gave her a rueful smile. “Even before you broke me out of jail. That seemed to give you a sense of your own power.”
She stared at him. She’d had no idea he’d realized that about her.
He went on, “I’ve barely seen you in the past fifteen years, but I know that’s probably still true.” He paused. When she didn’t answer, he prompted her. “Isn’t it?”
Lifting her chin, she gave him a steady look. “Yes, which is why I’ve got a successful business.”
“Which is why you look a little pale.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you ever get out in the sun? Take a hike? Go fishing?”
Glancing away, she didn’t answer but felt color rushing into her face.
“That’s better,” he said approvingly. “You know, Lisa, a person can be successful and still have some fun in life. Do you ever have fun?” He gave her a sly grin. “Other than with me?”
Lisa pressed her lips together. There was absolutely no way she was going to answer that.
He waited for a second, then turned on his winning smile, the one that was so warm and convincing. “Hey, how about I take you to lunch? Have you had lunch?”
She’d barely managed to keep down her breakfast. Lunch wasn’t even on her radar yet. She didn’t have to answer, though, because her intercom buzzed.
“Sorry to interrupt, Lisa,” Sandy said, “but Mayor Morton heard that Ben’s in town and says it’s urgent that he speak to him.”
“Ben?” The mayor’s voice boomed into the room, making both Lisa and Ben jump. “You in there? I’ve been trying to call you, but I guess I had the wrong number. I need to see you, and it’ll take a while.”
Ben gave Lisa a pained look as he called out, “Coming, Mayor Morton.”
The intercom clicked off and Ben stood. “He always thinks his business is more important than anyone else’s.”
Lisa knew that was true, but in spite of her determination to tell Ben about the baby, at this moment she could have kissed Harley Morton full on the lips.
Ben gave her a direct look. “I’ll call you later,” he said. “Please answer.”
He shut the door behind him, leaving Lisa to reach for the glass of water on her desk and gulp down a long drink to try to settle her stomach. She should have known he would seek her out when they were both back in Reston. She had avoided telling Ben about the baby long enough. It was time to take action. She couldn’t have him coming here, flirting with Sandy, interrupting the routine—reminding Lisa of the night they’d shared.
She wouldn’t tell him over the phone or at her place of business, though. She would go to his house at Riverbend Ranch later and tell him. That way, she could escape when she needed to.
* * *
BEN STOOD ON the bottom rail of the cedar fence and gazed across the pasture. Delighted, he grinned at the sight of a mare and her foal running through the dried grass, their hooves kicking up chunks of dirt as they went. Tailspin, so named because of the swirl of dark red spots that circled her rump, took her colt, Prince’s Folly, from one end of the pasture to the other. At three months the colt was similarly marked, but his spots were a darker red.
Ben was fascinated by the play of muscles beneath their shiny coats, their smooth-gaited run and their tricolored manes and tails—brown to red to blond—that rippled in the wind. He didn’t know if that type of mane was rare or not. He’d have to ask Jason Littletrees about it.
It was relaxing to watch the horses run, to see the mustangs adjusting to their new home. The simple pleasure of it was something he could understand.
Lisa Thomas was something he didn’t understand at all. He’d gone to see her as soon as he’d returned to this place, gotten the herd moved in with Jason’s help and settled a few other things. It annoyed him that she wouldn’t talk to him, and he didn’t like being annoyed. He liked things settled, his relationships uncomplicated, easy. Not that he and Lisa had any kind of relationship. They didn’t even have a friendship.
He could blame Harley Morton for interrupting them today, but the truth was he wasn’t sure he could have convinced Lisa to have lunch with him. She hadn’t wanted to talk to him and she’d looked pale and distressed—really distressed—to have him in her office. He wasn’t accustomed to having that effect on a woman.
“Ben.”
His dad’s voice broke into his thoughts. Ben had almost forgotten he was there.
“Yes?”
“Are you sure about this, son?” Jim McAdams asked, grunting slightly as he pulled himself up beside Ben on the tall fence. “What is the purpose of having horses you can’t race, or train to work cattle, or train for the rodeo?”
“What are you talking about, Dad? These mustangs can do all those things and more, and have been doing it for centuries.” Ben looked at his father, who just shook his head. “They’re not big, but they’re bred for endurance and can outdistance most other breeds. I can’t believe you’ve lived your whole life in southeastern Oklahoma and you’ve never heard of the Choctaw Wild Mustangs.”
“I’ve heard of them. I just never saw any reason to own or breed them. I can’t believe Jason has talked you into starting your own herd. You don’t know much about horses.”
“I’ll learn. Besides, it’s an opportunity to help save the Oklahoma Heritage Horse.” Ben liked the idea of preserving the breed for posterity. And why not? He had the money and the resources.
Jim hooked an arm around a tall fence post and rubbed his chin. “Yeah, I guess that’s important, but it sounds expensive.”
Ben’s lips twisted ironically. “I don’t doubt it for a minute, but it’ll be worth it.”
“To each his own, I guess. I’ve given up trying to keep track of all the things you want to spend your money on.”
With a chuckle Ben said, “That’s probably a good choice.”
He watched as Jim looked around at the acreage that encompassed Riverbend Ranch, so named because the Kinnick River made a dogleg bend at the edge of the property. The grass-covered land, long since shorn of all but a few stands of trees, sloped to a stock pond then lifted to rolling hills. The acreage was big enough for the herd of thirty mustangs to run free, but the pastures were secured by solid fences. Two wooden barns were situated beside the corral, and the house stood on a rise a few hundred yards away.
Even at his most generous, the only word Ben could think of to describe it was ramshackle.
The main house had been built in the nineteen twenties, added onto several times since then and been unoccupied for many years. The floors were a patchwork of wood—some maple, some pine—and none of them flush. Most had a strip of wood at the bottom of the doorway to smoothen the transition from one room to the next, but Ben had tripped a dozen times already. He’d finally learned to walk on his heels and lift his toes when going from one room to another to minimize the danger of falling.
Most of the doors had warped in the heat and humidity of past summers so that now only a few of them would close all the way. The ones that did close were hard to open, only coming free with hard jerks and a few well-placed kicks. All the electrical and plumbing needed to be updated and the place cried for paint and wallpaper. His great-grandmother would probably have felt right at home with the ancient appliances in the kitchen.
But Ben didn’t care what the place looked like or how inconvenient it was. He’d never been a nester. Too many other things to do. Once he got the herd established, he wouldn’t be there much.
“I’d tear that house down if I were you. Build a smaller one,” Jim said. “It’s falling apart, anyway, and much too big for one person.” He gave Ben a sidelong look. “Unless you plan to have a family to fill