The Black Sheep and the Hidden Beauty (7 page)

“I already promised her carrots. At this rate, she'll have me catering meals.”

“Apples.”

“Excuse me?”

“Her favorite treat. Preferably Granny Smith. Take a bite, then give it to her.”

“Whole?”

Elena nodded. “No cooking or catering required.” Then she grinned. “She probably won't even hold you to the movie offer.”

He swore he felt his cheeks warm slightly. “Thanks. I'll, uh, keep that in mind.”

She shrugged. “Just trying to give you an edge.”

“I need an edge?”

Her grin turned a shade wry. “Maybe you're not used to needing one. But it wouldn't hurt your chances.”

“What you're saying is, that women aren't all that different, no matter the species. So when you come calling, have something in hand.”

Her eyes twinkled. “It certainly never hurts.”

And how was it he'd never noticed the light scatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose? Their implied innocence was so at odds with her knowing eyes and full-bodied laugh. But then, she was a study in contradictions when it came to his reaction to her. What was one more thing?

Somehow they'd come to stand closer to one another than he'd realized. She was stroking Petunia's neck, and their fingers accidentally brushed across one another. She pulled her hand away, and stepped back. Other than that flash of embarrassment when she'd mentioned noticing his scent, it was the first time he'd seen uncertainty in her expression or demeanor.

“Okay, enough fraternizing,” she said, and he wasn't sure if she meant him with the horse…or the two of them with each other. She nodded toward the halter. “Time to get that on her if we're going to get anything else done today.”

“You're the one who insisted on me making friends first.”

“Here, take the rope.” She handed him the end with the clasp. “Then you're going to loop the rope over her neck and hook it, making a loose collar and leash, to give you some control over her movement while you put the halter on.”

She moved behind his shoulder and reached past him to show him how to work the rope and slip it around the base of the horse's neck. He was paying attention, but he was also noticing that she had a nice scent, too. Dammit.

“Now, transfer the rope to your other hand, and carefully slip this end over Petunia's muzzle.” She turned the halter so it was facing the right direction, but keeping it in his hand.

He felt himself leaning closer, breathing in her scent. Which was dangerous, given his current state of mind—and khakis, but an impulse he seemed helpless to curb. She was wearing overalls that had seen better days. Months, even. And by rights she should smell like a barn. Only she didn't. And, standing this close, he noticed how smooth and soft-looking her skin was. For someone working such a physical job, exposed to the sun and wind, he'd expect her to look a bit more…weathered. Then there were those freckles sprinkled across the tip of her nose. They were cute, and she wasn't the cute type. She was no-nonsense and wore her confidence as easily as she did those ancient overalls. What she was not was freckles and soft skin and a slightly lush bottom lip that just begged a man to taste it. Bite it. Just a little.

“Confused?”

If she only knew
. He turned just as she went to lean in to move his hand on the harness. The result was his nose, buried in her hair, right where he'd wanted it moments ago, and knew he had no business leaving it. He should be immediately backing up, putting the appropriate space back between them. In his mind, that's exactly what he did. In reality, though, he took full advantage of the accidental contact and breathed in the scent that was all Elena.

And, he belatedly realized, she was letting him.

Of course, she was more or less trapped between him and a whole lot of horse, but she could have shifted away, or given any signal that she wasn't enjoying the incidental moment of intimacy.

Like he was.

Even then, his strategic, work-mode brain didn't kick in. The one that should be telling him to use the moment to his advantage. It was true, he didn't use sex or seduction as a means to an end, but he didn't rule out a little flirting. It was a very human, natural form of communication that men and women did on street corners and in elevators every day. Done properly, it lowered defenses and put a potential contact at ease. As long as it was harmless and he could keep his emotional distance, no harm, no foul. But this wasn't that. This…well, he didn't quite know what this was. Whatever it was, it didn't feel all that harmless.

Which was, in the end, what convinced him to put an end to the moment. One of the main rules of his job was, never stay in a situation you don't understand any longer than absolutely necessary. At the moment, he felt totally out to sea and that was definitely not a typical place for him to be.

“I think I got it,” he said, and shifted away from her to slip the rope over Petunia's neck, then guide the halter over her muzzle.

