His Heart for the Trusting (8 page)

“You're not
getting away from me that easy,” he said, his eyes dark filled with wild desire
she felt deep inside her.

A flutter of
panic raced through her.  What she was thinking?  What she wanted couldn't
happen.  When Mitch gazed at her this way, with eyes that were an endless sea
of warmth and charm, with arms so strong they made all the mistakes of the past
melt away like ice on hot plate, her mind turned to mush.  She couldn't think
at all.

She wanted
Mitch to kiss her, to feel that connection of man and woman.  Her mind told her
that it was only because they were two normal healthy adults, living together
in the same house and it had been a long time since a man had held her this
way.  It had nothing to do with real attraction and desire.  But even she knew
that was a lie.  She was fiercely attracted to Mitch, and denying it didn't
make it go away.

Wrapping his
arms around her waist, Mitch drew Sara toward him as if they were going to
dance a very intimate slow number.  The music had somehow faded into the
background and all she could hear was her own heart hammering in her chest,
beating in time with Mitch's.

Sara focused on
his lips and wondered what it would be like to be kissed by Mitch Broader.  It
was a dangerous thought, frightening, and yet, very exhilarating at the same
time.

Mitch bent his
head and brushed his lips against hers, sending shock waves pulsing through her
veins.  It was sweet, yet controlled in a way that she didn't feel.  In a way
that had her body begging for more.   As he pulled back, his eyes flashed with
smoky passion.  If he were feeling half of what she was, Mitch had to have
enormous strength to keep from losing control.  And then he smiled, pulling
away and dancing again.

Vaguely
disappointed that the music had started again, Sara let him twirl her around
the dusty floor.  Mitch held her, like a bunch of flowers that would bruise if
he applied the least amount of pressure.  Yet his strength was evident in the
way he moved her with him, leading, yet not demanding she go his way.

He winked once,
and then, with his arm around her waist, dipped her back so he hovered above
her and she had to cling to him to keep from falling. 

She laughed at
the sheer craziness of dancing in the workshop with Mitch.  He laughed too.  A
rich sound that rumbled deep inside his chest.  

The lyrics had
ended and the music was winding down to a stop.  Mitch lifted her hand high in
the air and twirled her around.  By her own clumsiness, her hip caught a hammer
sticking out from the workbench and pitched it over the edge of the bench,
along with a small box of tool bits the hammer's edge caught.  In the corner of
her eye, Sara saw the movement.  Her mind registered there would be a crash to
the floor.  What she didn't anticipate was Mitch's quick movement, quickly
bolted closer to her to catch the box of tools before it tumbled and hit the
ground. 

And stark image
flashed in her mind, vivid and blinding, and suddenly she was no longer in the
workshop, but in her kitchen in California.  The face she saw coming at her
wasn't Mitch's, but that of her ex-husband.  As Mitch advanced, Sara's breath
caught in her throat and her arms flew up to her side, her fists bunching. 
Before she could register that she was not in her house in California, but on
the Double T Ranch, she scurried away to the far side of the workshop like a
cat who'd been scared by the toppled over box.

“Sara?”

As her rampant
heartbeat slowed to a semi-normal pace, she saw Mitch was staring at her, his
blue eyes concerned and full of questions.  His gaze swept from her face, to
her trembling hands.    

It was all too
much.  Humiliation washed over her like a tidal wave, and coupled with a need
to explain that her reaction had absolutely nothing to do with him.  It was
her.  All her.  What she wouldn't do to turn back the clock and be in Mitch's
arms again, surrounded by his strength.  But it was just too much.

His handsome
face pinched into a questioning frown.  “It was only a box of tools,” he said
quietly.

“I know,” she
said in some faraway voice.  It was only a box of tools.

She ran from
the workshop without another word.

* * *

What the hell
had just happened?  Mitch couldn't figure it out.  One minute he was holding
Sara in his arms, feeling on top of the world with happiness as they danced,
the next she was running from him as if she were afraid he'd...

