Chapter Fifteen
The next few days proved her theory correct. Every night she would leave the house to find her way to his trailer, where they would push aside everything between them and use each other’s bodies to satisfy their insatiable hunger for one another. During the day she kept herself busy by either visiting with her grandfather or watching the ranch hands perform their duties.
So when he left during the day to run some ranch errands and hadn’t come home for dinner, the restlessness settled over her once again. She took her usual walk and without realizing it, had made her way to the stable. Most of the horses watched her, nodding their heads in greeting or snorting their hellos. She could tell it was time to muck out the stalls again from the odor of manure that grew stronger the farther she walked in.
She greeted her little mare with a lump of sugar, petting the pretty horse around the ears. Tristan’s bay gelding watched her with dark eyes from his stall, and with a last pat to the mare, she walked over to the other horse and patted the white star on his forehead. He leaned into her caress, the hair flopping over his face and obscuring his eyes. Heather laughed and reached over to a bench to pick up a brush. Gently she brushed his hair out.
He must have liked it, because he rested his forehead on her shoulder, his big body shuddering in pleasure. Over and over she ran the brush through his wiry hair, the motion as soothing to her as it was to the big horse.
“This hair is just going to flop in your face again,” she said softly and scratched around his ear. “I have an idea. Stay right here.”
She set the brush back down and hurried from the stable. She ran to the house, making her way silently to her room and searched through her luggage until she found what she was looking for. Then she made her way back to the stable, smiling at the greeting the horses gave her.
Tristan’s horse watched her with alert eyes. Heather picked up the brush and started the grooming session again.
****
Heather sat at the breakfast table, drinking her coffee and eating a bagel. Mabel stood at the stove cooking the usual breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, and whatever else cowboys liked to eat.
“Do you do all the cooking, Mabel?”
“Sure do. I like cooking.”
“Why do Tony, Jim, and Duke get to eat here too?”
“Because besides Tristan, they’re full-timers here, the rest of the hands are contracted to come every day.”
“Cool. So you’re a cook, an accountant, a nursemaid, and a housekeeper all rolled into one? You’re Wonder Woman!”
Mabel chuckled. “I don’t know about the housekeeper part. This place is a mess, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Yeah, what’s up with the nostalgic decor?”
“Lincoln never cared about that kind of stuff. Gloria did, but when she died, he just ignored it all.”
“He loved her a lot?”
“Yep. I think one of the reasons he didn’t fight the cancer was because he wanted to be with her and Avery as quickly as possible.”
Heather sighed. “I wonder what that’s like.”
“What?”
“Loving someone.”
Heather could feel Mabel’s searching glance, but she wasn’t brave enough to meet it.
“Heather!” Tristan yelled her name a moment before he marched into the kitchen. He stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, glaring at her.
“What?”
“What did you do to my horse?”
Heather blinked and relaxed, sipping her coffee. “I brushed his hair. He liked it.”
“I’m not talking about the brushing. I’m talking about the decoration!”
“Hold up, Tristan,” Mabel said. “What did she do?”
He pointed to the screen door. “Go look.”
Mabel wiped her hands and then walked to the door. A moment later she started laughing. Heather got up and stood beside her.
Tristan’s horse stood there, the reins dangling on the ground, his mane brushed and molded into many braids with ribbons tied around the ends. His bangs had been teased to stand up and were held in place with a bright pink bow.
“See, his hair isn’t in his eyes anymore,” Heather explained, very pleased with herself. “He likes being able to see.”
The situation only got worse when Duke, Tony, and Jim walked up and got an eyeful of the horse, immediately laughing. Duke actually doubled over, holding his stomach.
“Heather!” Tristan growled. “He’s a boy!”
“He’s gelded.”
“That doesn’t make him gay!”
“There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”
“I didn’t say that! Get the fucking ribbons out of his hair!”
“All right, all right,” she said with a huff as she stomped down the steps and up to the horse. He nudged her shoulder as she patted his forehead and untied her handiwork. “By the way, what’s his name?”
There was an obvious hesitation on his part, so she turned her head to look at him, one eyebrow arching.
Finally he said, “His name is Dorian.”
She didn’t say anything but she didn’t have to. Tristan swore under his breath and marched over, grabbing the dangling reins. Dorian followed his master meekly, his tail swishing, a pink bow tied at the top.
Duke and Tony collapsed upon each other, laughing so hard that tears streamed down their cheeks.
“That’s got to be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” Mabel said, smiling widely.
But Heather wasn’t laughing. She stared after Tristan, and her heart hammered against her chest. Unexpected tenderness sluiced through her, an emotion she had long thought dead, spreading warmth throughout her body. She blinked back tears, turning abruptly to march back into the house.
It was just a name, damn it. Why did it make her want to cry?
****
Damn it! Why didn’t he name his horse something else? A name not associated with her favorite book?
Tristan ran a hand over his face. She was tearing him apart. He wanted her all the time, thought about her all the time. He looked for her whenever she wasn’t near and smelled her scent on his skin. She sneaked into his dreams, usually turning them into something wet and wild. He was quickly losing his mind.
And then the obvious hit him, causing him to stumble and stop in horror.
He loved her.
Dear God in heaven. Somehow, some way, she’d wormed her way into his heart.
Fuck!