The Rancher and the Runaway Bride. Сьюзен Мэллери

fork to use, but she wouldn’t have described him as a gentleman.

      Hal. The longer she was away from him the more she wondered why she’d been willing to go out with him or get engaged. Worse, she’d nearly married the man. What had been wrong with her?

      Once in her room, she crossed to the window and stared out at the clear West Texas night sky. Stars twinkled. During the day the heat was oppressive, but at night it cooled off some. She inhaled the scents of horses and grasses, flowers and hay.

      What quirk of fate had brought her to this particular ranch, to this place of misfits and strays? She thought about the cowboys she’d met at dinner. Ziggy with his stutter; Quinn, whose left arm and hand were nearly useless; Ty, the mysterious loner. There were others, a collection that defied description. Oddly enough, she fit right in. A woman on the run from a man she didn’t want to marry and two strangers who wanted her dead.

      She leaned against the windowsill. Her gaze settled on the barn, specifically on the light shining from an office in the back. “Who are you, Brady Jones? Why do you bother with the likes of us?”

      She didn’t have an answer and she didn’t need one. Around Brady, she felt safe. After nearly two months on the run, there was nothing she wanted more, except maybe to find a place to belong.

      Her body ached with exhaustion, yet she made no move to get into bed. Sleep was hard to come by these days. Of course, tonight she wasn’t on her own anymore. She was on a ranch, surrounded by cowboys. Soon Brady would return to the room down the hall. She wouldn’t be able to hear him, but she would know he was there. Maybe that would be enough to allow her to relax. Maybe tonight she would finally be able to sleep without dreaming or waking up at every unfamiliar sound.

      Chapter Three

      It was still dark when Brady made his way to the barn the next morning. There were lights on in the bunkhouse, and the smell of coffee wafted through the still air. He’d heard Rita walk past his bedroom door at ten minutes after four, so he knew she’d gotten up on time. At least one of his concerns had been addressed. Which left all the others. She’d claimed to have worked in a stable for several years, but without being able to check references, he had no way of verifying that information. Did she know her way around a horse? What kind of job was she doing?

      He rounded the corner of the barn and found the wide double door propped open. The portable radio kept in the tack room had been placed on a bale of hay. Soft, classical music played quietly.

      Rita stood next to a black gelding, her dark hair the same color as the horse’s mane. The large animal dwarfed her, yet it was obvious who was in charge. She spoke in a low voice, keeping the animal’s attention and helping it place her as she moved around its body, brushing its legs with a dandy brush. The gelding’s ears moved back and forth as if absorbing all that she was saying, processing the information, then responding with a flick of its tail or a brief snort.

      Brady walked past her without saying anything. Bent over the horse as she was, she didn’t see him. He grabbed the feed clipboard and started down the center aisle.

      According to Rita’s notes, each of the horses had been fed the proper amount. They were all up and alert, with no obvious signs of illness. Brady randomly checked a couple of stalls. He found clean straw, empty feed bowls and plenty of hay and water. Behind the barn, damp straw had been spread out to dry in the morning sun. He scanned the clipboard again. She’d put a star by Casper’s name and added a comment that she’d read the previous note about his injury and that this morning he seemed to be moving around without any discomfort. There was no swelling. In her opinion, he’d recovered from the sprain and was ready to start light exercise.

      “Not bad,” he said, making his way to Casper’s stall. The gray gelding greeted him by making a snuffling noise and nudging him in the center of his chest.

      “Too early for apples,” Brady said as he rubbed the horse between the ears, then scratched behind the left one. Casper curled his lips back as if to say the attention was nice but he would have preferred an apple.

      “Let’s see if Rita’s right about your leg, old boy.” Brady stepped into the stall and ran his hands down Casper’s left rear leg. An unexpected gopher hole had injured the animal. They were lucky it had just been a sprain. “Feels good to me. How’d you like a pretty lady to exercise you today?”

      Casper snorted.

      “We’ll wait a couple of days before she rides you, though.”

      Brady patted the horse and walked to the front of the stable. “How’s it going?” he asked as he hung the clipboard back on its hook.

      Rita jumped, startling the gelding. She quickly placed her hand on the animal’s neck and spoke soothingly before turning to Brady. She touched her chest and smiled. “You scared me.”

      “Sorry. I knew you didn’t see me come in, but I thought you heard me rattling around in back.”

      She shook her head. “I guess I was involved with my work.”

      “Good.” He stepped close to the gelding and ran his hands over the animal’s back. “Nice job.”

      “Thanks.”

      She wore a T-shirt and jeans. Her braid had dissolved into a riot of curls. Green-and-brown stains dotted her thighs and her midsection; sweat made a damp patch on her back. There wasn’t a speck of makeup on her face, no jewelry, nothing even remotely feminine. Yet her eyes flashed with intelligence and humor, and when she smiled he found himself smiling back. There was something about Rita Howard, something that made him wish he believed in taking those kinds of risks.

      “I heard you go downstairs about four this morning,” he said.

      She bit her lower lip. “Did I wake you? Sorry.”

      “I was already up.”

      “Oh, I get it. You were wondering if I was going to show up on time.”

      “Don’t take it personally. It happens every time I hire someone.”

      She laughed. “You didn’t have to worry. I was so nervous about sleeping through the alarm that I must have checked the clock fourteen times. After the horses are exercised, I just might take a nap.” Her laughter faded. “If you don’t mind.”

      “Rita, you’re only expected to put in eight or ten hours a day. Once the horses are fed, the stables are cleaned and the men have left, you do what you want with your time. If you want to split the rest of the work between the morning and afternoon, that’s fine.” He remembered the dark, empty kitchen. “I forgot to tell you last night there’s a coffeemaker in the kitchen. Since you have to get up so early and breakfast isn’t until six, feel free to make coffee and have something to eat. There’s plenty of food. Help yourself.”

      “Okay, thanks.”

      He nodded toward the stalls. “I checked Casper and I agree with your notes. Start him on light exercise today. If he continues to improve, you should be able to ride him by the beginning of the week.” He returned his attention to her. “You were very thorough. I appreciate that.”

      Despite faint color staining her cheeks, she met his gaze. “I’m glad. This job is important to me, Brady. I know you took a chance on an unknown quantity, and I don’t want to let you down.”

      He found himself not wanting to be let down. He wanted Rita to be one of the good guys so he would have a reason to believe in her. Unfortunately, life wasn’t that tidy.

      “So far, so good,” he said. “The vet should be by today to check on a pregnant mare.” At her look of confusion he nodded. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s August. It’s not good having a mare ready to foal in a couple of months. Let’s just say we had an interesting accident with one of our stallions.”

      “You should be a more responsible parent,” Rita teased. “It’s important for you to explain about protected