by the gate, his dark gaze fixed on Annabelle.
She turned in the direction of the sound. “Oh, wow. That horse is beautiful. What’s her name?”
“His. Khatar. He’s a stallion. Arabian.”
And a sonofabitch, Shane thought. The kind of horse who wanted to make sure everyone knew he was in charge. Khatar’s previous owner had been too aggressive, trying to break the horse’s spirit. Now Shane had to fix the mistake, which was turning out to be a challenge. But he would do it—he had to. He had way too much money riding on the physically perfect animal.
He turned back to Annabelle. Even in her four-inch heels, she barely came past his shoulder. He figured he could get her on one of his calmer geldings and have her riding in a week or two. As to the dancing, he would deal with that later. When he could speak in full sentences.
“When do you want to start?” he asked, impressed he was able to string the words together.
She turned back to him and smiled. “How about tomorrow?”
“Sure.” The sooner they started, the sooner they would be finished. Better for both of them to get her out of his life. She could go on tormenting other men and he could stop acting like an idiot. It was close enough for him to call it a win.
CHAPTER TWO
ANNABELLE DIDN’T COMPLETELY understand the science of growing fruit. Not only had she been raised in a city, her ability to grow anything was hampered by having what she cheerfully referred to as the black thumb of death. If she got too close to a plant, it visibly recoiled. If she dared to take one home with her, the poor thing withered and died within a couple of weeks. She’d tried watering, feeding, sunlight and playing classical music. She’d read books on the subject. Nothing worked. It had gotten to the point where the Plants for the Planet, a small local nursery in town, refused to sell her anything except cut flowers. Something she tried not to take personally. So the agricultural cycle of life eluded her.
What she did know was that fruit that grew on trees matured later than fruit that grew on vines, or bushes. That strawberries arrived first and that cherries, which grew on trees and therefore should have been later in the summer, were available by mid-June. She also knew that several families spent their summers living in small trailers by the vineyards and orchards. They worked the various crops and after the grapes were picked in late September and early October, they moved on.
Annabelle drove up to the circle of trailers and parked. Before she’d even opened her door, children spilled out of the trailers, jumped off swings and raced from the grove of trees shading the area. They circled her car, laughing, pulling open her door and urging her out.
“Did you bring them? Did you bring them?”
Annabelle stood and put her hands on her hips. “Bring what? Did you ask me for something?”
The children, ranging in ages from maybe four to eleven or twelve, smiled eagerly at her. One little boy darted behind her and pulled the latch that opened her trunk. Immediately the children hurried over and began searching through the bins of books she’d brought.
“It’s here.”
“That one’s mine.”
“The second and third book in the series? Sweet!”
By the time the kids had found their requested books and disappeared to begin the magic of getting lost in a story, the mothers had appeared, most carrying infants or toddlers in their arms.
Annabelle greeted the women she knew and was introduced to a few she hadn’t met yet. Maria, a slight woman in her early forties, leaned heavily on her cane as she gave Annabelle a welcoming hug.
“The children were watching the clock all morning,” she said, leading the way to a small outdoor table by the largest trailer. Maria’s husband managed the group of workers and spoke for them when dealing with the local farmers. Maria acted as unofficial “den mother” for the younger women.
“I’m glad,” Annabelle said, settling in one of the folding chairs. “When I was their age, summer was all about reading.”
“It is for them, too. Since last year, when you first found us, the little ones want books.”
After moving to Fool’s Gold the previous year, Annabelle had started driving around to explore the area. She’d discovered the enclave of trailers, had met several of the women and made friends with the children. Maria had been the first to welcome her and had been enthusiastic about her idea of bringing books to community.
This year, Annabelle had created several reading lists, based on the ages of the children. She was working on getting donations so that when the families left, they would take plenty of books with them. Enough to last until they returned next year.
Maria had already set out iced tea and cookies. Annabelle poured them each a glass.
“Leticia is going to have her baby this week,” Maria said. “Her husband is frantic. Men have no patience with nature when it comes to their children. He asks every day, ‘Is it now?’ As if the baby is going to tell him.”
“He sounds excited.”
“He is. And frightened.” She called out something in Spanish.
“Sí, Mama,” came the response.
Maria smiled. “They’re writing down the titles of the books they took, and what they want for next time.”
“I’ll be back next week.” Annabelle lowered her voice. “I have several of those romances you like, as well.”
Maria grinned. “Good. We all like them.”
Annabelle wanted to offer more, which was why she was focused on getting the money for the bookmobile. With luck, this time next year she would be bringing a lot more than three or four bins of books in the trunk of her car. She would be able to offer free internet access. Maria and her friends could email with family members in different countries and use various web resources to supplement their children’s education.
“Blanca’s engaged,” Maria said with a sigh.
“Congratulations.”
“I told you, good men are out there.”
“Yes, in Bakersfield. You told me.” Maria’s eldest daughter had studied nursing, then moved to central California.
“He’s a doctor.”
Annabelle laughed. “Every mother’s dream.”
“She’s happy and that matters most, but yes, I like saying my daughter is marrying a doctor. Have you been to the hospital lately?”
“That was subtle.”
“You need a man.”
Just then a little boy ran up to her, a small jar in his hands. He stopped in front of Annabelle and grinned. “We found ’em and saved ’em. Because you bring us books.”
She took the jar full of pennies. “Thank you, Emilio. This is going to help a lot.”
He darted off and she carefully held the precious gift. Technically it was only a couple of dollars, but for the children who had collected the pennies, it represented a fortune.
“You’ve made a wonderful home for your children,” she said. “All of you. You should be very proud of them.”
“We are. But don’t think I’ve forgotten what we were talking about. Finding you a good man.”
“I’m ready for a good man,” she admitted. She thought about her post-bar-dancing revelation. “One who wants me for me. Not someone who wants to change me. I haven’t been lucky enough to find him yet.”
“Luck can change.”
“I hope so.”
She thought