Elena reached up and helped him secure the nylon strapping. “Buckle the sides there, and I'll get the back.”

He fumbled with the unfamiliar rig for a moment as her continued presence deep in his personal space continued to mess with his equilibrium on almost all fronts, then finally got it all snapped into place. He rubbed Petunia's muzzle and shifted so that his attention was fully on the horse. And not on how badly he wanted to sink his hands into her hair…and his tongue into that sweet mouth of hers. “Thanks for putting up with that,” he murmured to the horse. “I'll get better at it.” He caught Elena's look from the corner of his eye and was drawn right back to the fire. “What?”

A brief smile played across her face. And a mouth he really had to stop noticing. And looking at. And wondering.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Are you surprised she's not taking a chunk out of me? Is she some secret demon horse who's suddenly going to unleash fury on me so I'll stop this insanity and abandon the lesson idea?”

Elena laughed that laugh again and it made something inside of him quiver, like a tuning fork finding the perfect vibration. He really had to get them out of this stall.

“Nothing like that. Petunia is a total sweetheart. Any horse can act up, but a demon she's not. I wouldn't do that to anyone.”

“Especially a friend of Kate's, you mean?”

“Anyone,” she reiterated, then her eyes danced a bit. “I care about the horses too much for that.”

Rafe had to smile at that. “Ah. It's all about the horses, then.”

“Most of the time. They're pretty straightforward, as a rule.”

“Unlike people, you mean.”

“You like putting words in my mouth, don't you?”

He absolutely refused to go there, but his mind provided the visual for him, anyway. It took great willpower not to look at that bottom lip, that mouth, and imagine what it would look like, wrapped around—“Actually, I'm not assuming anything,” he said, damning the rough edge to his voice. “That's why I'm asking.”

“Horses can fool you some of the time. People are better at it—that's all I'm saying.”

She was clearly making a reference to her already voiced doubts about his real reasons for taking lessons. Her forthrightness was to her credit.

“Are you?” he asked, figuring he could be just as forthright.

“Am I what? Better at fooling people?” She didn't look panicked or concerned by the question. In fact, thus far, he didn't have any indication she wasn't exactly what she claimed to be. Then again, being as sharp as she seemed to be, he didn't doubt she knew exactly how to handle herself, and, perhaps, him. Keeping him on the defensive was an excellent offensive tactic, one he often employed. He couldn't help but wonder if it was intentional.

“Have I seemed anything other than direct and honest with you?” she asked him.

Yes, she was very good. If he wasn't paid to be cynical and doubt every word a subject said, he'd be inclined to take her at face value. But there were too many unanswered questions as yet.

“No,” he said, with all honesty. “No, you haven't. I just wondered where the cynicism came from.”

“Maybe you're more optimistic than I am,” she said. “But then, that's why you're in the business of helping people, I suppose, while I stay in the barn with the four-legged beasts.”

“You're giving me far too much credit there.”

“Only an optimist believes he can make the world a better place.”

“He can. And I think I do. But I'm not as altruistic as all that.”

She paused in adjusting Petunia's harness. “What are you saying? That you're in it for the money? I know you said Trinity wasn't a charity, but I guess I thought it was because from what I hear, you and your partners don't take money from your clients.”

“We don't.”

“Sounds pretty altruistic and charitable to me.”

“I make an income, a good one—I'm a salaried employee of the company. But you're right, what I do or don't do doesn't change my bottom line in terms of income.”

“So what motivates you, if not money, or making the world a better place?”

“Revenge.”

Her eyes widened.

Good
—for the first time, he had her off balance. He didn't realize how badly he'd lost command of the situation until he regained a piece of it.

“Revenge? I'm afraid I don't understand. I thought the point of Trinity was to help people in need.”

“It is. We do.”

“What does that have to do with revenge?”

“It's…complicated. Our company name, Trinity? Short for Unholy Trinity.”

“So I heard,” she said, with a hint of a dry smile. “Something to do with your partners and the exploits of your youth, right?”

He nodded. So she had been checking up on him. Either that or the barn help had nothing better to do than gossip about him, Mac, and Finn, which he found hard to believe. “Well,” he said, smiling, “let's just say some things never change.”

“You grew up together?”

