The barn was huge, with what appeared to be an apartment above it, and the house, set back at the end of the drive, was a two-story log building with plenty of windows for light.
Stopping to check the address was just an excuse, a stalling tactic. Linnette knew she’d taken a big risk in coming out here to talk to Cal. A very big risk. He could slam the door in her face or tell her to get out. She didn’t think that would happen, though. More likely he’d be completely indifferent to her. That was, after all, what she deserved. But it didn’t matter; she had to do this, had to explain.
Even now, on the verge of seeing him, she wasn’t sure what she’d say. She hoped inspiration would strike when she needed it, because this was probably the most difficult conversation she’d ever had. She didn’t want to be attracted to Cal, but she hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind. She refused to accept that he didn’t feel the same way about her. He couldn’t kiss her like that and feel nothing.
Sitting by the side of the road wasn’t going to accomplish anything, so she started the engine and entered the driveway that led to the house. Linnette had expected some sort of activity but the house looked deserted. The only vehicle in sight was a battered pickup. Just her luck to get up her courage to come all this way and find Cal wasn’t home.
Deciding to explore, she parked close to the house and, dropping her keys in her coat pocket, walked to the barn. The doors were open and, as she approached, she heard Cal talking. Apparently there was someone with him.
Linnette suddenly realized he wasn’t stuttering. The hair on the back of her neck went up. Was his speech impediment some kind of stunt? If so, she was not amused.
Hands swinging at her sides, Linnette marched into the barn.
Once she’d gone all the way inside, she saw that Cal was alone. He crouched beside a huge horse—a stallion, judging by certain obvious signs—and was examining the beast’s hoof, talking all the while. His back was to Linnette, so he didn’t see her.
The stallion, however, did and reared his head, alerting Cal to the fact that someone else was present.
Cal straightened and glanced over his shoulder. When he saw her, he dropped the horse’s foot. The stallion didn’t take kindly to such neglectful treatment; he snorted and pawed the ground.
As if to apologize, Cal removed his glove and stroked the animal’s nose.
Linnette noticed that the bandage was off, and she grimaced at the risk of infection.
Without a word, he grasped the stallion’s halter and led him into a stall.
“You weren’t stuttering,” she said when he came out.
He stared at her. “I d-d-don’t with a-a-animals.”
“Just people?”
He nodded, then shrugged, suggesting he didn’t understand it himself.
For a moment she’d nearly forgotten the true purpose of her visit. “How’s the hand?” she asked in a concerned voice.
Cal looked at it as if he’d forgotten, and again answered with a shrug, a quick lift of his shoulders.
“What about those stitches?”
“I t-took care of it.”
“I can check it, if you like.” The moment she said that, she knew giving him a choice was a mistake. “You’ve kept it clean, haven’t you?”
“I don’t need your help.”
He felt strongly enough about that to be able to speak without a single hesitation.
“I know, but I was in the area and thought I’d stop by.” He’d probably see through that weak explanation, but it was the best she could do.
“Un-in-n-n-vited?”
Linnette gestured carelessly, as though she often stopped by people’s homes unannounced, welcome or not. Refusing to give him an opportunity to argue, she stepped forward. “Let me see your hand.”
At first he seemed about to refuse. She peered around the dimly lit space. The inside of a barn wasn’t the best place to examine a cut. “Is there someplace else we could go so I could take a look at this in the light?” she asked.
He nodded reluctantly, then led her to the stairs and without a word, headed up to what must be his apartment. When she reached the top, he let her inside. The apartment was surprisingly spacious and modern. However, it was badly in need of a woman’s touch. The windows had no blinds or curtains; the furniture was bulky and dark. The only photographs were of horses, the only decoration a pillow at the end of the sofa.
Cal pulled out a kitchen chair for her and went to the sink. He lathered his hands with soap, drying them on a kitchen towel. Then he sat down in the chair next to hers and laid his hand on the table, palm up. He smelled of fresh hay and leather—the scent she’d noticed on him the night he’d kissed her. It had acted like a powerful aphrodisiac then. It did now.
To disguise her attraction, Linnette examined her handiwork. The cut had healed nicely. “You took good care of it,” she said, and smoothly ran her fingers over his palm. At the feel of her skin against his, Cal bristled. She chose to ignore his revulsion at her touch. “I don’t see any infection.”
“N-none,” he agreed.
She looked up long enough to smile. Long enough to let him read the message in her eyes. The regret, the fear of rejection, the apology. He had to understand that she hadn’t found it easy to come to him like this.
“I’m enjoying my work at the medical clinic,” she said casually, disregarding his impatience. “I’ve seen a variety of cases. It’s something different every day.”