His gut coiled
tight like a snake squeezing the life out of him, making it hard for him to
breathe.  Closing his eyes hard, he tried to even his breathing to keep from
unleashing the sudden burst of anger consuming him.  He took the time to cool
down by gathering the disheveled tools, now scattered all over the workshop
floor.

As he picked up
each bit and tossed it into the cardboard box, Mitch ached to go to Sara and
pull her into his arms.  He wanted to stop her trembling and erase that
horribly frightened look from her eyes.  He knew that look.  He'd seen in on
his own mother often enough to know what it meant.

But if what he
was thinking were true, Sara wouldn't welcome him coming anywhere near her to
ask for answers for why she’d run away.  Still, he needed to know she was all
right.

A short time
later, Mitch found her in the kitchen, standing at the sink, clutching a
dishtowel and drying dishes that already looked air-dried.

“Sara?”

She stilled,
but didn't turn to look at him.  He walked over to the cabinet next to where
she stood, and reached up for a glass, placing it on the counter.  She
stiffened.  And his gut clenched.

He wanted to
comfort her, to touch her and tell her everything was all right.  Whatever she
feared wasn’t here in his home.  She didn’t have to fear him.  He brought his
hand mere inches from her back and held it there, afraid of the reaction she
might have to his touch.  Then he pulled it away and held it stiffly by his
side.

“I’d cut off my
hand before I’d ever raise it to you, Sara,” he whispered.  “I don't want you
to ever fear me like that.”

“I don't,” she
replied, her voice so very small it reminded Mitch of himself when he was a
child.

“Okay.”  He
sighed as he walked to the door, abandoning the glass of water he'd intended to
have.  “I'm going to go down to work the horses for a while before it gets too
dark.”

Sara simply
nodded.  He waited by the door until she turned to look at him.  Her rich brown
eyes were wide and glassy, and she nodded again.

As Mitch
lumbered to the paddock, he called her ex-husband every despicable name he
could think of.  And himself the same for making Sara feel that vulnerable
again.

* * *

From the
kitchen window, Sara watched Mitch stroll out to the paddock in a stride that
was much more carefree than he must have felt.  

They were
tools!  Lousy tools fell to the floor.  That was all.

But as soon as
Mitch came at her, it was as if she were in Los Angeles again, feeling all the
fear and humiliation she'd felt whenever Dave came at her.

Her ex-husband
had never struck her physically.  He considered himself much too refined for
that.  Instead, he would charge at her and use intimidation to keep her where
he wanted her.  He spat words at her that both stung and ate at the very marrow
of her soul, depleting any confidence she had in herself.

In the
beginning, it was easy to go along with him.  Dave was ten years older and
seemed so worldly compared to the young and naïve girl she’d been.  He had told
her how to dress to be sexy, what to say at parties to help him get promotions,
and who to be friends with in order to further their position in the
community.  They dined every Friday night at the most exclusive restaurants
with Dave's colleagues and had brunch every Sunday with friends.  The life he
gave her in Los Angeles was something out of a glamorous Hollywood movie.  And
Sara had wanted so much to fit in. 

For a long
time, she did.  Sara had allowed Dave take the lead and mold her.  That was her
biggest mistake.

He’d once told
her that no wife of his would ever work.  It would only mean that he couldn't
provide a suitable home if Sara had felt the need to have a job outside the
home.  After years of playing tennis and having superficial lunches with people
who had nothing to talk about but vacationing in Europe or remodeling yet
another section of their house, Sara decided she needed more.  Volunteering at
the daycare had been a compromise only after endless arguments.

It was there,
as she sat with the children, telling Native American stories she'd been told
as a child, that Sara's world changed.  The piece of herself she'd thrown away
to be with Dave reemerged among the children and the stories, filling a gap
that had grown wider with the years.

It was only
then that Sara realized what a facade her life had been.  Friends she thought
cared for her didn't want to hear about the heartache of what went on behind
the closed doors of what appeared to be a perfect home.  Sara learned to keep
her mouth shut and to go along if she didn't want to be on the bad side of one
of Dave's tempers.

She'd become
her husband's personal rag doll and it shamed her.  Her cheeks flamed even
months after their divorce was final, to think of how she'd allowed her ex-husband
to manipulate her.

