say? Surely an old gent like myself deserves a wee bit of your time.”

      Rita blinked in surprise. “I didn’t know about any dance, but I don’t think—”

      McGregor made a noise of disgust and glared at Brady. “Did you mean to be keepin’ the lass to yourself?”

      “No. The subject never came up in conversation.”

      “Typical. These young men. They don’t know what’s important in life.” McGregor moved to the gelding and lifted the animal’s rear hoof. “Next Saturday night there’s a barn dance in town. Everyone’s invited. It’s at the lodge, so it’s not really a barn, but it’s called that. There’s lots of music and food. Perhaps a wee bit of drink, too.” He held the metal shoe against the hoof, then lowered the animal’s leg.

      Brady, who hadn’t been to one of the town dances in months, found himself suddenly eager to go. To dance. Specifically with Rita. Down boy, he warned himself.

      “They’re a lot of fun,” Brady said, hoping he sounded casual. “You’ll know a lot of people there.” At her questioning look he added, “The cowboys all go. Even Tex. You don’t need a date.”

      “But you will need a few dancin’ partners,” McGregor said, then pounded the shoe into the right shape. “I believe I’d like to claim one dance for myself.”

      Rita bit her lower lip, then nodded. “I’d like that,” she said, sounding hesitant.

      Brady wondered why. Was it going to a place where she didn’t know many people, or was it attending the dance itself?

      “A two-step?” McGregor asked.

      Rita smiled. “Perfect.”

      Brady turned away, annoyed to find himself wanting to claim his own dance. Dammit, he wasn’t jealous of McGregor, he wasn’t jealous of anyone. He had no claim on Rita. She was just an employee. A young employee, he reminded himself, thinking of the nine years between them.

      “And maybe a waltz,” the Scotsman teased.

      Brady stepped around the gelding and headed for the back of the barn. “I’ll write you a check for the shoeing,” he said.

      “Just for the one,” McGregor called after him. “The second one is repairing a bad job. No charge for that.”

      Brady grunted in reply. He knew what the problem was, but knowing it and fixing it didn’t seem to be the same thing. If he was jealous of someone who wasn’t the least bit interested in Rita, what would happen if someone who was came sniffing around?

      He crossed to his desk and jerked open the upper right drawer. His checkbook lay on top. As he sat down, he told himself to get over it and fast. So what if Rita got to him in a way that left him hard and wanting? So what if no one had affected him like that in years? So what if she wasn’t Alicia? She was still a woman with secrets. A woman with a past, and he of all people knew the danger in that.

      He scrawled out the amount, then signed the check. Ten minutes later, the farrier came in to collect it. They chatted for a short time. When McGregor left, Brady tried to ignore the sounds from the barn. He didn’t want to think about Rita with the horses, of her doing her chores, of the way she would look bending over to spread straw or raising her arms high to grab a feed sack.

      He rested his elbows on his desk and rubbed his temples. He had it bad.

      “Brady?”

      He glanced up and found Rita standing in the doorway to his office. Her long braid hung over one shoulder and down the side of her right breast. He forced his gaze to her face. Some dark emotion flickered in her eyes. “Yes?”

      “I, um…” She twisted her hands together in front of her waist. Worn jeans emphasized her round hips and shapely