Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Read online

  His comment baffles me. “Why would Mac be worried?”

  Nick lifts an indifferent shoulder. “Why do girls cry when they’re happy, when they’re mad, and when they’re sad? The answer: I have no idea. Like I said, Sam doesn’t really talk to me about any of that stuff. I’m just the lowly ranch hand.”

  I smile because I know Nick’s joking.

  “Speaking of,” he says. “Did Mac talk to you about the camping trip next weekend? This lowly ranch hand is getting a whole weekend off work.”

  I look over at him and shake my head.

  “We’ll be gone for a couple days, headed up to Snake Canyon. Canoeing, cliff-diving, sleeping under the stars, that sort of thing. You in?”

  “God, I haven’t been up there in years.” I give him a sideways glance. “Who’s we?”

  “Mac, Sam, me, and probably half the town, given the summer temperature is at its peak. Oh, and Savannah, hopefully.”

  “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

  “Why? Because of Sam?” Nick takes another drag of his cigarette. “I honestly think it will be good for you guys. It will force you to talk things out.”

  “It’s not just that. I’ve got a ton to do, and as it is, I’m not going to get out of here in a month.”

  “You want to leave us again that bad, huh?”

  I shake my head. “I just don’t feel at home here anymore. I’m tearing my dad’s place down, I don’t have a job, I miss my routines and traveling.” For the tenth time, I peer up at Sam’s vacant bedroom window. “It’s too secluded here, anyway. I think too much.”

  “So,” Nick says, taking a final puff of his cigarette, “you’re serious about enlisting again then, huh?”

  I nod. “It’s the only thing that really makes any sense. It’s not like I have family here anymore, and I gave up any sort of career in baseball when I left.”

  “Well, you’ll miss my beautiful face when you’re gone, but I’ll send you a photo, you can keep it on your wall.”

  I laugh. “I can’t wait.”

  Nick stands up. “Well, then. If you’re really going to leave us again, you better come camping. It might be the last time you ever get to. Plus, you can get some closure with Sam.”

  I eye him a moment.

  “So,” Nick prompts, polishing off the rest of his beer. “You in or what? You down for the mission-that-seems-impossible?”

  After a brief hesitation, I nod. “I’m in.”

  Fifteen

  Sam

  In preparation for Adam’s arrival at the ranch, I muck out Shasta’s stall, moving her to one of the arenas so that Target can have hers while the guys hammer on his. I decide that’s easier than hauling extra supplies and food out of one of the other stalls to use. I bathe him after examining his injured hoof, and my ill ease subsides when I discover there’s little sensitivity. I probably hadn’t even needed to call Adam about the incident in the first place. But even though his seven-thousand-dollar gelding seems to be back to his old, spunky self, I can’t shake the eagerness that’s been keeping me on edge for the past twelve hours. Something in Adam’s voice last night brightened my mood and that makes me anxious.

  I’ve been lost in my own world for months—just over thirty-six, actually—and I’m not sure I know how to talk to guys anymore, let alone tell if they’re flirting or just being nice.

  But you do know how to be professional.

  I tell myself this because it’s true, and it helps steady my unease for a couple strokes of the curry comb over Target’s dark withers. It’s still relatively early, so there are no other riders out yet today, which gives the bay gelding and me access to whatever we need without being in anyone’s way.

  Just as I move him into Shasta’s stall, Alison’s voice booms from up at the house.

  “I have clients to keep happy, Jeff. Make it happen.”

  I peer through the grated window of Shasta’s stall.

  Alison clicks off her phone and drops it in her purse, holding a stack of mail against her chest as she fumbles to open the screen door. Even though I rarely witness moments like this, it’s reassuring to hear her urgency and know she’s making an effort to help keep this place going.

  Nick and Reilly banter back and forth somewhere outside. Despite the conflicting feelings I have for our completely off-limits client, my meeting with him is overshadowed by my biggest concern of the day: Petey. The last thing I want is that dog spooking the horses and us looking incompetent in front of Adam—or him being injured in any way, God forbid. Even the thought of a lawsuit, of what a powerful man like him can do, makes me want to call Adam and cancel the meeting, claiming I have the flu and he’ll have to reschedule with Alison.

