Sarah's Legacy

One day, Bailey promised herself, all the rooms would be filled, not just with furniture but with her family. She planned to have it all. The house with the white picket fence, a dog, a cat, a horse…and kids. Lots of kids. Whether she could find the right man to share her dream had yet to be seen. That was where her version of the all-American family often fell apart. She’d witnessed so many empty marriages, met so many shallow men, that she’d begun to wonder if real love and romance existed. The businesswoman in her said no. But that didn’t stop her from wanting children.

Growing up, she’d lived in enough foster homes to know that thousands of kids out there needed parents and didn’t have them. She’d been one, and she longed to give a child what she’d never had, to complete the circle she’d traveled and close the empty space that had claimed a part of her life for so long. If she never found the right guy to marry, she would simply adopt children and raise them on her own. Her kids would never lack for love or for a true parent. They would have roots, and this wonderful farmhouse to call home.

Bailey’s stomach growled, reminding her she’d skipped lunch. She ambled to the kitchen, where she grabbed a sandwich, then headed for the porch swing.

The sound of hoofbeats reached her ears as she pushed open the screen door. Her mouth dropped at the sight of half a dozen horses galloping across her pasture. Heads held high, necks arched, they raced in a semicircle. Hot on their heels was the stray dog she’d been feeding for the past two weeks, and right behind the dog ran a figure in a ball cap and faded jeans.

Quickly, Bailey set her sandwich plate on the porch railing and rushed down the steps. A jumble of thoughts filled her mind as she pushed through the pasture gate. From their dished faces, fine-boned heads and flowing tails lifted high in the air, she could tell the horses were Arabians, which could mean only one thing. The man in the ball cap, who continued to let out a steady stream of curses at the blue heeler-mix, could be none other than Trent Murdock.

Her experience with horses went no further than the research she’d done in preparing to buy one. Still, it seemed to her that the most sensible thing to do to get the Arabians calmed down and under control was to first contain the dog.

Considering that the animal was leery of humans and had yet to let her close enough to touch him, the task might be easier said than done. How could she get a dog that had obviously been abused, and therefore trusted no one, to come to her? Especially when he didn’t even have a name. Rolling her eyes, Bailey headed toward the barn. The bag of dog food she’d stored in the feed room stood against one wall. She scooped some into a stainless-steel dish and hurried outside.

Putting her fingers to her lips, she let out a shrill whistle that immediately snagged the attention of both man and dog. Bailey ignored Trent and focused on the dog. “Here, boy!” She rattled the food inside the dish. “Come and get it.” The dog had slowed his step and now glanced from the horses, which still raced in circles, to her, then back to the horses. He gave chase once more, and Bailey moved toward him, willing herself to walk. She didn’t want to scare him, yet the angry posture of Trent’s shoulders warned her she’d better reach the dog before he did.

She called to the animal again. This time he looked warily over his shoulder at Trent and immediately made a beeline for her. “That’s it! Come on.” She rattled the food, and the dog slowed to a trot and halted several feet away, tongue lolling over black lips. He pinned his upright ears, the black-and-white speckled tip of his tail drooping behind him, his stance indicating that he was ready to bolt at the first sign of a suspicious move on her part. She crooned reassuringly to him, and he flicked his ears forward and cocked his head.

Bailey bent over at the waist, trying to make herself appear smaller and less threatening. “Here, boy. I’ve got some dinner for you.” The dog took a hesitant step forward. “That’s right. Come on.” Walking half backward, she began a slow retreat toward the barn, holding the dish out before her. “It’s okay.”

The dog shot Trent another glance and seemed to decide his best option was the safety of Bailey’s company. He loped after her, and she walked a little faster. Reaching the open doorway of the barn, she set the food dish down in the aisle. The dog stopped and stared at her. His ribs showed through his black coat, and her heart went out to him. She couldn’t stand to see an animal hungry. “Go on, boy. Dinner’s waiting.”

He edged toward the doorway, nose quivering as he sniffed the air. Scenting the food, he darted inside and thrust his muzzle into the dish. Bailey crept forward, whispering an apology to the animal. She’d planned to tame him gradually, and had tried not to do anything to scare him or betray his trust. But shutting him in the barn seemed to be in his best interest at the moment. After sliding the heavy door closed on its track, she slipped the latch into place, heaved a sigh of relief and turned around.

