home, Morgan. You’re wasting your time here.”
They reached the motel and he parked his pickup with its long trailer at the side of the building. He started to get out, but she leaned over and grabbed his arm.
“Don’t you even care what I write about you in this book, what people think about Bret Hayes?”
He hesitated, but then said, “No. I don’t care.”
“People believe you resented James’s success and coveted what he had.”
“Do they really think that?”
“Yes, they do. Is it true?”
“No, Morgan, I never resented him or his success.”
“You didn’t want to be him?”
Pain flashed across his face. “Yes,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “In the six years since he died, I’ve wished a thousand times I could change places with him.”
THE RAIN STOPPED and the dark clouds that obscured the moon thinned until only a few raced across its silver surface. The neon sign above the motel office buzzed like a giant insect, its bright colors reflecting on the wet pavement, creating a surreal atmosphere.
The parking lot was empty but for a single car. Raucous laughter and music coming from the tavern across the road explained why the rooms were all dark and the motel seemed deserted.
Hayes had been silent since his revelation, afraid perhaps of having said too much. And his words had been revealing, telling Kate two things she hadn’t known before: He’d loved his brother. And he still suffered from his death.
She took out her room key and opened the door. When she turned to look up at him, she felt uncharacteristically tongue-tied and strangely sad. She wished she could think of something profound to say, but the only thing that came out was, “Well…thanks for the ride.”
He nodded.
She started to offer him her hand, decided it was a foolish gesture and withdrew it. “See you around, Hayes.”
“Not if I can help it, Morgan,” he countered, making her chuckle.
He crossed the parking lot, hands pushed deep in the front pockets of his jeans. Kate watched him go with an unexplainable sense of loss. When he had almost reached the corner of the building, she called out, “I met Jamie once, you know.”
He stopped and turned. “What?”
She walked from under the shadow of the overhanging metal canopy out into the moonlight where he could see her and she wouldn’t have to shout.
“I said, I met your brother once. It was years ago, and although I only got to spend a few hours with him, I’ve never forgotten it. I was a scared kid trying to survive in a tough college program with people who were a lot older than me and resented my being there. Jamie was kind to me. He made me feel good about myself.”
Hayes didn’t say anything.
“I wanted you to know that,” she added, “so you’d understand why it’s important to me to write a truthful account of his life. This book finally gives me the chance to pay him back for his kindness that day.”
Hayes stood quietly, motionless for a long time, then nodded slowly and raised his hand in farewell. She raised hers. He turned and walked away.
Kate went into her room and closed the door. A hot bath would feel good. So would going home. Until that moment she hadn’t known she was going home. But without hope of an interview, she really had no reason to stick around. Hayes wasn’t willing to cooperate. He’d made that perfectly clear.
Taking off her dirty clothes, she wrapped herself in a red silk robe. She was about to check her messages when a hard knock sounded at the door. She looked through the peephole and her stomach turned a somersault. Despite her disheveled appearance, she unlocked the door and jerked it open.
“Can you ride a horse?” Hayes asked.
“Of course.”
“Be ready at one o’clock tomorrow and wear something practical.” He wheeled abruptly, walked out to his idling truck and drove away.
Kate closed the door and leaned against it. “Well, I’ll be…” She squealed with glee. Then a thought suddenly struck her and her glee changed to horror. Oh, no! Where, between now and one o’clock tomorrow, was she going to learn to ride a horse?
CHAPTER FIVE
“YOU LIED to me, Morgan,” Bret said, hands on his hips. The blasted woman couldn’t even sit on the horse without looking like she was about to fall off. “You don’t know the front end of a horse from the back.”
“I most certainly do. The front end is the one that bites, and the back end is the one that…doesn’t.”
The children sitting atop the fence at Pine Acres giggled. They watched as the woman attempted to ride around the large corral without mishap. Every time the horse trotted, she shrieked, Bret lost his temper and the children got more amused. Twice she’d almost taken a tumble.
“Hang in there, Miss Kate. You’re gettin’ it,” shouted twelve-year-old Kevin.
Bret shook his head, not believing what he’d just heard. The boy hadn’t said that many words in the six months since he’d arrived at the ranch.
Surprisingly, all the kids were animated today. Morgan’s antics were the cause, and that made Bret feel a little better about his insane decision to bring her. None here could claim a happy childhood, but this bunch from Dorm K, they’d had it rougher than most. Tom, seventeen, had lost his family in a freak accident. Melissa, thirteen, and LaKeisha, nine, had been abandoned by teenage mothers. Shondra, seven, had been abused from the time she was born, as had Kevin. The twins, Adam and Keith, also seven, had seen their father kill their mother, and little Henry, who’d recently turned two, had almost been a murder victim himself.
Bret constantly reminded himself not too get too attached to any of these children, but he’d fallen hard for all eight of them.
“Hey, Mr. Bret,” Melissa called out. She pointed at Morgan, hanging precariously off the saddle, even though the horse wasn’t moving. “Maybe you should tie her on. Or at least put her on old Slowpoke.”
“Or Patch,” volunteered LaKeisha, setting off a round of giggling among the other children.
Bret looked over at Patch, the Shetland pony he’d bought for the smallest children at the ranch. The tiny animal barely came to his waist. If he sat on it, he could probably touch the ground flat-footed.
“What about it, Morgan? Am I gonna have to stick you on Patch?”
“I refuse to ride anything shorter than I am,” she said, her voice indignant.
“Ride? You’re not riding. You’ve been on that horse forty-five minutes and you haven’t gone three feet without dropping the reins and grabbing the saddle horn. You have to be in control of an animal to ride.”
“If you could shorten the stirrups a bit more, I think I could do it.”
He sighed loudly and shook his head, then walked over and began shortening the stirrups for the fifth time. He helped her right herself in the saddle. “Your dang legs are too short,” he grumbled.
“They are not. I have great legs.” She stuck one out. It was bare between her white shorts and tennis shoes. Tan and sleek, it was also very nicely curved.
He looked away swiftly, unintentionally making a noise deep in his throat he prayed she couldn’t interpret. Turning his attention back to the stirrup, he took out his knife and began twisting another hole in the leather strap with the point of the blade.
“You shouldn’t have lied to me,” he muttered.