to be cleaning the stalls?” she asked.
Frank shrugged. “Maybe.”
Anger flared and Lindsay came to a complete halt in front of the big cowboy her grandfather had hired several weeks ago. He had issues taking orders from a woman.
Lindsay didn’t have issues with calling him on it. “Either you are or you aren’t. Which is it?”
The man stepped up to her and looked down his nose into her eyes. “I can think of a lot more interesting things to do in a barn than mucking stalls.” He reached out and trailed his finger down her arm.
Lindsay knocked his hand away, rage burning a path up her chest into her cheeks. “Don’t. Ever. Touch me again.” She glared at him, her lips pressed tightly together. “Do you understand?”
He stepped closer, his chest pushing against hers. “Or what?”
Her heart hammering behind her rib cage, Lindsay refused to step back, refused to back down. “Or I’ll have your butt fired so fast you won’t know what happened.”
“Your grandfather hired me.”
“And I’m telling you, I can fire you.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Care to test the theory?”
Frank leaned down, his lips next to her ear. “Just so you know, no one fires Frank Dorian.”
A shadow blocked the sun streaming in through the barn’s open double doors. “Is there a problem here?”
The low, resonant voice raised gooseflesh along Lindsay’s arms. If she wasn’t so distracted by Frank, she’d swear the voice was familiar. Only one man she’d ever known had the ability to make her shiver all over. “Is there a problem, Frank?” Lindsay asked the man who’d just threatened her.
“No problem.” Frank stepped away from Lindsay and entered the dirty stall, pitchfork in hand.
As soon as he moved, a broad-chested man came into view. With his back to the outside door, his face remained in the shadows.
“Can I help you?” Lindsay asked, moving closer, the hairs on the back of her neck standing at attention, her knees suddenly wobbly.
“I thought maybe I could help you.”
That voice again.
Lindsay clutched the bridle with nerveless fingers, all the blood draining from her face. It couldn’t be. Not now. Not him.
As though dragged by an invisible rope, she moved closer until she could see the man’s face.
She gasped, her hand going to her throat and then reaching out toward him. He had to be a mirage. “Wade?”
The man with ice-blue eyes and coal-black hair nodded. “Hello, Ms. Kemp. Or should I say Mrs. Murphy?”
Chapter Two
Wade stared down into Lindsay’s gray-green eyes, drinking in every detail of her face from the finely arched brows to her stubborn chin and the freckles sprinkled liberally across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She’d pulled her glorious mane of fiery auburn hair up into a loose, messy knot, but curling wisps had escaped, framing her face, giving her a vulnerable appearance, belying her strength and fierce independence.
She took his breath away.
“What…” She gulped and started again. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Iraq, Afghanistan or somewhere dangerous.”
He shook his head. “Not anymore, unless you consider the Long K Ranch dangerous.” He had been in both Iraq and Afghanistan, and to hell and back. Nothing could be as bad as being in the sandbox of the Middle East.
“Why here?” Lindsay whispered. “Why now?”
“I’m home. Your grandfather hired me on as a ranch hand.”
Lindsay’s face paled and she blinked several times, her body swaying.
Wade reached for her, afraid she’d fall.
“No!” She held up her hand, knocking his away. “I don’t need you.”
“Sorry. You looked like you were going to faint.”
She squared her shoulders and looked down her nose at him. “Kemps don’t faint.” Even though she tried hard to look strong, her words shook, belying her tough stance.
As stubborn and beautiful as ever.
Seeing her made his chest ache. Wade forced himself to look away. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I have a riding lesson to teach. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Don’t you have better things to do in town?”
“I can’t imagine anything better than teaching disabled children to ride, can you?”
He smiled and brushed a hand along her cheek. As soon as he felt the smoothness of her skin, he regretted reaching out to her. But he couldn’t help himself. “Always taking care of people, aren’t you?”
“Yes. You got a problem with that?” She knocked his hand away again. “I take my work seriously.”
He’d expected her to be a full-time assistant for her husband, the good Dr. Murphy. He’d counted on it and could kick himself for his automatic response to her nearness, his desire to hold her, touch her, feel her lips against his.
Lindsay Kemp’s face had been what kept him alive throughout his captivity, what gave him the will to take the next breath. Even though he knew she’d married, that they could never be together, he’d lived to see her face again. “I would have thought you’d be working with the doctor now.”
Her auburn brows wrinkled. “Why would you think that?
“I didn’t think you’d still be working out here.” And if she worked at the Long K Ranch on a regular basis, his mission would be in jeopardy—his focus compromised. “What does your husband think of you coming out here?”
Her brows sank deeper over her eyes. “Husband?” Then her eyes widened and she shook her head. “I’m not married to Cal Murphy, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Wade stepped back, his heart skipping several beats before it slammed into his rib cage at a million beats per minute. “Not married? But I thought…”
“If you’d bothered to keep in touch, you’d have known that. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She pushed around him, hurrying toward the saddle racks where she selected a child’s saddle and flung it over her shoulder.
As if he’d just been punched in the gut, Wade stood rooted to the barn floor struggling to remember how to breathe. “What happened? Last time I was here, you were engaged.”
“It didn’t happen.” She marched toward the barn door, her gaze fully averted from him, she refused to meet his eyes.
Stunned by her revelation, it took Wade several seconds to come to grips. He sprang forward, blocking her exit. “Why?”
She stared up into his eyes. “Not because of you, if that’s what you think.”
He let the breath out that he’d been holding, slowly so that she couldn’t tell how much her answer had meant to him, and how much it hurt. “Let me help you.” He reached for the saddle, lifting it effortlessly.
“I don’t need help.” She jerked away, her face flaming a dull red. “I’ve managed on my own for years.”
“I know you don’t need help, but I work here now. Let me do my job.”
“As for that…we’ll see.” She clutched the bridle to her chest with one hand and yanked the saddle from his hands with the other. “In the meantime, don’t bother to unpack. I want to talk to my grandfather first.”
Lindsay