“We've been friends most of our lives.” And how in the hell had she gotten him talking about himself again? “As for the rest, let's just say I take greater pleasure in righting wrongs to make a point than I do in the more altruistic sense of making the world a better place by doing so. Although, as a byproduct, it's certainly not a bad one. But we're not exactly missionaries here.” He smiled at her mildly disapproving expression. “Does that make me a coldhearted bastard?”

“I don't know you well enough to say.”

As a dodge, it was a good one. He began to wonder who was the one gathering intel here, him or her?

Petunia grumbled and shuffled her feet, clearly affected by not being the center of everyone's attention.

“Everyone has motivations for doing what they do,” she went on to say. “As long as no one is getting hurt, who am I to say which ones are appropriate and which ones aren't?” She glanced up at him. “No one gets hurt, right?”

She didn't look remotely vulnerable. Quite the opposite. So why was it he felt like she was asking him if he was going to hurt her? “Only the bad guys,” he said, curling his fingers into his palm to keep from reaching up and tucking that stray strand of hair presently clinging to her cheek.

Her mouth quirked at his response, but her gaze seemed to continue to seek something out in his own. Just as he was about to break the silence…or reach for her, after all, she broke the silence. “Keep hold of the rope, with slack, but not too much,” she instructed, shifting smoothly back, once again, into instructor mode. As if their little moment hadn't even happened.

But it had happened, and he wasn't being quite as successful shaking off its effects as she apparently was.

She stepped behind him and opened the door. “You want to walk her to the center of the building and over to the other aisle. Stay just to the front of her forelegs, but to the side of her head.”

“Not out in front?”

“You can direct her with the rope, but I want you to stay where you can see if she's reacting negatively to anything. You don't want to be five feet ahead of her and have her spook and rear and yank you on your ass, or worse.”

“Got it.” He looked at Petunia. “No ass-yanking.”

Elena laughed. And he knew he was in deep, deep trouble.

Because making her laugh was not his objective. And yet, he found himself wondering how to make her do it again.

E
lena was still grinning as she stood behind the open stall door and watched Rafe lead Petunia out. She had no worries about the horse misbehaving. Barring Rafe doing something totally bizarre, Petunia would go through the motions on autopilot, as she'd done a million times before.

The one she needed to worry about misbehaving was herself. In any near vicinity, Rafe was potent enough. Up close in any personal proximity, he was downright intoxicating. He was intensity and charm, humor and the kind of focus that made her want to smooth her hair back and moisten her lips. Hell, if she were honest, he made her want to do a whole lot more than that. There had been a few moments where she could have sworn he was thinking the same thing—then the mood would shift, or Petunia would interrupt. For which she should be eternally grateful.

Even if Rafe wasn't the enemy she'd feared—and she wasn't certain about that yet—he wasn't an ally, either. Of any sort. Couldn't be, not in her current circumstances. She just hadn't counted on that bothering her so much.

She closed the stall door as soon as the horse was out, then walked on ahead of them, toward the crossover to the other aisle.

“What if she doesn't go?”

Elena paused and turned, only to find them still standing just outside the stall.

Rafe looked from Petunia to her. “I'm guessing giddyap is just something they say in movies?”

She laughed. He was so dry, and, up until today, had struck her as somewhat of a hard-ass. A really suave-looking hard-ass, but a hard-ass all the same. And, in some ways, he was. That unholy part wasn't so hard to believe. His ready humor had been unexpected—it was that part of him, far more than his smooth good looks, that was working on her. “Well, it works when it's accompanied by a swift nudge with your heels or a squeeze of the knees. But you have to be mounted for that to happen.”

Even fifteen yards away, she saw the quick flash of teeth, and that awareness in his dark eyes. And mentally kicked herself for the double entendre. She hadn't meant it. She didn't flirt. Not normally, anyway. In her world, a woman had to all but bind her breasts, chop off her hair, and lower her voice two octaves to get taken seriously. One bat of an eyelash and she'd be seen as nothing but a saddle tramp.

But she wasn't in that world any longer. And men like Raphael Santiago didn't stroll across her path very often. She had no experience with someone like him. He didn't fit into any mold she was used to. And seeing as she still didn't know if he had ulterior motives, she couldn't afford to make any rookie mistakes. If she was going to even think about flirting, or what that might lead to, she'd be better off starting with someone a hell of a lot simpler than this man.

