Sarah's Legacy

Considering that the animal was leery of humans and had yet to let her close enough to touch him, the task might be easier said than done. How could she get a dog that had obviously been abused, and therefore trusted no one, to come to her? Especially when he didn’t even have a name. Rolling her eyes, Bailey headed toward the barn. The bag of dog food she’d stored in the feed room stood against one wall. She scooped some into a stainless-steel dish and hurried outside.

Putting her fingers to her lips, she let out a shrill whistle that immediately snagged the attention of both man and dog. Bailey ignored Trent and focused on the dog. “Here, boy!” She rattled the food inside the dish. “Come and get it.” The dog had slowed his step and now glanced from the horses, which still raced in circles, to her, then back to the horses. He gave chase once more, and Bailey moved toward him, willing herself to walk. She didn’t want to scare him, yet the angry posture of Trent’s shoulders warned her she’d better reach the dog before he did.

She called to the animal again. This time he looked warily over his shoulder at Trent and immediately made a beeline for her. “That’s it! Come on.” She rattled the food, and the dog slowed to a trot and halted several feet away, tongue lolling over black lips. He pinned his upright ears, the black-and-white speckled tip of his tail drooping behind him, his stance indicating that he was ready to bolt at the first sign of a suspicious move on her part. She crooned reassuringly to him, and he flicked his ears forward and cocked his head.

Bailey bent over at the waist, trying to make herself appear smaller and less threatening. “Here, boy. I’ve got some dinner for you.” The dog took a hesitant step forward. “That’s right. Come on.” Walking half backward, she began a slow retreat toward the barn, holding the dish out before her. “It’s okay.”

The dog shot Trent another glance and seemed to decide his best option was the safety of Bailey’s company. He loped after her, and she walked a little faster. Reaching the open doorway of the barn, she set the food dish down in the aisle. The dog stopped and stared at her. His ribs showed through his black coat, and her heart went out to him. She couldn’t stand to see an animal hungry. “Go on, boy. Dinner’s waiting.”

He edged toward the doorway, nose quivering as he sniffed the air. Scenting the food, he darted inside and thrust his muzzle into the dish. Bailey crept forward, whispering an apology to the animal. She’d planned to tame him gradually, and had tried not to do anything to scare him or betray his trust. But shutting him in the barn seemed to be in his best interest at the moment. After sliding the heavy door closed on its track, she slipped the latch into place, heaved a sigh of relief and turned around.

Trent Murdock stood behind her, so close she could make out every murderous frown line that creased his forehead.

“Lady,” he snapped, “if that’s your dog, you’re in more trouble than you ever bargained for.”

Bailey set her jaw.

She didn’t doubt it for a minute.

But if Trent wanted to fight, she was game.

CHAPTER TWO

TRENT FOUGHT the urge to throttle both the dog and the woman. He pushed his cap back on his head, crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Bailey Chancellor.

“He’s not my dog,” she said. “Well—not exactly. But anyway, he didn’t hurt anything.” She folded her arms and stared defiantly at him.

Trent stared back, unable to believe his ears. “He ran my horses through the fence!”

The expression in Bailey’s violet eyes flickered, and Trent’s heart gave the smallest jump—just enough to make him wary. He was furious with her. He refused to feel anything else.

“They didn’t get cut, did they?” Bailey asked uncertainly. “They seem all right—the way they’re running around.” She looked at the horses, and Trent did, too. They’d calmed down some, now that the dog was out of sight, and moved in slower circles around the pasture.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll have to catch them and see.”

“All right, then.” Bailey unfolded her arms and walked away, looking at him over her shoulder. “Coming?”

Surely she didn’t mean to help him. But that was exactly her intention. “I don’t have a halter yet,” she said. “We’ll have to get a couple from your place.” She paused long enough to grace him with a firm stare. “Well, don’t just stand there with your mouth open. We’ve got horses to catch.”

