Sarah's Legacy. Brenda Mott

turned that blasted heart-stopping smile on him once more. “That would be wonderful. Where would you like Dokina?”

      AFTER HELPING TRENT put ointment on the mares that had gotten scraped, Bailey assisted him in turning them out in a paddock behind the barn and tried to pretend he had no effect on her whatsoever. It had to be the horses that had her stomach in knots…that was it. She hadn’t been around them much, and finding herself right in the middle of the group of mares was a little more than she’d bargained for, especially when they started to squabble over the horse cookies.

      She hoped Trent hadn’t noticed the momentary scare Dokina gave her when the mare pinned her ears, bared her teeth and charged. But then Bailey realized the horse wasn’t after her at all—she was simply defending what she felt belonged to her. That Bailey could also relate to, and she’d immediately felt calm.

      Now her heart was doing a little skip-hop. Damn it, why did Trent have to look so much better in blue jeans than any man she’d seen lately?

      “So, are you ready for the grand tour?” Trent asked, pulling her from her musings.

      “Sure.” She handed him the purple halter and lead rope, and he hung it on the fence and shouldered the one he’d removed from the gray mare.

      “The saddle horses I have for sale are in the upper pasture,” he said.

      “You’ve got a beautiful place here.” Bailey’s gaze swept Windsong Ranch. An adobe-style house, looking like something from a western movie, sprawled not far from the barn, beneath the shade of massive cottonwoods that circled the well-kept lawn. The pasture, fenced in either wire or white rail, stretched as far as the eye could see. The scent of horses, hay and wildflowers caught on the breeze and surrounded her, leaving Bailey with the impression that everything was neat, clean and in its proper place.

      She wondered if that was the way Trent laid out his life day by day—nothing out of place, most especially his emotions. Telling herself she had no business analyzing the man, she turned her thoughts back to the ranch. “How many acres do you have here, if you don’t mind my asking?”

      “Two hundred and fifty.”

      “Wow. And I thought eighty was a lot.” She smiled. “It’s nice the way you put your house at the very back. Gives you some privacy.”

      Trent didn’t smile. He shot her a funny look, then clamped his mouth shut as though he’d been going to say something but had decided not to at the last minute.

      What was his problem?

      He closed up more and more as they walked along, restricting his comments to information about the horses he had for sale. Bailey felt that he’d suddenly thrown a wall up between them, and she wondered why. Sure, he’d been angry at what the dog had done, and she’d acted a little defensive in return. But he’d seemed to warm to her while they worked to bring the horses in.

      It was just as well that she keep her distance from him, Bailey decided as she followed Trent into the pasture, where a dozen-odd horses grazed.

      “How experienced a rider are you?” Trent asked.

      “Not very,” Bailey admitted. “I’ve taken some riding lessons, and I’ve been reading up on owning a horse.”

      He grunted. “So that explains it.”

      “Explains what?”

      “Why you seem to know something about horses, yet don’t appear totally comfortable around them.”

      She bristled. “I’ve learned a lot over the past few months, Mr. Murdock. I can assure you I plan to continue that route.”

      “No need to get your back up,” he said. “I was just making an observation. And like I said at the bank, it’s Trent. Mr. Murdock is my father.”

      “Only if you call me Bailey,” she said. Just because they kept their distance didn’t mean they had to be formal. After all, they were neighbors.

      “Okay, Bailey. Let me tell you a little more about these horses.”

      She walked beside him, listening as he went into detail about the good points—and bad—of each horse. His knowledge impressed her and his honesty took her by surprise. “I thought people who sold horses were only supposed to mention their good qualities and hide their bad,” she said. She’d recently read an article in Western Horseman entitled “Buyer Beware.”

      “There are a lot of disreputable people in the horse business,” Trent agreed, “just as there are in any business. But I don’t work that way, Bailey. I want my customers to be satisfied and my horses to have a good home. They can’t have that unless I’m up-front in the first place.”

      “Good point.”

      “Not to say any of these horses are bad animals,” he went on. “I wouldn’t have them for sale if that was the case. But no horse is perfect.”

      In her experience, animals were usually far more perfect than people, but she didn’t argue. “So, the little gray mare is hard to catch,” Bailey said. “But she’s a good solid riding mount.”

      “The best,” Trent said. “She’s bombproof.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “She doesn’t spook at anything. And she can cover ground all day long and be ready for more.” He ran his hand over the shoulder of a dark bay gelding. “This is Mirage, a son of my stallion Alysana. He’s one of the few foals I kept because he has such a great personality, but when he was a two-year-old he had an accident. Fell off a cliff and got pretty banged up. His foreleg took the worst of it.” Trent indicated a scar on the gelding’s right foreleg that ran the length of the cannon bone. “He’s sound, but only for light trail riding. You couldn’t work him hard or use him for endurance riding or anything like that. Still, he’s got a willing heart and he’s real easy to catch.”

      Unlike his owner.

      Bailey chuckled. “I can see that,” she said as the horse nudged Trent’s shoulder affectionately, looking for a treat. Trent pulled a horse cookie from his pocket and the gelding took it with a soft smack of his lips. He chewed with eyes half-closed, as though savoring the alfalfa cube. Several other horses made their way over to see what was going on.

      Trent offered each of them cookies, then held up his empty palms. “I’m all out,” he said, rubbing the forehead of a black mare. “That’s it.”

      Bailey smiled to herself. A man who talked to horses couldn’t be all bad. “They’re nice horses,” she said. “It’s going to be hard to choose one.”

      “They’re a pretty good bunch,” Trent said, patting the black mare’s shoulder.

      “What about that one?” Bailey pointed to a gray whose coat was flecked with red markings. The horse kept to the rear of the group. As the animal turned his head, she noted his left eye appeared cloudy, and the skin around it was heavily scarred. “Oh! What happened to his eye?”

      “He had it all but poked out by a tree branch when a pack of dogs ran him into the woods three years ago.” Trent frowned pointedly at her and Bailey cringed inwardly.

      No wonder he’d been so upset when her stray dog had chased his horses. “Can he see out of it?” she asked, ignoring Trent’s underlying reprimand.

      “No. I don’t even know why I keep him in here with the others that are for sale. If he were a mare, I’d just put her with the other broodmares, but what am I going to do with a gelding? Most people turn away from him the minute they see his eye.”

      “Why? Just because he isn’t perfect doesn’t mean he isn’t a good horse, does it?” Bailey moved toward the gelding. “Hey, there, pretty baby,” she crooned. The gelding stretched his neck inquisitively and gently lipped Bailey’s hand as she drew close to him. Bailey smiled, warming immediately to the horse that no one wanted. “I’m sorry. I’m all out