And since she had no business flirting with any man at the moment, that took care of that.

“I would love to be mounted,” he said, and she wondered if she was imagining the amusement in his voice. “But someone thinks I need to learn to take her out for a walk first.”

She folded her arms. “Given that you're standing still at the moment, I'm thinking I was right.”

His lips curved. “You may have a point.”

For a suave hard-ass, he had no qualms about making fun of himself. It was far too charming. “In cases like this, it's okay to step ahead of the horse and lead. As soon as she starts walking, though, shift back. She's used to this routine—she knows where to go.”

“And if she doesn't start to walk?”

“You can encourage her.” She made a clicking sound with her tongue. “Like that, or just cajole her a little. That shouldn't be a stretch for you.”

This time she knew she hadn't imagined the flash. “Are you saying you think I have experience cajoling members of the opposite sex?”

Elena smiled. So, she was officially flirting, and he was definitely flirting back. But it seemed that the most innocent conversation between them was going to have mixed overtones, and she wasn't sure how to stop that. And to be perfectly honest, she didn't really want to. It felt good. She had no business engaging in it, but that didn't make it feel any less pleasurable. Maybe even more so because it was taboo. “I was saying that you're probably good at getting them to do whatever you want them to.”

“Unless they happen to be my riding instructor.”

If you only knew
. It wasn't lost on her that he hadn't denied her characterization of him, either. She really needed to stop the banter with him. Really.

With a little pat and a few softly spoken words Elena couldn't hear, Rafe walked forward, and Petunia fell into step beside him. He gave her a half shrug when she silently applauded, which was cute and endearing and had her turning away before she opened her mouth and something else completely inappropriate popped out.

Rafe and Petunia made it to the other aisle without further incident, and it didn't take long to run him through the procedure of putting her in cross ties. She kept it all business, at least outwardly, and shortly afterward they had the horse saddled and ready to mount.

Despite having no idea what was expected of him in this situation, he kept his motions steady and his tone smooth at all times. Which was working like a charm with Petunia. Unfortunately, it was working with her as well. She already knew, despite his apparent qualms, he'd be a natural on horseback. He had an easy rhythm to his stride and was comfortably in command of his body. He would adjust to the rhythm of the horse's gait easily, as he had just walking Petunia over, neither letting her lead nor rushing her.

Which naturally led her to imagine how equally skilled he'd be at putting a woman at ease during sex. And God, she really wished she could be thinking about anything other than mounting and riding at the moment.

“So, chief, is there enough time left to take a trip around the ring? Seems a shame to waste all this preparation. Not to mention that we've gotten Petunia's hopes up now.”

He had a point. Petunia looked at her and blinked a few times, looking quite winsome.
It's okay,
she wanted to tell her.
I'd want him to ride me, too, if I were you
. “Okay, okay,” she said, relenting. “Take the rope.” She instructed him on how to unhook the cross ties, then said, “Lead her out to the paddock.” She didn't wait for him, but turned and headed in that direction.

He didn't say anything about her defection. A quick glance back showed he just went to work. Attempts to throw him off stride were clearly not going to work, just as he was making it very difficult not to like him, or at least respect him. He spoke his mind, and didn't necessarily agree with her methods, but beyond that he'd followed her instructions and done as she'd asked.

Figured.

Once out in the paddock, she walked over to the fence and waited for them. “Drape the rope over her neck,” she told him, using hand gestures to show how he should do it. “Then hook it around, so it makes one big loop. You'll use that as your reins.”

“I don't need a bridle thing?”

“Not with Petunia.”

His expression was wry. “You gave me the easiest horse here, didn't you? Did you think I'd be that bad?”

“I thought you'd prefer things not to be any more difficult than they had to be.”

“Well, you might have a point there.”

She tried not to smile, tried to think business, but as she closed the distance between them and walked around to where he stood beside Petunia, she felt a pull just this side of magnetic. Being close to him made it hard to think clearly. She shifted her focus to the horse, and only the horse, and pointed to the stirrup. “Hold the pommel with your left hand, left foot in the stirrup, and up you go. Right leg over the back end, one smooth lift as you push up on your left leg.” She held her hand up when he went to do as she'd directed. “Talk to her first.”

