Remember My Touch

He began loosening the girth, working one-handed. The task he’d set for himself wasn’t any easier than the awkward dismount had been, but it was easier than the saddling up. At least this time he didn’t have to resort to using his teeth.

“Why don’t you—” Chase began.

“I rode him. I’ll take care of him,” Mac said succinctly. His own voice was the one now filled with anger, but it wasn’t directed at Chase. Of course, his brother could have no way of understanding that.

He had almost fooled himself into thinking none of this mattered, Mac thought. At least he had felt that way for the ten minutes he’d spent with Jenny this morning. But this was reality, the day-to-day frustration of his body’s weakness that he’d dealt with for five years, and as he struggled with the task he’d set for himself, he acknowledged that reality was an unforgiving taskmaster.

He took a breath, thinking now about having to lift the saddle off and carry it into Samantha’s immaculate stable. At least there was no one around but Chase. If he dropped the damn thing, he knew his brother wouldn’t laugh.

Or maybe it would be better if he did, Mac admitted. That would have been more natural in their previous relationship than Chase’s damned hovering concern was.

“Don’t you have something else you ought to be tending to?” Mac asked, his gaze still on the smooth leather of the saddle and Harry’s broad back that he had to lift it over.

“Not a thing,” Chase said. “And if I did, I’d let it wait. I wouldn’t miss seeing you make an idiot of yourself for anything in this world. I always knew you were the most stubborn, muleheaded, ornery—”

In the midst of Chase’s tirade, Mac lifted, with his right hand under the saddle, but his left arm having to do most of the work, of course. The heavy saddle cleared, but barely. The weight of it when it did was far more than he’d expected. More than he had remembered a saddle weighed. But then he hadn’t ridden in over five years.

There were a lot of things you could forget in five years, he thought, carrying the saddle toward the open door of the stable. Suddenly, picturing the laughing commendation in Jenny’s brown eyes when he’d managed to get back on Harry without ending up on his ass in the cactus, Mac McCullar also acknowledged that there were a whole hell of a lot more of them that he had never forgotten. And never would.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN JENNY APPROACHED the old cottonwood that stood in the yard of Chase’s place, she could see her brother-in-law’s familiar figure near the stables. Harry had already been un-saddled, and Chase was running a practiced hand over the stallion’s neck. There was no sign of Matt Dawson.

“Looks like Harry survived his outing,” Jenny said when she had ridden close enough for comfortable conversation.

“It wasn’t Harry I was worried about.”

Chase was angry. Jenny knew him well enough to recognize that from the cold blue steel of his eyes, which had briefly cut up to meet hers. They had already returned to their examination of the stallion before she had time to read whatever else had been in them.

“You surely weren’t worried about him,” Jenny said softly.

Evidently, that comment made perfect sense to Chase, for his eyes lifted again, this time holding hers.

“He looks capable of dealing with just about anything to me,” Jenny continued. “In spite of,” she added, acknowledging and dismissing Matt Dawson’s handicaps at the same time. “A friend of yours?”

“Is that what he told you?”

She was aware that Chase was avoiding giving her any additional information. “That’s what he said,” she agreed.

“Then I guess that’s right.” The blue eyes met hers openly now, almost daring her to probe further.

“Did you really think he was going to fall off?” Jenny asked. She didn’t try to conceal her amusement over the idea of Chase worrying about Matt Dawson.

“I thought it was a distinct possibility.”

“And you were afraid you and Samantha would be held responsible?”

“Hell, it wouldn’t be my fault if he’s too bullheaded for his own good,” Chase said, his anger finally breaking through his control.

“I told him he didn’t look like that big a fool,” Jenny said. “He didn’t seem to be too concerned with hearing my opinion, either.”

“Maybe he had just decided, ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’” a deep voice suggested.

Matt Dawson was standing in the shadows of the doorway that led into the stable, watching them. At least, Jenny thought he had been watching. Obviously he’d been there long enough to have overheard part of their conversation.

“And what did you gain?” she asked, fighting the urge to smile at him.

“Probably nothing more than a few aches and pains in places I’d forgotten I have.”

“It would have served you right if he’d thrown you off on your ass,” Chase said.

“In my opinion,” Jenny said, “that seemed the furthest thing from Harry’s mind.”

The left corner of Matt Dawson’s mouth lifted minutely and then settled back into place. Despite the number of times Jenny had now seen that movement, something fluttered inside again, shifting deep within her body, warm and undeniably intriguing.

“Sheer, blind luck,” Chase suggested.

“Obviously, you two are old friends,” Jenny said, smiling.

“Obviously,” Matt agreed.

It was only what he had already told her. All he had told her. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she decided. “A friendship from when you worked together in DEA?” she asked politely.

There was a small silence. Chase hadn’t looked at the man standing behind him, but he had wanted to. Jenny knew him well enough to have recognized that desire as well as she had recognized his anger, even before it was expressed.

“Aunt Jenny! Aunt Jenny’s here!”

The childish shout distracted Jenny, at least momentarily, from her pursuit of the shared past of Matt Dawson and Chase. She turned in the saddle and saw that Chase and Samantha’s daughter Amanda was already running down the steps of the porch to join them. Jenny dismounted quickly and prepared for the little girl’s always-enthusiastic welcome.

She bent down just in time to catch the small body that came hurtling toward her. Small, softly rounded arms fastened around Jenny’s neck, and the sweet talcum-fragrance of the little girl surrounded her. She lifted Mandy in a hug and swung her around and around in a circle.

Jenny gradually slowed and then stopped the circle, setting the child down on her toes, carefully holding on to her forearms until Mandy got her balance.

“I slept in Mama and Daddy’s room last night ’cause we have company,” Amanda announced. She was still wearing her nightgown, and her voice was full of self-importance.

“You did?” Jenny asked, smiling at her.

Mandy nodded, her blue McCullar eyes widened with the pleasure of having news that exciting to share with her beloved Aunt Jenny. “On a pallet on the floor by their bed.”

Jenny glanced at Chase’s face, and his expression was more revealing than he had intended, she was sure. Her gaze moved automatically to Matt Dawson and found the same quick amusement she had felt at Mandy’s words reflected in his harsh features.

“That’s…wonderful,” Jenny said. She had had to fight answering Matt’s amusement, had had to force her eyes to return to the little girl. Mandy’s hair was loose, tangled from sleep, blond curls trailing over the thin white lace-trimmed gown. Her eyelids were still just a little puffy with sleep and her feet were bare.

Amanda always looked just exactly as a little girl should look, Jenny thought. Small and sweet and infinitely happy. She didn’t think she could have loved a child of her own any more than she loved this one. Maybe that was because Mandy looked exactly like the babies Jenny had always dreamed she and Mac would have.

Jenny McCullar’s lips tilted slightly in remembrance of those long-anticipated babies, and then suddenly, the unexpected and unwanted surge of emotion caused by that memory caught her by surprise, making her eyes sting.

Disgusted with her seemingly constant urge these days to cry every time she thought about Mac, she looked up, determinedly blinking away the hated moisture. Her eyes met and then locked with the dark intensity of Matt Dawson’s.