Melissa gave her hands a puzzled look.
“She hasn’t a clue,” said Jared, hit with an unexpected flash of pity. Maybe she was running from an angry ex. He quickly reined in his thoughts. None of his business.
“You sure you don’t want me to introduce you?” Stephanie singsonged.
Jared turned Tango toward the house. “You going to show me your trophy or what?”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“Yes, I can.” But Jared glanced over his shoulder one last time as they moved away. Manure fork balanced in the crook of her elbow, the woman named Melissa was wriggling her fingers into the pair of stiff leather gloves. The fork slipped and banged to the wooden floor. The sound startled a horse. The horse startled the woman. She tripped on the fork and landed with a thud on her backside.
Their gazes met once more, his amused, hers annoyed.
He turned away, but the flash of emerald stayed with him as he followed Stephanie to the hitching rail in front of the house.
Two
By the end of the day, the bruise on Melissa’s left butt cheek had settled to a dull ache.
While she swept the last of the straw from the stable floor, a late-model Bentley rumbled its way to the front of the farmhouse. The glossy black exterior might be dusty, but it was still one impressive automobile. And the chauffeur who jumped out of the driver’s seat was crisp in his uniform.
She moved into the oversize doorway, leaning on the end of the broom handle while she waited to see who would emerge from the backseat.
It was an older man, distinguished in a Savile Row suit. He was tall, with a head of thick silver hair. He nodded politely to the chauffeur, then headed up the stairs to the wraparound porch, where both Stephanie and Jared appeared to greet him and usher him inside.
The chauffeur shut the car door. He glanced curiously around the ranch yard before moving to open the trunk. Melissa peered at the house, but there was no way to guess what was going on inside. The man might be a friend, or perhaps he was a business associate.