If she thought he'd roll his eyes or give her grief, she was wrong. Instead, that wry curve reappeared at the corner of his mouth as he casually leaned forward and stroked his hand down the side of Petunia's neck. “What?” he asked, amusement clear in his tone.

She realized she was staring at his hand, the way he was stroking the horse's neck, and quickly pulled her gaze away.

But not before he said, “I'm not entirely green. I do understand the benefits of putting my partner at ease before I, you know…” A twinkle entered his eyes that was either a trick of the sun descending in the sky, just low enough now to send its rays slanting into the stable interior…or utterly wicked. She went with the former, but only until he added, “Mount up.”

Had he really said that? Or had she just mentally filled in the blank? She resisted the urge to fan herself. Or look at his hands again.

“You did say we were going to be partners, right?”

“What?” she asked, faintly.

“Petunia and I,” he clarified, clearly enjoying himself. “You said I should think of it as a partnership.”

“Yes. Right. Exactly.”

With that half smile playing around his mouth, and that devilish light still in his dark eyes, he turned his attention to the horse, leaning forward and whispering something too low for her to make out.

Petunia's ears twitched forward and back and she dipped her head a little, as if agreeing with whatever he'd said. She was a sweetheart of a horse, easily the most agreeable mare on the farm, but it seemed to Elena that there was a bond forming there that she didn't normally see, especially with first-timers.

“Probably seduces any member of the opposite sex, without even thinking about it,” she grumbled beneath her breath.

“I'm sorry, what?” he asked, ever-so-innocently while looking anything but.

“I said you don't want to think about it too much, just do it.”

“What do you know—that's my motto, too.” And then he flashed her a grin that shot her pulse directly into the red zone, turned, and popped up on Petunia's back as if he'd been riding his entire life.

She scowled. In some ways, he probably had.

She looked up at him, shielding her eyes against the setting sun, to find him staring back at her from behind a pair of black sunglasses he'd slid on.

He touched the brim of an imaginary Stetson. “Once around the ring, ma'am?” His southern drawl was atrocious.

And adorable as hell. She wouldn't have thought
adorable
was going to be an issue where he was concerned. As it was turning out, everything was going to be an issue with him. Breathing was an issue.

Rather than respond directly, she stepped up and showed him how to use the looped rope as a set of reins. “Balance your weight, center it. Feet in the stirrups.” For the first time, she noticed he was wearing rather beat-up hiking boots.

He must have noticed the direction of her gaze, because he said, “Sorry, probably inappropriate footwear.”

“No,” she said, “they're fine, I just—” She broke off as she realized what she was going to say, which was that she was surprised he owned a pair of worn-out anything. He was always so immaculately and sharply dressed. But that was a leading comment she definitely didn't need to make. “Never mind.”

“What?”

“Nothing. For what you're doing, they'll be fine. If at some point you find yourself doing any amount of trail riding, you might want to invest in a good pair of boots.” She glanced up. “Western. Although I could teach you how to ride English if you prefer.”

“Which is easier?”

“Western, like you are now.”

“Then let's go with that.” He smiled a little. “For now.”

With the attention to detail she'd noticed in the clothing she'd seen him in so far, she could easily imagine him in a nicely cut, proper English riding jacket. For certain, those tight English riding pants would show off…well, what wouldn't they show off was more like it. Not that he couldn't do some damage in jeans and chaps, it's just that he wasn't the scruffy cowboy type. Far more lord of the manor. With a little Latin flair.

“Okay, now what?”

Now I need a fan, and something cold to drink, and an extended period of getting myself seriously under some kind of control
, she thought. She motioned to the rope. “Hold it with some slack. Click a little, with your tongue, then nudge her with your heels or knees. She knows what to do.”

“How do I steer?”

“Tug a little on the left rein for left, right for right. Pull back and release to slow her down and stop. You don't have to yank, just a steady pulling motion until she slows down to where you want her, or comes to a complete stop.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

She smiled. “Should be. Let's see how you do.”

First, he leaned forward and spoke gently to Petunia, making her ears twitch forward and back. Then, he straightened and, after a gentle nudging with his heels, they moved smoothly along the fence line. She wished she could say she was surprised, but by now, she wasn't.