Heart and Soul

There had to be men like that somewhere in the world. All she wanted was the right man. The best man. Someone she could love with all her heart.

Yeah, like they just fell out of the sky like rain.

She checked the water in the trough, poured grain, forked fresh alfalfa into the feeder and gave Keno one last hug before she locked the stall gate after her. She hadn’t felt this lonely in a long time, so why now?

Her steps echoed in the stable, melancholy sounding. She remembered when the stalls were full, and her sisters were always around, coming and going, cleaning stalls or grooming their horses. Now there was only the brush of dawn at the open doors as she stepped out into the morning alone.

Meeting Brody had done this. It made her wish—for one impossible second—that her life could change. That she could find love and a family of her own. That she would be able to be loved and to love, to give her soul mate all the love she’d been saving up in her heart just for him.

Whoever he was.

Well, not Brody. That was for sure.

At least it was Friday. She’d better remember to give her sisters a call—well everyone but Kristin because she lived in Seattle—and set up a game tonight. It was her turn to host. What was she gonna do for food?

They could barbecue, but then she was a disaster when it came to Dad’s propane grill. She’d set the cobs of corn on fire last time. She wasn’t the best cook, so she didn’t want to torture her sisters with some lame casserole. Wait, maybe she’d pick up a take-and-bake pizza from town. Perfect.

Feeling a little better, she kicked off her boots at the back steps and skidded to a stop in the threshold.

There, seated at the round oak table in the kitchen’s sunny eating nook was a dark-haired man. She recognized the tousled shanks of hair and the long powerful curve of his shoulder and back.

Brody. He was here? He hadn’t left?

Her knees felt unsteady, so she leaned against the door frame realizing too late that she’d swept her sleep-rumpled hair into a ponytail, and she hadn’t showered. Without makeup, and wearing a pair of old cut-offs, she had to look totally gross. She had to smell like her horse.

She was afraid Brody was going to leap out of his chair in horror and run on his injured ankle for the hills.

She couldn’t blame him if he did.

“Here, Michelle, honey.” Her mom noticed her first as she turned from the stove. “You’re just in time. Do you have a full morning at the Snip & Style?”

“Yeah.” Somehow she managed to talk like a normal person—with consonants and vowels and words and everything. “I’m, uh, didn’t know Brody was here.”

It was the nicest surprise ever.

He twisted in the chair, hooking his arm around the ladder back, looking like a dream come true as he smiled. Slow. Steady. “Your mom offered me breakfast and I’m not about to turn down a home-cooked meal. Mrs. McKaslin, I can’t remember when I’ve had such a privilege.”

“Goodness, you’re awfully well mannered for a biker.” Michelle’s mom tried to look stern, but pink blushed her face as she set two more plates on the table. She was pleased with the compliment. “Call me Alice. Michelle, I put your plate in the oven to keep warm. Mick’s is in there, too.”

“He’s not with Dad?”

“He’s not up yet. He’s not answering his phone, anyway.”

Michelle knew better than to say anything more. She grabbed a hot pad from the hook on the wall and found her plate in the oven. Uncle Mick was a sore point in the family. Her stomach tightened with worry over it as she headed to the table.

“Who’s Mick?” Brody asked, absently, as if to make conversation in the suddenly tense silence.

“My uncle.” Michelle dropped into the chair closest to him. “He’s going through a divorce and lost his job, so Dad hired him on to help out this summer.”

“Hmmph!” was the only comment Alice McKaslin made as she switched the burners and set the frying pan heavy with hot grease on a trivet to cool.

Brody quirked his left brow.

Michelle knew his question. She didn’t even need to ask. How weird was that? “Uncle Mick is Dad’s favorite brother. I was named after him. I was supposed to be a boy, so they named me Michelle instead of Michael. Anyway, Uncle Mick’s not the most responsible of men. He’s a rad uncle, but he’s—”

“—never grown up, and that’s not attractive in a forty-nine-year-old man.” Her mother’s stern look said everything. “Now, it’s time for grace.”

Michelle clasped her hands and bowed her head during the prayer. As she whispered an amen, she looked at Brody and wondered. Was it chance that he’d landed here? Or was he part of a bigger plan?

He looked noble with his high proud cheekbones and the slant of his straight nose. He sat straight in the chair, head bowed forward as he added a silent prayer to the end of her mother’s grace.

Okay, she had to like him even more for that—if it was possible to like him any more than she already did. He was so sincere and faithful as he muttered an amen and reached for his fork. He looked a little sheepish as he caught her watching him.

“I always say a prayer for my mom and dad. They’re in heaven.” He shrugged as if a little embarrassed.

Could he be more perfect?

“Brody,” Alice said as she poured a glass of milk, “where are you from? That’s some accent you’ve got.”

“Me? I thought I’d gotten rid of that. I’ve lived in the West so long, it’s practically gone.” He shook his head when Alice offered him the creamer. He lifted the steaming cup of coffee by his plate and sipped. Savored. Swallowed. “Sure is good, ma’am. I’m from West Virginia.”

“Goodness. That sure is a long ways from here. Did you live there long?”

“Born and raised.” Brody dug into the delicious-looking hash browns—so buttery and golden crisp and made from real shredded potatoes. He took it as another sign he was on the right path. “I’m a country boy at heart, even though I moved to the city when I was twelve.”

“Was that in West Virginia, too?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He felt the steel around his heart harden. There were a lot of things he didn’t like to think too much about. Spending his teen years in a boys’ home for lack of foster care was one of them. He cleared his throat, tried to keep his mind focused. To not let the sadness of his past effect the quality of his present life.

“Mom, you’re being nosy again.” Michelle’s eyes sparkled with those little glints of blue sapphire that could captivate the most professional, dedicated agent. “You don’t have to give us your life history. Where are you headed next when you get your bike?”

“I don’t rightly know.” That was the truth. He was ready to go on about how he’d be heading up to Glacier, that was the background story he’d hatched up, but the truth sidetracked him.

He had vague ideas about what he wanted to do when he left, but he didn’t have a set plan. It bothered him. The past ten years at the Bureau had been demanding work—long hard hours, constant travel, tough assignments and dangerous missions.

It wore on a man. Chiseled at his soul.

He believed in the power of prayer. He figured he’d leave it in God’s hands. That the good Lord would point him in the right direction.

“Surely you have family back in West Virginia. You’re eventually headed back there?” Alice McKaslin prompted.

“I don’t have any family.”

“What? No family?” Tenderhearted Michelle sat wide-eyed, watching him carefully.

His heart stopped beating. Why was he reacting to her this way? Just because she looked like everything right in the world, with her hair tied back in that bouncy ponytail and her honest face more beautiful without a hint of makeup, it didn’t mean that he should notice her.

He was on a mission. He needed to stay focused.