  Patting Target’s rump, I leave him in the stall and step outside, latching the gate shut behind me. My footsteps echo through the stable as I hurry down the walkway, surrounded by cedar-slatted stall walls. I take a deep breath and let the aroma of leather, hay, cedar, and the earthy scent of grain remind me that this is what I know, this is my own little kingdom.

  I step beyond the stable and peer out at the ranch. Without my hat, I can barely see in the bright sunshine, so I shield my eyes with my hand as I scour the ranch for Petey. I try not to get too excited that I don’t see him, knowing he could be lying in wait somewhere in the shade.

  When Nick and Reilly stride into view I hurry over to them.

  “Look at you,” Nick says. “You’re all professional and shit with your jeans and your work shirt.” He laughs as he takes the sight of me in.

  I glare at him, then refocus on Reilly. “Did you leave Petey at home, like I asked?” I simper. “Pretty please,” I amend with a pitiful, apologetic smile.

  Reilly’s mouth curves into a smile, and he nods. “Yes, I did.”

  “And you’ll wait to start working on Target’s stall until after Adam leaves, right?”

  “Yes, Sam. We got it,” Nick says, and he nudges my shoulder gently. “Everything’s going to be fine. Stop worrying so much.”

  “Why is this guy such a big deal?” Reilly asks. He pulls his gloves on. “I mean, don’t you do this sort of thing all the time?”

  “Yeah,” Nick says, too much entertainment in his voice. “But most of our boarders are chicks. Adam Naser’s some young, big-shot banker from Dallas, and”—he folds his hands beneath his chin and flutters his eyelashes—“a dreamy one at that.”

  I smack Nick in his nonexistent gut, though by his reaction you’d think I’d punched him in the groin. “You’re hilarious,” I mutter and glance out at Shasta, basking in the morning sunshine, right as rain. “What if I make an ass out of myself?” I say it like it’s just Nick and I, and when I remember Reilly’s standing there, I look at him, a little self-conscious.

  “Wait, we’re talking about a client, not a potential date, right?” Nick teases, but I don’t find it funny.

  “Yes, he’s only a client,” I say snidely. “Never mind, I don’t know why I bother talking to you guys.”

  I turn and head back into the stable when the sound of gravel under tires reaches my ears. Counting to five, I give Adam time to park and myself time to rally my wits before striding out from hiding to welcome him to the Miller Ranch Boarding Facility.

  When Adam steps out of a crimson Audi, I try not to let all my gathered wits and confidence flee as I take in the man standing in front of me. His amber-colored skin and rich, exotic green eyes that brighten when he smiles are much more striking than I remember; his quaff of jet-black hair is borderline ridiculous, and I’m surprised by a sudden itch to run my fingers through it. I’d forgotten how attractive he really was.

  “Welcome, Mr. Naser,” I say, gripping his hand tightly in greeting. I can’t remember if I put on deodorant in my distraction getting ready this morning.

  “Please, Ms. Miller, as I said before, call me Adam.” His voice is kind and his smile widens. I can’t help but flush under what feels like an appreciative gaze.

  “It’s good to
see you again,” I say. “You look fantastic. Not that you didn’t last time, I”—I shake my head—“I just meant—”

  Adam chuckles softly, and I’m grateful for his smirk, which puts me at ease. “I think I get your meaning.”

  “Okay, good.” I sigh with relief.

  Adam’s smile grows and he dips his head. “And you, Ms. Miller. You look great.”

  “It’s Sam,” I remind him, holding up a finger. “If we’re being informal about this.”

  “Fair enough,” he says and glances around the ranch. “So, other than charmer, Sam, what’s your official title again?”

  “I’m the Facility Manager, I guess you could call me. I do a little bit of everything.” I shove my hands into my back pockets to prevent them from flailing around as I talk.