Trent shook his head, not sure what to make of Bailey Chancellor. Maybe he’d misjudged her. She hadn’t struck him as the type to know a damn thing about horses. President of the bank, here from Denver, she’d caused a stir of gossip in town not matched since Jed Sanders had shot his brother in the leg for sleeping with Jed’s girlfriend. Rumor had it she planned to create a day care right at Colorado Western National for the children of the bank’s employees. Rumor also had it that the tough-as-nails woman just about everyone in town resented was behind the bank’s new policy that had led to the rejection of more than one farmer’s loan.

But Trent had seen a different Bailey Chancellor. The woman in a pink T-shirt and faded jeans, with tears in her eyes.

Shaking off the memory of Bailey in the cemetery, he followed her. She strode across the pasture, speaking soothingly to the horses, and headed for the downed fence. There she stopped, hands on hips, to survey the damage. “I’m glad to see it’s barbless wire,” she said. “Otherwise your horses could’ve been cut to ribbons.”

Temper bubbled anew within Trent as he halted beside her. Resting one hand on his hip, he gave her a humorless smile. “Really? Why, thanks for sharing that information with me, Ms. Chancellor. I’m much obliged.”

She frowned at him. “Don’t be sarcastic. I’m trying to help.”

“By telling me how to fence in my horses as though I don’t have a clue?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I was merely making an observation.” Coolly, she brushed his attitude aside. “So, where are the halters?”

“In the tack room.” He enunciated each word, stating the obvious. “I’ll get them. Think you can make sure those mares don’t run back through the downed wire?”

Bailey’s slight hesitation made Trent wonder if his original instincts were right. She appeared confident, yet something about her demeanor left him thinking she was a little wary of the horses.

“Fine,” Bailey said, turning to watch the mares. They now trotted around the pasture, ears alert, nostrils flared as they snorted loudly.

“You sure?” Trent asked.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Trent decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Okay, then. Be right back.” From the tack room in his barn, he took two halters and lead ropes, then returned to where Bailey waited.

He handed her a purple halter and rope, and for some stupid reason noted that it was damn near the same color as her eyes. Maybe his cap was on too tight. Bailey held the halter a bit awkwardly and fumbled with the buckle.

Amused, Trent watched. “You’ve got it backward,” he said, not sure what to make of the entire situation. Did she or did she not know how to handle a horse?

Bailey flushed and promptly turned the halter around, this time opening the buckle and holding it in the proper position. “I see that now,” she said. “Which horse do you want me to catch?”

“Dokina and Shafana are both alpha mares,” he said. “If we get them, the others should follow.” He produced a pair of wire cutters from his back pocket and snipped the downed strands of wire from the wooden post they’d been stapled to. Removing the wire was the only way to bring the horses safely back through the fence, since there was no gate in this section.

With Bailey’s help, Trent set aside the wire, disgusted that he’d have to restring it, thanks to the dog.

As though reading his mind, Bailey spoke. “I’ll help you put the fence back up later.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Yes, it is. My dog caused this.” With a sweep of her hand, she indicated the downed wire and the loose horses.

“I thought you said he wasn’t your dog.”

“He’s not exactly, but I hope he will be sooner or later. He’s a stray,” she clarified when he looked at her, curious. “I’ve been feeding him.”

“No wonder he seems familiar,” Trent said. “I’ve seen him around here before, several weeks ago, as a matter of fact, though he’s never chased my horses until now. I’m pretty sure he was dumped.”

“I can relate,” Bailey mumbled.

“How’s that?”

“Nothing. Which one is Dokina?” She walked toward the horses.

He followed. “The chestnut with the blaze and no stockings.” He fumbled in his pocket. “Here. You’ll need these.”

Bailey faced him, and he placed four horse cookies in her hand, trying not to notice how soft her skin was as his fingers brushed her palm. Come to think of it, she smelled good, too. She’d caught her hair up in a ponytail, and golden-brown wisps strayed around her face as the hint of a breeze stirred the air. Today, she wore a yellow T-shirt with her jeans, and the same sneakers she’d had on yesterday. She reminded him of sunshine and a fresh breath of air.

He didn’t want to notice that about her, didn’t want to experience the desire to touch her. Amy had left him, Sarah was gone, and he didn’t plan on feeling anything for anyone ever again.