Heartbreak Cove (Sanctuary Island) (RE8) (14 page)

Andie set her foot on the lowest branch and tested her weight against it. Seemed sturdy. Swallowing hard, she stepped up onto the branch and clung to the smooth bark of the trunk, praying for enough breeze to part the trailing willow branches and let her see what Sam was up to. As if on cue, a salt-scented wind rolled in from the water, smoothing the cordgrass in billowing waves and making the weeping willow dance. Through the shower of pink blossoms, Andie caught a glimpse of Sam, and he wasn’t alone.

There was a wild horse inches away from him. And not the “wild” horse he’d brought with him to train—no, this was one of Sanctuary Island’s free-roaming stallions, rangy and built to endure exposure to the harshest storms and coldest winters. The entire island was dedicated to protecting these animals, but that didn’t mean they were pets. On the contrary, it was against the law to feed them or interfere with them because their survival hinged on being free to form their own bands and make their own way.

Each wild horse band consisted of one stallion to every five or six mares. The stallion would lead and protect his brood from predators, he’d find food and shelter when the weather turned bad, and he’d keep them safe and together. Horses were herd animals—you never saw one of the Sanctuary Island wild horses on its own. They ran together, relied on each other, as social as any human. More so, in fact, because humans could survive living alone.

Horses couldn’t. If a horse lost his place in his band and was left alone, he’d find his way to this secluded spot on the island’s coast, lie down, and die of loneliness.

That’s why it was called Heartbreak Cove. And that’s what Sam was doing here, Andie understood in a flash as she realized what was bugging her about the scene unfolding on the beach below.

The horse was alone. He’d lost his band and come here to die.

Sam wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was saving this stallion from dying of a broken heart. Joy bloomed up from her chest and into her throat, making her want to laugh or sing or shout Sam’s name. But she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the delicate dance of trust between man and beast.

She hadn’t caught Sam doing something wrong. She was going to get to help him do something right. And when the horse was safe and cared for, Andie and Sam were going to talk. She’d misjudged and misunderstood Sam Brennan for the last time.

Chapter Thirteen

Sam breathed out a steady stream of nonsense noise and soothing sounds, his eyes tracking every flex of muscle and flicker of tension under the colt’s shaggy, dappled coat.

When the call came in that morning, he’d been expecting to hear the update from Dr. Ben Fairfax’s latest vet check on Queenie. He hadn’t expected to hear how Ben’s friend, Grady, who apparently functioned as some sort of unofficial Guardian of the Wild Horses or something, had witnessed a fight for dominance between a grizzled old chestnut stallion and a young Appaloosa colt. And when Sam heard what that meant for the colt … before he knew it, he was heading out to Heartbreak Cove.

And there was the wild colt, shivering and limping, with the marks of battle standing out bloody against his dappled gray flanks. Sam knew how long it usually took to get a wild animal to trust him—days, weeks, even months of slow, gradual progress. Of leaving out treats and standing in the horse’s sight line, moving incrementally closer every day until finally the horse stood still and let him close enough to touch.

They didn’t have months. This colt was injured, but worse than that, he’d given up. Every line of his body showed defeat; despair dimmed his sunken brown eyes. So Sam took his shot. He approached from the side, walking slow and gradual with his eyes down. No eye contact—he wasn’t pushing for dominance here, but trust.

The colt shuddered and took a single, faltering step but when his injured right foreleg nearly collapsed under his weight, he stilled. Head down, ears back, the colt waited as Sam reached out a careful hand, fingers curled under, and brushed the backs of his knuckles against the colt’s withers.

His gray flanks trembled as if the colt were shaking off a fly, but Sam kept the pressure of his hand light and steady as he began to smooth carefully over the horse’s back and sides. He took his time, and when he finally made it to the colt’s head and face, Sam was ninety percent sure he wasn’t about to get bitten. He was less sure how the colt would react to the halter in his other hand, but it wasn’t until the thing was on and buckled that the colt really reacted.

Jerking his head up and away from Sam’s hands, the colt backed up a few nervous paces, breathing hard through his nose at what had to be terrible pain in his buckling foreleg. Sam let the halter go, let the lead rope trail on the ground, and focused on calming the colt … until the sound of footsteps registered in Sam’s consciousness.

He glared over his shoulder, about to issue a firm command to back off, no matter who it was. But the sight of Andie smiling at him, with Dr. Fairfax and his mobile medical kit right behind her, stopped the words in Sam’s chest.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked hoarsely.

Andie tilted her chin at the veterinarian. “Bringing help. You don’t have to do this all on your own, you know.”

As Ben shouldered past them and started his examination, aided by a little sedative, Sam stared at Andie. Her red-gold curls tossed in the wind, blowing tendrils into a face flushed with an emotion Sam could hardly stand to read. In well-worn jeans and a heather gray T-shirt, Andie Shepard was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Wait.