  “Of course.” Adam cocks his head to the side, eyeing me closely. I wonder what he’s thinking, but I tell myself I probably don’t want to know as I stare down at my attire. Dirt smudges my pale pink top and my boots are caked with mud as usual, despite my efforts to remain presentable. I clear my throat and gesture toward the stables. “Would you like to see Target?”

  “Please,” he says, following my lead. He glances around, taking in the ranch like he’s never seen it before. “You’ve done quite a bit to the place since the last time I was here,” he says.

  “Oh yeah, we’ve been busy to say the least. We always have new boarders coming in and there are always new codes to maintain. Things move fast around here, for sure.”

  It’s quiet for a few quick steps, then he says, “I only have about thirty minutes before I have to head back to town. I have a meeting at eleven. But as I mentioned over the phone, I thought this would be a great opportunity to check on everything, since I rarely make it to town. And,” he says, “before I forget . . .” He hands me a check.

  I fold it in half and shove it in my back pocket without even looking at it. “Perfect. Thank you.”

  Our footsteps clomp against the cement, resounding throughout the stable as we make our way to Target’s stall. The horses know the sound of footsteps as a sign—they’re either being fed or going out to stretch their legs—and a rainbow of heads bounce up excitedly as we pass.

  “Is it odd that I like the smell of horses?” he asks. “I’m not a horseman by any means, but there’s just something comforting about it that resonates with me. From a past life, perhaps.” His smile and easy manner makes me feel calm and safe, and my apprehension drains away.

  I grin at both the randomness of his comment and my complete understanding. “Actually, I love the smell of horses, too,” I admit. “So no, I don’t think it’s strange.”

  We exchange a sidelong glance and a quick smile.

  Nick’s whistling drifts up behind us and Adam and I turn around.

  “Mr. Nas—Adam,” I correct myself and offer him a wry grin. “This is Nick Turner. He’s our Director of Operations, or jack-of-all-trades, if you will.” I can’t believe how easily I make this up, but I keep going, even as Nick watches me, merriment brightening his face.

  Nick finishes buckling his tool belt and outreaches his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “The place looks great,” Adam says.

  Nick nods. “Thank you. We’re actually getting ready to repair the boards in Target’s stall here in a bit.”

  Adam widens his stance, hands on his hips. “I heard what happened. I’m sorry about that. I offered to pay for the damages, but Sam here says—”

  “I said he didn’t have to worry about it. It wasn’t his fault the horse got spooked.” I will Nick to keep his mouth shut.

  Reilly walks by our trio, a stack of two-by-fours resting on his shoulder. His eyes shift from mine to Adam, where they linger as he passes.

  “Well, I don’t want to keep you,” Nick says. He tilts his hat slightly to Adam and me, then follows Reilly through the stable, whistling another upbeat tune.

  “Just this way,” I say, gesturing to Shasta’s stall. “This is where we’re keeping him for now.”

  As if on cue, Target pokes his bay head out of the stall, nodding up and down, expecting treats. “I’ll grab some grains to give him,” I say and step over to one of the bins littered throughout the stable, close for easy access between the stalls.

  “I have to admit,” Adam starts, “I was hesitant to let my little sister get a horse, let alone take the lead on getting all the preparations in order. She’s young and only just now learning what responsibility is. I figured juggling school and a horse would be a recipe for disaster. But she promised me she could, and she seems to be holding up her end of the bargain.”

  I collect a handful of grain, re-cover the bin, and clomp back over to him. “Well, as I promised last time we spoke, I’ve been keeping an eye on her. She’s doing great. She comes out about once a week when she’s not drowning in midterms and finals.” Extending my cupped hand, I wait for Target to lower his head and lip up the grains. “I ride him the rest of the time. She asks me a lot of questions, takes my advice when I offer it . . . I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

  Dusting off my hands, I glance over my shoulder at Adam. He’s grinning.

  “Good, I’m happy to hear it,” he says and reaches out to pet Target’s muzzle. The horse jerks away.

  “You might want to move a little slower around him,” I offer. “Target’s high-strung and jittery most of the time. I think it’s all that pent-up runner’s blood he’s still got in him.”

