Sarah's Legacy. Brenda Mott

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СКАЧАТЬ Her death’s just too much for him to cope with. Like I said, no one talks about it.”

      Jenny paused for air and Bailey blinked. For a subject that was allegedly taboo, her secretary certainly hadn’t held back much. But then, that was Jenny, and Bailey was quickly learning that in a small town gossiping was highly rated.

      “Thank you, Jenny. I’ll keep that in mind.”

      BAILEY WORKED through her lunch hour and left the bank at two o’clock. Her furniture and other belongings were due to arrive at her house at two-thirty. She drove to the bed-and-breakfast where she’d been staying, changed into jeans and a T-shirt then headed for the farm. As she passed the cemetery, she glanced over at Sarah’s tree.

      Why had Trent put a Christmas tree on his little girl’s grave in the middle of August? And why did he continue to keep it decorated? She couldn’t shake the picture of him kneeling beside the grave yesterday, hanging a new ornament. Maybe he’d done it because yesterday had been the one-year anniversary of Sarah’s death. Jenny had said he hung a new one from time to time. It tugged at Bailey’s heart to ponder what occasions made him do so. The remembrance of a special day once shared with Sarah? Her birthday? The day she took her first step? God, how it must hurt to lose a child.

      She couldn’t begin to imagine the pain Trent suffered. She wished she could have somehow comforted him. Until yesterday morning when Camille Kendall, the owner of the bed-and-breakfast, had told her about the shortcut road that ran past Roth Hill Cemetery, she’d taken the long way around to get to her farm. That was why she hadn’t seen the cemetery and the tree sooner. Odd that she’d happened by on the day Trent visited Sarah’s grave—a day that surely caused him great sorrow.

      Maybe fate had thrown him in her path.

      Bailey shook off the thought. It was ridiculous. When she got involved with a man, it wouldn’t be Trent Murdock. Clearly, he carried a lot of baggage. She didn’t need that, no matter how much she sympathized with his loss. And he most certainly didn’t need her to comfort him. He obviously was a loner, just the type of man she’d vowed to avoid. She’d seen enough of men focused on their careers, men who didn’t want children. From what Jenny had said, the loss of his daughter had made Trent into just that kind of man.

      No, Bailey couldn’t let her feelings override good sense. The only thing Trent had to offer her was a horse, and she’d do well to remember that.

      She pulled onto County Road 311 and minutes later turned into her driveway. The farmhouse had been remodeled in years past and was in good shape for the most part, but it still needed a few little repairs here and there, some paint, a loving touch. She had nearly finished painting the inside. The repair work would come as she made time for it.

      The moving van arrived punctually, and Bailey spent the remainder of the afternoon directing the movers where to put the heaviest pieces of furniture. By six o’clock, she was hot, dusty and tired. But she was happy. She wandered from room to room, through rows of boxes, loving the way her furniture looked in the place. The big house seemed to swallow her possessions. She would have to accumulate things to fill it. The four bedrooms, living room, family room, dining room and spacious kitchen were a far cry from the two-bedroom apartment she’d rented in Denver.

      One day, Bailey promised herself, all the rooms would be filled, not just with furniture but with her family. She planned to have it all. The house with the white picket fence, a dog, a cat, a horse…and kids. Lots of kids. Whether she could find the right man to share her dream had yet to be seen. That was where her version of the all-American family often fell apart. She’d witnessed so many empty marriages, met so many shallow men, that she’d begun to wonder if real love and romance existed. The businesswoman in her said no. But that didn’t stop her from wanting children.

      Growing up, she’d lived in enough foster homes to know that thousands of kids out there needed parents and didn’t have them. She’d been one, and she longed to give a child what she’d never had, to complete the circle she’d traveled and close the empty space that had claimed a part of her life for so long. If she never found the right guy to marry, she would simply adopt children and raise them on her own. Her kids would never lack for love or for a true parent. They would have roots, and this wonderful farmhouse to call home.

      Bailey’s stomach growled, reminding her she’d skipped lunch. She ambled to the kitchen, where she grabbed a sandwich, then headed for the porch swing.

      The sound of hoofbeats reached her ears as she pushed open the screen door. Her mouth dropped at the sight of half a dozen horses galloping across her pasture. Heads held high, necks arched, they raced in a semicircle. Hot on their heels was the stray dog she’d been feeding for the past two weeks, and right behind the dog ran a figure in a ball cap and faded jeans.

      Quickly, Bailey set her sandwich plate on the porch railing and rushed down the steps. A jumble of thoughts filled her mind as she pushed through the pasture gate. From their dished faces, fine-boned heads and flowing tails lifted high in the air, she could tell the horses were Arabians, which could mean only one thing. The man in the ball cap, who continued to let out a steady stream of curses at the blue heeler-mix, could be none other than Trent Murdock.

      Her experience with horses went no further than the research she’d done in preparing to buy one. Still, it seemed to her that the most sensible thing to do to get the Arabians calmed down and under control was to first contain the dog.

      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 СКАЧАТЬ