Trent Murdock stood behind her, so close she could make out every murderous frown line that creased his forehead.

“Lady,” he snapped, “if that’s your dog, you’re in more trouble than you ever bargained for.”

Bailey set her jaw.

She didn’t doubt it for a minute.

But if Trent wanted to fight, she was game.

CHAPTER TWO

TRENT FOUGHT the urge to throttle both the dog and the woman. He pushed his cap back on his head, crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Bailey Chancellor.

“He’s not my dog,” she said. “Well—not exactly. But anyway, he didn’t hurt anything.” She folded her arms and stared defiantly at him.

Trent stared back, unable to believe his ears. “He ran my horses through the fence!”

The expression in Bailey’s violet eyes flickered, and Trent’s heart gave the smallest jump—just enough to make him wary. He was furious with her. He refused to feel anything else.

“They didn’t get cut, did they?” Bailey asked uncertainly. “They seem all right—the way they’re running around.” She looked at the horses, and Trent did, too. They’d calmed down some, now that the dog was out of sight, and moved in slower circles around the pasture.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll have to catch them and see.”

“All right, then.” Bailey unfolded her arms and walked away, looking at him over her shoulder. “Coming?”

Surely she didn’t mean to help him. But that was exactly her intention. “I don’t have a halter yet,” she said. “We’ll have to get a couple from your place.” She paused long enough to grace him with a firm stare. “Well, don’t just stand there with your mouth open. We’ve got horses to catch.”

Trent shook his head, not sure what to make of Bailey Chancellor. Maybe he’d misjudged her. She hadn’t struck him as the type to know a damn thing about horses. President of the bank, here from Denver, she’d caused a stir of gossip in town not matched since Jed Sanders had shot his brother in the leg for sleeping with Jed’s girlfriend. Rumor had it she planned to create a day care right at Colorado Western National for the children of the bank’s employees. Rumor also had it that the tough-as-nails woman just about everyone in town resented was behind the bank’s new policy that had led to the rejection of more than one farmer’s loan.

But Trent had seen a different Bailey Chancellor. The woman in a pink T-shirt and faded jeans, with tears in her eyes.

Shaking off the memory of Bailey in the cemetery, he followed her. She strode across the pasture, speaking soothingly to the horses, and headed for the downed fence. There she stopped, hands on hips, to survey the damage. “I’m glad to see it’s barbless wire,” she said. “Otherwise your horses could’ve been cut to ribbons.”

Temper bubbled anew within Trent as he halted beside her. Resting one hand on his hip, he gave her a humorless smile. “Really? Why, thanks for sharing that information with me, Ms. Chancellor. I’m much obliged.”

She frowned at him. “Don’t be sarcastic. I’m trying to help.”

“By telling me how to fence in my horses as though I don’t have a clue?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I was merely making an observation.” Coolly, she brushed his attitude aside. “So, where are the halters?”

“In the tack room.” He enunciated each word, stating the obvious. “I’ll get them. Think you can make sure those mares don’t run back through the downed wire?”

Bailey’s slight hesitation made Trent wonder if his original instincts were right. She appeared confident, yet something about her demeanor left him thinking she was a little wary of the horses.

“Fine,” Bailey said, turning to watch the mares. They now trotted around the pasture, ears alert, nostrils flared as they snorted loudly.

“You sure?” Trent asked.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Trent decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Okay, then. Be right back.” From the tack room in his barn, he took two halters and lead ropes, then returned to where Bailey waited.

He handed her a purple halter and rope, and for some stupid reason noted that it was damn near the same color as her eyes. Maybe his cap was on too tight. Bailey held the halter a bit awkwardly and fumbled with the buckle.

Amused, Trent watched. “You’ve got it backward,” he said, not sure what to make of the entire situation. Did she or did she not know how to handle a horse?

Bailey flushed and promptly turned the halter around, this time opening the buckle and holding it in the proper position. “I see that now,” she said. “Which horse do you want me to catch?”