  “Oh?” Adam raises a dark, thick eyebrow.

  “Yeah. As you can guess, he spooks easily.” I hold up my hand. “Here, try this . . .”

  Adam’s brow creases and he reaches for my hand. “What happened here?” he asks, but for a moment I don’t process what he’s saying, because all I can think about is the luxurious scent of him—so different than anything I’ve smelled in a while—and the way his warm fingers feel around my wrist. I stare down at the pink rope burn running the length of my hand.

  “Is this from yesterday?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Yes, I mean. It’s nothing. Really. I completely forgot it was there, to be honest.”

  When he lets my wrist go, it slowly falls back to my side, but our gazes linger. I’m not sure what I’m thinking, what he’s even thinking, but I can’t look away.

  Greedily, Target bumps me with his nose, breaking the spell Adam has on me.

  “Anyway,” I say, “try it like this.” Slowly, I inch the back of my hand toward Target’s nose so that he can smell me. It’s easy enough since he’s already used to me. After he inhales my scent and realizes I have no more treats, he lowers his head, bored. “You try it.” I step away and let Adam attempt to befriend the gelding.

  Tentatively, he imitates my movements, causing Target’s attention to spark back to life. The gelding’s ears angle toward Adam, but after a few seconds Target gets bored again and his head hangs lethargically.

  “Good job.”

  Adam smirks. “I had a good teacher.” He winks at me. It would be a lie to say I’m unaffected, so I look away so that he can’t tell.

  “I read online that this used to be a breeding and training facility. Do you not do that anymore?”

  The flirty air between us dissipates, leaving behind a heaviness I want to shrug away. “Um, my dad was the horse trainer, not me. He was a breeder.”

  “A pretty famous one, or so I’ve read,” he says. “And now?”

  “He passed away a few years ago.”

  Adam’s brow furrows for the second time, and his lips purse. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you, but we’re chugging along.” I shrug and brush the backs of my fingers against Target’s chin. His lids close and his lips hang loosely as I stroke his nose and the side of his mouth. I recall how close we were to selling this place before it just felt wrong. That’s when we decided to try something different.

  “You have a way with horses, Ms. Miller.”

  I app
reciate the awe in his voice, but I feel a bit silly at his formality. “It’s Sam,” I reiterate with a small smile. “And it just comes with being around them all the time. Are you going to be in the area more often for business now? Are you planning to come out more frequently . . . maybe learn to ride?” I waggle my eyebrows.

  “Only if you’re the one who will teach me,” he prompts playfully.

  “I wouldn’t miss that show for the world.”

  When the sound of our laughter dies down, Adam says, “I think I might.” There’s something about the way he looks at me that makes me feel attractive to him, even in my dusty wranglers and polo shirt. His eyes narrow on me minutely.

  Hammering startles me. I jump and step to the next stall over to glare at the guys. I don’t see Nick, but Reilly’s at the fence, glowering at me. He removes a nail pursed between his lips and starts hammering again. Seriously? He bangs unnecessarily hard against the wood he’s bracing across the upright beams.

  “. . . next time.”

  I grimace. “I’m sorry, what were you saying? That noise is really obnoxious. They were supposed to wait until you had left.”

  Adam and I turn and head back down to the other side of the stable, away from the banging. But just as Adam starts to answer, his cell phone rings. The shrill ring booms like a wake-up call. Back to reality, Sam. When it rings again, I wonder why he studies his phone instead of answering it. I can’t help but notice the way his expression tenses.

  Like he can sense I’m watching him, Adam offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’ll be just a moment.” He quickly walks past me, toward his car. I can barely hear his mumbled conversation over the sound of drilling. Standing around like an idiot, waiting for Adam to get off his call, I begin to pace, my hands on my hips. Finally, the drilling noise stops, at least for now, and I hear Reilly and Nick muttering at the other end of the stable.

  The patter of Adam’s loafers lightly echo, and he clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Sam, but I have to go.” His voice is less kind, more stern, and I wonder what his call was about.