The Express Rider's Lady. Stacy Henrie

Clay, who taught us that. He was a farmer.”

      “Your sister had a beau?”

      “Still does. That’s who she followed to California and who she’s marrying on the twenty-second.” And the next day, Lillie and Clay would head to Oregon. Never to see or contact the family again, according to Lillie’s last letter, if she didn’t receive some word by then that Delsie still cared.

      Myles entered the stall where Delsie’s mare stood. “Let me guess—your father didn’t approve of him.” His voice sounded flat, bitter. His manner was so different from when he’d woken her up in the saddle earlier.

      Heat layered her face. “Papa had hoped she’d marry...” It was her turn to swallow back the rest of her words. She found she suddenly couldn’t say someone rich or of the same social circle as her family. Someone like Flynn.

      “I get it,” Myles said, his tone no longer harsh but full of resignation. Silence descended between them as he began brushing the mare. Delsie watched him, mesmerized by the movement of his hands and the gentle murmurs falling from his mouth. Here he was in his element, like a duke in his castle.

      “May I try?”

      He jerked his head in her direction as if he’d forgotten her presence. “What? Brushing?”

      She nodded. “I own them now, which means I ought to know how to care for them.”

      Myles looked from her to the brush in his hand as if making a weightier decision than whether to teach her horse grooming or not. “All right.”

      Smiling, Delsie entered the stall. “What do I do?”

      “Stand beside the horse,” he said, moving behind her and pressing the brush into her hand, though he kept both in his grip. “Start up here on the animal’s neck...” He lifted his arm, bringing her hand and the brush along with it, then he placed both against the mare. “Now you brush from front to back.”

      Together they moved the brush along the horse’s side. “Then you repeat the motion,” Myles said near her ear.

      Gooseflesh rose along her arms, which thankfully, her long sleeves hid from view, at the low murmur of his voice and the warmth radiating from his solid chest behind her. When he leaned forward to help her again, his breath grazed the skin at the back of her neck. Delsie shivered, despite the temperate air inside the stable.

      Myles stopped their motion, though their joined hands still held the brush to the horse’s coat. Even the mare itself stood perfectly still. Delsie held her breath, anticipating something, though she didn’t know what.

      A soft touch skated her hair above her ear. Her heart drummed faster against her rib cage as she realized Myles was breathing in the scent of her hair.

      “It smells like...” His nose skimmed her hair again.

      “Lavender?” she whispered. After another full day of riding, she was surprised to learn she still smelled like her favorite soap and not just sweat and horse.

      “Yes, lavender.” His voice held a smile. “Smells better than gardenias.”

      Gardenias? Was that what his girl had worn, the one who’d bludgeoned his heart? Intent on asking him just that, Delsie lowered her arm and twisted slowly. Myles still held her hand over the brush and stood so close she could see where the sun had lightened some of the hairs of his beard. What would those dark bristles feel like beneath her fingertips? She lifted her free hand to find out.

      A throat cleared behind them, as loud as a gunshot in the quiet barn. Myles jerked his hand from hers so fast that she dropped the brush into the hay at their feet.

      “Came to see if you needed help,” Amos announced.

      Delsie bent to retrieve the brush and hide her flushed face. Myles practically bolted from the stall. “I think you got the hang of it,” he said when she straightened. He wouldn’t look at her. “Amos can show you how to feed them. I’m gonna get me some supper.”

      Moving to the other side of her mare, she tried to ignore the sound of Myles’s retreating steps and the searching glances Amos kept throwing her way. She ran the brush over and over across the horse’s coat, fighting a sudden desire to cry.

      Why should she waste a single tear on that ornery Express rider? They came from two completely different worlds, as Myles himself seemed to enjoy pointing out. Even if her heart should stray from what her father wanted for her, she’d witnessed firsthand what Lillie’s choice had done to him. While Delsie didn’t agree with his decision to disown her sister for going after Clay, deep down, she recognized he’d only wanted the best for Lillie. His wrath had masked his fear. She wouldn’t follow the same path and tear apart what remained of their small family.

      “You all right, Miss Radford?” Amos held a pitchfork in his hand.

      “Of course.” She kept her head tilted high, but she sensed the older man saw through the bluff.

      Why did she have to feel this attraction toward Myles, one stronger than any she’d ever felt for Flynn, and after only two days? She needed to place all her energies and focus on reaching Lillie in time, and nothing more.

      “Will you show me how to feed the horses?” she asked, infusing as much cheerfulness as she could into her tone.

      Amos watched her, his blue-gray eyes keen. What did he see? Did he read the hurt on her face over Myles’s rude behavior just now, how he’d acted as if nothing had happened between them? Could Amos see how hard she was trying not to care? Finally, the older man nodded and motioned for her to exit the stall.

      The lesson proved to be the perfect distraction. Amos patiently taught her how to pitch the hay into the stall and how to feed some carrots to the mare. Perhaps she’d take more interest in the animals and in riding, when she returned home.

      By the time they left the stable, Delsie had almost forgotten Myles and his shifting moods—until they met up with him on the front porch. He sat on the bottom step, feeding Elijah pieces of meat from his supper. Amos took a seat beside Myles and removed his harmonica from his pocket.