Country Brides - Debbie Macomber [18]
Skip chuckled. “You know what Clay thinks about romance, and that makes it even more confusing. But Nightsong she is, and she’s bound to bring us a pretty penny in a year or two. Her father was a Polish Arabian, and with Star Bright’s bloodlines Nightsong will command big bucks as a National Show Horse.”
“Skip.” Clay’s curt voice interrupted them. He strode from the arena leading a bay mare. The horse’s coat gleamed with sweat, turning its color the shade of an oak leaf in autumn. One of the stablemen approached to take the reins. Then Clay removed his hat, wiping his brow with his forearm, and Rorie noticed the now-grimy bandage she’d applied last night. No, this morning.
She stared hungrily at his sun-bronzed face, a face that revealed more than a hint of impatience. The lines around his mouth were etched deep with poorly disguised regrets. Rorie recognized them, even if the others didn’t.
Clay stopped short when he saw Kate, his eyes narrowing.
“’Morning, Kate.”
“Hello, Clay.”
Then his gaze moved, slowly and reluctantly, to Rorie. The remorse she’d already sensed in him seemed unmistakable.
“I hope you slept well,” was all he said to her.
“Fine.” She detected a tautness along his jaw line and decided he was probably concerned that she’d say or do something to embarrass him in front of his fiancée. Rorie wouldn’t, but not because she was worried about him. Her sense of fair play wouldn’t allow her to hurt Kate, who so obviously adored this man.
“We’re just admiring Nightsong,” Kate explained, her expression tender as she smiled up at him.
“I can’t understand why you’d name her that,” Skip said, his mouth twitching with barely suppressed laughter. “You always pick names like Brutus and Firepower, but Nightsong? I think you’re going soft on us.” Considering himself particularly funny, Skip chuckled and added, “I suppose that’s what love does to a man.”
Kate’s lashes brushed against the high arch of her cheek and she smiled, her pleasure so keen it was like a physical touch.
“Didn’t I ask you to water the horses several hours ago?” Clay asked in a tone that could have chipped rock.
“Yes, but—”
“Then kindly see to it. The farrier will be here any minute.”
The humor left Skip’s eyes; he was clearly upset by Clay’s anger. He looked from his brother to the two women and then back at Clay again. Hot color rose into his neck and invaded his face. “All right,” he muttered. “Excuse me for living.” Then he stormed out of the barn, slapping his hat against his thigh in an outburst of anger.
Kate waited until Skip was out of the barn. “Clay, what’s wrong?”
“He should’ve done what I told him long before now. Those horses in the pasture are thirsty because of his neglect.”
“I’m the one you should be angry with, not Skip.” Kate’s voice was contrite. “I should never have stopped in without calling first, but I…wanted to meet Rorie.”
“You’ve only been here a few minutes,” Clay insisted, his anger in check now. “Skip had plenty of time to complete his chores before you arrived.”
Rorie tossed invisible daggers at Clay, annoyed with him for taking his irritation out on his younger brother. Skip had introduced her to Clay’s fiancée. That was what really bothered him if he’d been willing to admit it—which he clearly wasn’t.
“We came here to see Nightsong,” Kate said again. “I’m glad you named her that, no matter what Skip thinks.” She wrapped her arm around his waist, and rested her head against his broad chest. “He was just teasing you and you know how he loves to do that.”
Clay gave her an absent smile, but his gaze settled with disturbing ease on Rorie. She met his eyes boldly, denying the emotions churning furiously inside her. The plea for patience and understanding he sent her was so obvious that Rorie wondered how anyone seeing it wouldn’t know what was happening.
As though she’d suddenly remembered something, Kate dropped her arm and glanced hurriedly at her watch. She groaned. “I promised Dad I’d meet him for lunch today. He’s getting