The Last Cowboy. Lindsay McKenna

and not Western-style riding.” It wasn’t a lie. He just didn’t want to get into the painful and private parts of his divorce with Jordana. Oddly, as Slade watched her put the saddle over the aluminum rack on the oak wall, he thought Jordana might not only understand, but be sympathetic toward him. Isabel had taken him for everything. He’d lost so much in the divorce.

      Jordana would clean her gear later. Right now, Stormy was wet and sweaty and needed to be bathed over at the shower barn. “Guilty on all counts,” she said, walking past him.

      “Were you always around horses?” he wondered, walking with her to the shower barn.

      “My father is a cardiac surgeon and my mother was an Olympic dressage champion. I feel like I got the best genes from both of them,” she told him, a warm feeling in her heart for her parents.

      “They still live in New York City?” Slade liked talking with her a lot more than he thought he would. He saw her smile dissolve and her features become sad.

      “They died in an airplane crash five years ago.”

      “I’m sorry,” Slade muttered, meaning it.

      “So am I,” Jordana said quietly. She halted at the showering area. Dropping the halter lead, she slid the door open. Mustering a slight smile, she picked up the lead and asked Slade, “What about your parents? Do they live nearby? I’ve never seen anyone but you and Shorty here at the ranch.”

      As Slade watched her lead Stormy into the shower stall and put the cross ties on her mare’s halter, he found himself wanting to tell her the truth. Walking around the horse and staying far enough away from getting splattered with water, he said, “Red Downing, who was Curt Downing’s father, crashed into my parents’ truck. They died instantly. He was drunker than a skunk.”

      Jordana froze when she heard his words hesitantly tear out of him. She recalled Shorty telling her about his parents but decided to hear his version of it. Looking over, she saw pain in Slade’s face. For the first time, he’d unveiled his armor and she got to see the human in him. There was such grief in his eyes it tore at her heart.

      “I’m so sorry, Slade. I really am. How tragic…”

      “Yeah, it was. In more ways than one,” he muttered, crossing his arms. Leaning against the wall as she began to use the shower hose to wet Stormy down, he added, “Me and my fraternal twin brother, Griff, were orphaned at six years old. My parents had left us the ranch in their will, but we were too young to run it. My dad had two older brothers, Paul and Robert. Griff moved back East with Uncle Robert. I stayed out here with Uncle Paul and Aunt Patty. Together, they took over the running of our ranch.”

      Jordana took a plastic brush and began gently scrubbing Stormy’s neck. She stood quietly, appreciating the tepid water. Looking over her back, Jordana realized that Slade was this way because of the early loss of his parents. She tried to put herself in his place. Wouldn’t she toughen up, too? Would the world look scary and uncertain to Slade and his brother? Very. Gently, she asked, “Is your brother Griff also an endurance rider?” She had never seen him on the circuit.

      Giving her a jaded look, Slade felt helpless to stop from telling her about his painful past. “No. Griff went back to New York City with Uncle Robert and his wife. He’s never cared about the ranch.”

      “Ah, this is where city slicker comes in?” she teased softly and added a smile. Slade’s face went dark, and he refused to meet her gaze. Oops. She’d said the wrong thing. Scrubbing Stormy’s withers with a soft rubber brush where the saddle sat, Jordana made sure to get all the grit and dust washed off her because it could cause inflammation and create a saddle sore if she didn’t.

      Battling his sudden emotions that rose unexpectedly within him, Slade muttered, “My younger brother is a Wall Street broker. He got sent to Harvard and has an MBA. He followed in my Uncle Robert’s footsteps.”

      “I see,” Jordana said, moving the brush and the water down the center of Stormy’s gray back. “Does he visit often?”

      Shaking his head, Slade said, “Griff likes New York. He likes the East, the big money he makes, the power he has, the women who like to follow the money trail. He doesn’t have time for our family’s ranch.”

      The hurt was so evident that Jordana couldn’t shield herself from his sadness. All of a sudden, she wanted to drop the brush and shower wand, run over to Slade and throw her arms around him. In that split second, he looked like the grief-stricken six-year-old who had had his family suddenly torn away from him. Privileged to see the real man, Jordana stood there unable to say or do anything. She couldn’t run over and embrace him. What Slade needed was to be held, rocked, nurtured and kept safe. Now, she was seeing a little of how he saw life. It was a hard life. It took those he loved away from him. And speaking about his brother tore away a new scab that hadn’t really healed at all. Moistening her lips, Jordana said, “Sometimes, life is harsh.”

      He snorted, allowed his arms to fall to his side and glared at her. Scared that he’d opened up to this woman, who was really a stranger to him, had him feeling uneasy. “That’s right. It always is. I’ll see you in three days.”

      Watching Slade leave, Jordana saw how quickly he closed up once more. His eyes, however, couldn’t lie. She saw such anguish in them that it made her want to cry. And he would never allow her close to him. Like the hurt animal he was, he’d bite anyone’s hand offering help. Sighing, she continued to scrub Stormy free of sweat and dust. The first clap of thunder rolled across the land. Looking up, she saw the churning gray and black clouds racing down upon the valley. Soon, it would pour rain in buckets. Was the sky already crying for the pain that Slade McPherson carried daily within him? No parents were here to love and guide him. No one to help him grow up safe and nurtured. No wonder he was a loner….