“Dokina and Shafana are both alpha mares,” he said. “If we get them, the others should follow.” He produced a pair of wire cutters from his back pocket and snipped the downed strands of wire from the wooden post they’d been stapled to. Removing the wire was the only way to bring the horses safely back through the fence, since there was no gate in this section.

With Bailey’s help, Trent set aside the wire, disgusted that he’d have to restring it, thanks to the dog.

As though reading his mind, Bailey spoke. “I’ll help you put the fence back up later.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Yes, it is. My dog caused this.” With a sweep of her hand, she indicated the downed wire and the loose horses.

“I thought you said he wasn’t your dog.”

“He’s not exactly, but I hope he will be sooner or later. He’s a stray,” she clarified when he looked at her, curious. “I’ve been feeding him.”

“No wonder he seems familiar,” Trent said. “I’ve seen him around here before, several weeks ago, as a matter of fact, though he’s never chased my horses until now. I’m pretty sure he was dumped.”

“I can relate,” Bailey mumbled.

“How’s that?”

“Nothing. Which one is Dokina?” She walked toward the horses.

He followed. “The chestnut with the blaze and no stockings.” He fumbled in his pocket. “Here. You’ll need these.”

Bailey faced him, and he placed four horse cookies in her hand, trying not to notice how soft her skin was as his fingers brushed her palm. Come to think of it, she smelled good, too. She’d caught her hair up in a ponytail, and golden-brown wisps strayed around her face as the hint of a breeze stirred the air. Today, she wore a yellow T-shirt with her jeans, and the same sneakers she’d had on yesterday. She reminded him of sunshine and a fresh breath of air.

He didn’t want to notice that about her, didn’t want to experience the desire to touch her. Amy had left him, Sarah was gone, and he didn’t plan on feeling anything for anyone ever again.

“They’re cookies,” Trent said as Bailey stared down at the flat, rectangular alfalfa pellets.

“Not chocolate chip, I’d wager,” Bailey quipped.

He fought a smile. “Some people call them cake. Take your pick, but you’ll need them to get close enough to catch any of the horses.”

Bailey crooked her mouth and arched one eyebrow. “Spoiled, huh?” Her words should have sounded accusatory, but somehow they didn’t. Her whiskey voice seemed to carry indulgence.

“No,” Trent said defensively. Then he lost his battle with the smile that kept tugging at his mouth. “Well, maybe just a little.”

Bailey drew back and gazed solidly at him. Then her own lips curved. “You should do that more often. Smile, I mean. Looks better on you than that scowl you usually wear.”

Trent grunted and let the smile disappear. “I thought we were catching horses.”

“Okay, okay.” Bailey shook her head and gave her attention to Dokina once more. Trent watched as she crooned to the little mare and held out a cookie. Dokina perked her ears and stretched out her neck to investigate, taking a tentative step in Bailey’s direction. Two other mares came forward in response to the proffered treat. Immediately, Dokina pinned her ears and drove them away, teeth bared. The mares parted company with a volley of squeals and a show of back hooves, and all the while, Bailey stood her ground.

Trent shook his head and haltered Shafana, his favorite gray. He would have expected Bailey to run at the possibility of being smack-dab in the middle of a horse fight. But she only took a cautious step out of the way, then held the horse cookie out to Dokina once more. Though she fumbled with the halter a bit, she managed to slip it over the mare’s head and get it buckled into place.

Bailey looked at him, a triumphant grin spreading across her pretty face, and Trent’s heart did more than give a little jump. It was the first time he’d seen her smile with anything other than polite reserve, the first time he’d seen such an expression of pure, childlike joy on her face. He liked it, and that bothered him.

“Nothing to it,” Bailey said, walking toward him, leading Dokina.

Trent fell into step beside her with Shafana. The other mares followed, as he’d known they would. Some had marks from the wire on their legs and chests, but fortunately none was hurt beyond those few minor scrapes, which hadn’t done more than skin off small spots of hair and hide. A little nitrofurazone ointment would have them good as new.

Bailey’s eyes sparkled. “They’re beautiful.” She nodded toward a golden-red chestnut with flaxen mane and tail. “I love that one. What’s her name?”

“Bint Sihanna Bronnz.”

“Quite a mouthful,” Bailey said. “Is she for sale?”