Mandy's
surprise visit to Los Angeles had been a miracle.  Sara recalled the
humiliation she felt when Dave had come home and found the two of them laughing
in the living room over bowls of Heavenly Hash ice cream.  On the outside, she
seemed strong and confident and had learned to assert herself.  As long as Dave
wasn't around.  And as soon as he'd had come home and done a once over look at
Mandy, Sara had turned inward again.

Ashamed at her
own reaction and what she'd become, she'd given Mandy the excuse she had a
migraine and needed to lay down.  Mandy had called her the next day to check on
her.  Sara had let the answering machine pick up the call, and because of that,
Mandy dropped by before heading to the airport on her way back to Texas.

“You have
family and friends who love you in Texas,” Mandy had said, looking past all the
excuses Sara had given her.  She'd hugged Sara fiercely at the door.  “I'm not
letting go of this friendship.”

It had been the
beginning of the end of her marriage, although in looking back, it had never
been much of a marriage at all.  Even though Sara hadn't been ready to leave
Los Angeles, Sara held to Mandy's words and knew that she'd have the strength
to leave eventually.  And when she finally did have the courage to leave,
there'd been no visible wounds for anyone to see. 

But the scars
were there, deep down, and one of them reared its ugly head at her tonight in
front of Mitch.

She let out a
heavy sigh and felt tears stinging her eyes once again.  She could only imagine
what Mitch must be thinking.

The sun was
deep in the west when she'd climbed the stairs to check on Jonathan.  The
bedroom was filled with a golden hue of burnt orange and red.  Heat hung heavy
in the air, but the baby seemed content enough sleeping in a cool cotton
sleeper that fit snug.  Turning the baby monitor on, she grabbed the speaker
and tucked it into the pocket of her light linen jacket. 

She had to talk
to Mitch and explain her reaction.  The last thing she wanted was for him to
think he'd done something wrong.

Midnight, the
new mare Mitch had been working, was dancing rings around Mitch as Mitch stood
in the center of the corral.  The light evening breeze coming in over the
pasture was soothing.  Sara pushed up the sleeves of her jacket to mid-arm and
then hugged her middle as she approached the corral.

Nerves
skittered through her veins as she absorbed the distance.  Mitch isn't Dave,
she reminded herself.  No two men were more different.  She had nothing to fear
from Mitch. 

Marveling at
the power of his gentle touch with this horse, Sara watched for a few minutes,
not wanting to break the spell.  For days, Sara had watched Mitch work his
magic with Midnight.  In the beginning, the mare wanted no part of being bound
in an enclosure.  Mitch approached and Midnight ran away.  But Mitch didn't
give up.

The other day,
she and Mandy had sat beneath the cottonwood tree in front of the main house
while Jonathan napped on a blanket.  In between the conversation, Sara's
attention was drawn to Mitch and Midnight.  For a long time all she could do
was watch them.  When it seemed as if Midnight would never give an inch, she
did, and the smooth, gentle strokes Mitch gave her in reward made tears spring
to Sara's eyes.  The man gentling the beast.

He'd made great
strides since them.  Now, even as skittish as Midnight was, Sara could see the
difference, the growing of trust.  She envied it.

Still dancing
in circles, Midnight eyed Mitch, seemingly aware of his every move.  Mitch
turned his back to the mare and played with the bridle, as if ignoring the
horse.  Finally, Midnight stopped running and with cautious steps, she moved
forward, stopping every so often and taking a side step, bobbing her head or
giving a neigh, as if calling Mitch to pay attention.  Eventually, she stepped
up alongside him and gave him a quick nudge with her nose.  Then another until
she was settled alongside Mitch.

Ever so softly,
Mitch stroked her head and neck and front legs with long, easy strokes.  He
smiled his pleasure and crooned softly.

Without even
realizing how he'd done it, the bit was in Midnight's mouth and the bridle was
around the mare’s head.  Mitch let the reins fall and allowed Midnight to get
use to the bit.

Such trust.

“That's
amazing,” Sara said quietly.  Feeling like an intruder, she turned to leave.