Sam frowned. “Aren’t you on duty today? Where’s your uniform?”

A dark flush washed across her cheeks, but Andie didn’t drop her straightforward gaze. “I wore plain clothes and drove an unmarked car to follow you. I wanted to find out what you were up to.”

Heart-stopping panic seized Sam’s chest, but Andie only smiled ruefully and dipped her chin. “Now I know,” she said softly. “You were helping an injured colt who lost his band.”

Sam forced air into his lungs. “I want to take him back to Windy Corner once the doc is finished with him,” he said thickly, doing his damnedest to keep the conversation focused on the business at hand—and not on how badly he wanted to close the distance between them and pull Andie down onto the sand for the kiss of her life.

“We have regulations about interfering with the wild horses,” she said, but when he looked at her sharply, she held up her hands in surrender. “But in the case of injury, it’s different. We can’t help every wounded wild horse, but when we get the chance, we have to take it. These horses are part of our island—it’s our responsibility and our privilege to protect them.”

The passion firing her voice and brightening her eyes reached into Sam and wrung him out. He managed a faint smile. “You sound like me, when I talk about the horse rescue operation.”

“I liked seeing you in your element,” Andie confessed softly. “Actually rescuing this horse. I could tell you know what you’re doing. I mean, I’ve seen you at the barn. You’re amazing with all the horses. But this, getting him to trust you when he’s never had any human contact in his entire life…”

Sam shrugged even though he wanted to pull his shoulders straight with pride. “Thanks,” he said, training his eyes on the veterinarian’s competent hands checking out the colt’s injuries. “That means … a lot, coming from someone I respect. And thanks for bringing Dr. Ben here. I was going to call him on my cell when I got the colt ready to move, but this is better.”

Andie came close enough to lay a hand on Sam’s arm, and he felt the contact all the way to the marrow of his bones. “Like I said, you’re not alone in this. There are people who want to help the colt, and help you. I’m glad I got the opportunity to prove it.”

He flexed his forearm, mesmerized by the sight and feel of her pale, slender fingers against his sturdy, work-roughened tan. “It’s your job to take care of the island and all the creatures on it. You’re damn good at what you do.”

“For as long as it lasts.” The wry twist to her smile slid between Sam’s ribs like a knife. “Come November, I guess we’ll see if the residents of Sanctuary agree with you or not.”

“They’d be fools to let you go.”

It wasn’t until he saw the slight widening of her ocean blue eyes that he realized what he’d actually revealed.

“Sadly, there are plenty of fools in the world,” Andie said lightly, but her gaze was thoughtful.

“Come on,” Ben broke in before Sam could figure out how big a fool he was about to be. “This guy needs a warm barn and a more substantial leg brace than I’ve got with me. Let’s get him back to Windy Corner.”

Sam knew he should be grateful for the interruption, for the chance to pull back and think through what it meant that Andie’s suspicions had been raised to the point of tailing him—and how completely he’d allayed those suspicions, apparently, without even meaning to.

But as the three of them worked together to help the stumbling, lightly drugged colt up the hill and into Ben’s horse trailer, all Sam could think about was the admiration and respect on Andie’s lovely, strong face, and the way it made him feel.

Andie made him achingly aware of life’s possibilities. She made him want more than he’d allowed himself to have in years. She made him forget that he wasn’t the man she thought he was.

More than anything, she made him want to be the man who could deserve her.

*   *   *

Queenie had graduated to one of the more permanent stalls a week ago, leaving the integration pen in the middle of the barn free. It was the perfect place for the injured colt. There was a little more room to move around while he got used to four walls and a roof, and close proximity to the other horses in the barn so he could grow accustomed to them—and vice versa—before they were all turned out into the pasture together.

Andie grinned at the curious way Queenie eyed her new neighbor. The mare hung her head over the top of the stall door, craning her long, black neck to get a look at the barn’s latest addition.

“I think she wants to be friends,” Andie said as Sam ducked out of the pen and left Dr. Fairfax to his work. “Do horses make friends?”

“Sure.” Sam crossed the central hall and bent to turn on the hose attached to the wall between a set of crossties. “Horses are very social. They can form intense, lasting bonds with other horses … and with other things.”

“What do you mean?” Andie asked, mildly amazed that she was able to form a complete sentence, considering how every scrap of her consciousness was suddenly focused on the riveting sight of Sam Brennan lifting the hose and gulping down some water before directing the stream over his head and face.

Rivulets trickled down his temples and soaked his T-shirt, molding it to the chiseled definition of his pecs and abs. Sam shook his head, spraying droplets everywhere, but some still clung to the dripping ends of his dark brown hair.

All that water, and Andie’s mouth had never been so dry. She swallowed hard, an inferno of desire raging to life in her core, a fire so intense it would take more than a splash of water from that hose to cool her off.