He shook his head. “No. These are some of my broodmares. I raise and sell foals. I also travel around the show circuit, pick up horses here and there, then resell them.”

“I see. Well, I hadn’t planned on looking at your horses this way, but since I’m already here…”

He was quiet for a moment. And he hadn’t planned on being with her this way. Hell, he hadn’t really wanted to hang around her at all. Business was business and he’d agreed to show her what he had for sale, but he’d had every intention of doing so on his own terms, in his own time. Now, with Bailey walking toward the barn, leading Dokina and chatting with him as though she belonged right here, he felt confused and off balance. He’d tried hard to keep everything in his life orderly and mapped out since Amy had left him—since he’d lost Sarah. It was the only way he could deal with his emotions, the only way he seemed able to get through each day.

Bailey and her damn stray dog had upset all that.

“I’ve got time to show them to you now if you want,” he heard himself saying.

She turned that blasted heart-stopping smile on him once more. “That would be wonderful. Where would you like Dokina?”

AFTER HELPING TRENT put ointment on the mares that had gotten scraped, Bailey assisted him in turning them out in a paddock behind the barn and tried to pretend he had no effect on her whatsoever. It had to be the horses that had her stomach in knots…that was it. She hadn’t been around them much, and finding herself right in the middle of the group of mares was a little more than she’d bargained for, especially when they started to squabble over the horse cookies.

She hoped Trent hadn’t noticed the momentary scare Dokina gave her when the mare pinned her ears, bared her teeth and charged. But then Bailey realized the horse wasn’t after her at all—she was simply defending what she felt belonged to her. That Bailey could also relate to, and she’d immediately felt calm.

Now her heart was doing a little skip-hop. Damn it, why did Trent have to look so much better in blue jeans than any man she’d seen lately?

“So, are you ready for the grand tour?” Trent asked, pulling her from her musings.

“Sure.” She handed him the purple halter and lead rope, and he hung it on the fence and shouldered the one he’d removed from the gray mare.

“The saddle horses I have for sale are in the upper pasture,” he said.

“You’ve got a beautiful place here.” Bailey’s gaze swept Windsong Ranch. An adobe-style house, looking like something from a western movie, sprawled not far from the barn, beneath the shade of massive cottonwoods that circled the well-kept lawn. The pasture, fenced in either wire or white rail, stretched as far as the eye could see. The scent of horses, hay and wildflowers caught on the breeze and surrounded her, leaving Bailey with the impression that everything was neat, clean and in its proper place.

She wondered if that was the way Trent laid out his life day by day—nothing out of place, most especially his emotions. Telling herself she had no business analyzing the man, she turned her thoughts back to the ranch. “How many acres do you have here, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Two hundred and fifty.”

“Wow. And I thought eighty was a lot.” She smiled. “It’s nice the way you put your house at the very back. Gives you some privacy.”

Trent didn’t smile. He shot her a funny look, then clamped his mouth shut as though he’d been going to say something but had decided not to at the last minute.

What was his problem?

He closed up more and more as they walked along, restricting his comments to information about the horses he had for sale. Bailey felt that he’d suddenly thrown a wall up between them, and she wondered why. Sure, he’d been angry at what the dog had done, and she’d acted a little defensive in return. But he’d seemed to warm to her while they worked to bring the horses in.

It was just as well that she keep her distance from him, Bailey decided as she followed Trent into the pasture, where a dozen-odd horses grazed.

“How experienced a rider are you?” Trent asked.

“Not very,” Bailey admitted. “I’ve taken some riding lessons, and I’ve been reading up on owning a horse.”

He grunted. “So that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Why you seem to know something about horses, yet don’t appear totally comfortable around them.”

She bristled. “I’ve learned a lot over the past few months, Mr. Murdock. I can assure you I plan to continue that route.”

“No need to get your back up,” he said. “I was just making an observation. And like I said at the bank, it’s Trent. Mr. Murdock is my father.”

“Only if you call me Bailey,” she said. Just because they kept their distance didn’t mean they had to be formal. After all, they were neighbors.

“Okay, Bailey. Let me tell you a little more about these horses.”

She walked beside him, listening as he went into detail about the good points—and bad—of each horse. His knowledge impressed her and his honesty took her by surprise. “I thought people who sold horses were only supposed to mention their good qualities and hide their bad,” she said. She’d recently read an article in Western Horseman entitled “Buyer Beware.”