“Horses are funny,” Sam said, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was providing Andie with a show that was going to make multiple return appearances in her midnight fantasies from now on. He blinked water out of his eyes and smoothed a hand over his close-cropped beard. “They’ll buddy up to cats, dogs, goats—there are racehorses who have to travel everywhere with their goat best friend because if their owners leave that goat behind, the horse won’t run.”

“That’s very … interesting,” Andie said, her gaze tracking the progress of a particular water droplet as it ran down Sam’s throat and disappeared where the stretched-out neck of his T-shirt gave a glimpse of the strong, sturdy wings of his collarbones.

Sam paused in the act of tugging his shirt hem up to wipe at his damp face. Andie wanted to drag her eyes away from the taut sliver of hard-muscled belly he’d exposed, but she honestly couldn’t. The most she could manage was not to lick her lips like a hungry cat staring down a bowl of cream.

The noise Sam made in the back of his chest rumbled through Andie like thunder, charging the atmosphere between them with the sizzling ozone of a lightning strike. He took a step toward her as if she’d dragged him close, and Andie lost her mind.

Grabbing his hand, she hauled Sam out of the hallway and away from the colt. She didn’t even know where they were going, just that she had to get him somewhere dark, somewhere private, somewhere she could look at him and feel safe, even knowing that everything she felt and everything she wanted was naked on her face.

“Here,” Sam urged, tugging her over to the ladder that led up into the hayloft, and Andie didn’t even think about it. She climbed, with Sam following close behind. The knowledge that if he looked up, he’d get an incredibly intimate view of her backside made Andie glad she’d worn these jeans.

Six inches from the top of the ladder, her foot slipped off the rung, and Sam’s broad-palmed hand was instantly there, cupping her rear end and boosting her gently into the loft. Breathless, head spinning, Andie turned back to the ladder in time to see Sam vault over the loft threshold and stalk forward like a hunting panther. He was gorgeously, overwhelmingly masculine. The powerful lines of his big body advancing on hers made Andie want to swoon back, to lean against the hay bales and let him ravish her. But she was too impatient for that.

Meeting Sam in the middle of the loft, Andie speared her hands into his wet, curling hair and dragged his head down for a kiss. The searing heat of his mouth contrasted with the cool of his damp skin, making Andie shudder with the need to feel more of him.

“You make me crazy,” she admitted, husking the words against his open lips before licking into his mouth for another greedy kiss.

His only reply was to bend her back over his strong arm so he could plunder deeper. Andie felt herself go pliant and soft, every part of her trusting Sam to hold her up, to not let her fall.

She trusted him.

The realization blinded her, caught at her breath—or maybe that was the hunger for Sam clawing at her insides and urging her to take hold of this man and never let him go. Andie bit at his jaw, delighting in the rough bristles of his beard abrading her tender lips, and when she sucked a soft love mark into the hollow of his throat, Sam made that noise again. The same noise that lit Andie’s fuse and set her off like an explosion—a deep, grating growl of pure need.

Grinning with triumph, Andie pulled back far enough to gasp, “We could have been doing this every day for a week, if you hadn’t decided to avoid me.”

Sam stiffened in her arms, but she wasn’t having it. Hooking a foot behind his knee, Andie tumbled them to the floor of the loft, trusting the thick carpet of hay to soften their fall. But at the last second, Sam twisted to get his body under hers so she landed with a pleased “oof” on his wide, heaving chest.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” Sam denied, wetting his kiss-swollen bottom lip with the tip of his tongue.

Andie shivered and let her legs slide open so that she straddled his lean hips. “You were. But that’s okay, I forgive you since it was obviously not about you never wanting to kiss me again.”

He surged up and caught her mouth with his, the motion sending shocks of pleasure through her molten liquid core as she squirmed against the denim-covered bulge between his massive thighs. “No,” he rasped. “It was never about me not wanting you.”

Rational thoughts swirled through Andie’s sensation-soaked brain like dandelion fluff scattering on a breeze. “What was it about, then?” She managed to ask. “Why have you been hiding from me?”

Sam sat up in a swift, fluid move that made Andie tremble at the hard crunch of abdominal muscle she could feel working against her own belly. She was still splayed around him, clinging to his broad shoulders and crossing her ankles behind his back. They were pressed so close together, Andie had to focus on one of Sam’s bittersweet chocolate eyes at a time or risk going cross-eyed. Part of her knew that a little bit of distance would improve her view and help her read what was really going on, but she didn’t want to let go. She was sick of letting go of Sam.

“I wasn’t hiding from you,” Sam grated out. “I was hiding from myself. I’ve been on my own for a long time—my whole life, basically. I wasn’t ready to admit I might want more. Or that I might be able to have it.”