“There are a lot of disreputable people in the horse business,” Trent agreed, “just as there are in any business. But I don’t work that way, Bailey. I want my customers to be satisfied and my horses to have a good home. They can’t have that unless I’m up-front in the first place.”

“Good point.”

“Not to say any of these horses are bad animals,” he went on. “I wouldn’t have them for sale if that was the case. But no horse is perfect.”

In her experience, animals were usually far more perfect than people, but she didn’t argue. “So, the little gray mare is hard to catch,” Bailey said. “But she’s a good solid riding mount.”

“The best,” Trent said. “She’s bombproof.”

“What does that mean?”

“She doesn’t spook at anything. And she can cover ground all day long and be ready for more.” He ran his hand over the shoulder of a dark bay gelding. “This is Mirage, a son of my stallion Alysana. He’s one of the few foals I kept because he has such a great personality, but when he was a two-year-old he had an accident. Fell off a cliff and got pretty banged up. His foreleg took the worst of it.” Trent indicated a scar on the gelding’s right foreleg that ran the length of the cannon bone. “He’s sound, but only for light trail riding. You couldn’t work him hard or use him for endurance riding or anything like that. Still, he’s got a willing heart and he’s real easy to catch.”

Unlike his owner.

Bailey chuckled. “I can see that,” she said as the horse nudged Trent’s shoulder affectionately, looking for a treat. Trent pulled a horse cookie from his pocket and the gelding took it with a soft smack of his lips. He chewed with eyes half-closed, as though savoring the alfalfa cube. Several other horses made their way over to see what was going on.

Trent offered each of them cookies, then held up his empty palms. “I’m all out,” he said, rubbing the forehead of a black mare. “That’s it.”

Bailey smiled to herself. A man who talked to horses couldn’t be all bad. “They’re nice horses,” she said. “It’s going to be hard to choose one.”

“They’re a pretty good bunch,” Trent said, patting the black mare’s shoulder.

“What about that one?” Bailey pointed to a gray whose coat was flecked with red markings. The horse kept to the rear of the group. As the animal turned his head, she noted his left eye appeared cloudy, and the skin around it was heavily scarred. “Oh! What happened to his eye?”

“He had it all but poked out by a tree branch when a pack of dogs ran him into the woods three years ago.” Trent frowned pointedly at her and Bailey cringed inwardly.

No wonder he’d been so upset when her stray dog had chased his horses. “Can he see out of it?” she asked, ignoring Trent’s underlying reprimand.

“No. I don’t even know why I keep him in here with the others that are for sale. If he were a mare, I’d just put her with the other broodmares, but what am I going to do with a gelding? Most people turn away from him the minute they see his eye.”

“Why? Just because he isn’t perfect doesn’t mean he isn’t a good horse, does it?” Bailey moved toward the gelding. “Hey, there, pretty baby,” she crooned. The gelding stretched his neck inquisitively and gently lipped Bailey’s hand as she drew close to him. Bailey smiled, warming immediately to the horse that no one wanted. “I’m sorry. I’m all out of cookies.” She stroked the gray’s muzzle. “What’s his name?”

“Star.”

“Star?” Bailey gave him an amused smile. “No fancy Arab name?”

Trent shrugged. “He has some fancy stuff tacked onto it.”

Bailey rubbed the gelding’s forehead. “It fits him. I like it, and I love his coloring. It looks like he has freckles.”

“He’s a flea-bitten gray.”

She glared at him. “How can you insult such a pretty horse?”

He laughed. “It’s not an insult. That freckled pattern is called flea-bitten gray.”

Bailey flushed. “Oh. Guess I need to read up on my colors a little more.” She continued to stroke the horse, and Star responded by closing his eyes and nudging her with his head. “I think he likes me, too. So, is he for sale?”

Trent looked at her with surprise. “He’s blind in one eye. You wouldn’t really want him, would you?”

“Why not?” Bailey challenged. “Is he ridable?”

“Yes. He’s a little shy on his near side, but as long as he trusts his rider, there’s nothing he won’t do for you. I guess that’s why I’ve kept him. He’s a good horse.”