To Have And To Hold: Made for Marriage / To Wed a Rancher / The Mummy Proposal. Helen Lacey

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      Callie drew in a deep breath. “We’re not dating. We’re friends.”

      Lily nodded but clearly wasn’t convinced. Callie remained in the arena until Lily had led the horse into the stables. She wiped her hands down her jeans, tightened the hat on her head and walked toward the house. He wasn’t on the porch. The side gate was open and she headed around the back. Noah was by the fence, pulling off a couple of loose palings, while Tessa bounced around his feet.

      “Lesson finished?” He spoke before she even made it twenty feet from him.

      “Yes. She did a great job. A few more lessons and she’ll be ready for her own horse.”

      He kept pulling at the palings. “I’m nearly done here.”

      Callie took a long breath and stepped forward. “I was talking with Lily,” she said, watching as he kept working. “She knows … I mean, she thinks there’s something going on between us,” she blurted.

      “I’m sure you set her straight.”

      He was angry.

      “I said we were just friends.”

      He glanced at her but didn’t respond. Callie took another step and called the pup to heel. But Tessa, the traitor, remained by Noah’s side. He popped the palings in place with a few deft swings of the hammer.

      “Sure, whatever.” He started walking past her but Callie reached out and touched his shoulder to stop him. He looked at her hand and then into her eyes. “What?”

      “Exactly,” she said, digging her fingers into his solid flesh. “What’s wrong?”

      He didn’t move. “Nothing.”

      A big fat whopping lie—and they both knew it. “Are you mad or something?”

      “No.” He still hadn’t moved.

      “So, we’re … okay?”

      He shrugged. “Sure.”

      Callie dropped her hand and felt the loss of touch immediately. He looked tense. More than that … he looked as wound up as a coil.

      “Noah,” she breathed his name on a sigh. “If you—”

      “Just drop it, Callie,” he said quietly. “I have to get going. See you later.”

      She stared after him and watched his tight-shouldered walk with a heavy feeling in her chest. She almost called after him. Almost. Tessa followed before she turned back and sat at Callie’s boots. She touched the dog’s head and the pup whined.

      “Yeah … I know what you mean, girl,” she said and waited until his truck started up and headed down the driveway.

      She lingered for a moment, staring at the dust cloud from the wheels. Once the dust settled she headed back to the stables and prepared for her next student. Fiona called after lunch and made arrangements to drop over later that afternoon. Her final student left at four o’clock and once Joe took off for the day Callie grabbed her best show bridle and began cleaning the leather. Cleaning her gear had always settled her nerves, and she undid the nose band and cheek strap, set them aside and dipped an old cloth into the pot of saddle soap.

      It wasn’t much of a diversion, though. Because Callie had a lump in her throat so big, so constricting, she could barely swallow. For two years she’d had focus. The farm. The horses. Her students.

      And now there was Noah. And Lily. And the rest of his children.

      Deep down, in that place she kept for her pain and grief and thoughts of her baby son, Callie realized something that shocked her to the core. If I reach out, I know in my heart I can make them my own. She wasn’t sure how it had happened so quickly. Feelings hadn’t been on her agenda for so long. Now, faced with them, Callie could feel herself retreating.

      She wondered if she should have told him about Ryan. Would he understand? He’d had his own disappointments, but he didn’t appear to be weighed down with regret and grief. Maybe people could move on? Perhaps hearts did mend.

      Right then, Callie wanted to believe that more than anything.

      But to feel again? Where did she get the strength? Ryan’s death had zapped all her resilience. Before that she’d been strong, unafraid, almost invincible.

      She was glad when she heard Fiona’s car pull up outside and called for her to join her in the tack room. Only it wasn’t her friend who stood in the doorway a few moments later. It was Noah.

      He was back. And he clearly had something on his mind. Callie got to her feet quickly. Her heart pumped. “Did you … did you forget something?”

      He stood in the doorway, his eyes locked with hers. “Do you still love him?”

      She was poleaxed. “What?”

      Noah was in front of her in three steps. “Your fiancé. Do you still love him?”

      “He’s dead,” she whispered.

      “I know. But that wasn’t the question.” He reached for her, slid one arm around her waist and drew her against him. “The thing is,” he said, holding her firm. “If you still love him, I’ll do my best to stop … to stop wanting you.” His other hand cupped her cheek, gently, carefully. “But if you don’t love him, then I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

      Her insides contracted. “No,” she said on a breath.

      “No?”

      “I don’t love him.”

      His green eyes darkened as he traced his thumb along her jaw. “Good,” he said softly.

      And then he kissed her.

      Callie let herself float into the warmth of his mouth against her own. It was a gentle possession, as if he knew her, as if he’d been kissing her forever. Only one other man had kissed her before this, and as she allowed Noah’s lips to part hers, any recollection of that faded and then disappeared. He didn’t do anything else—he just kissed her, like he couldn’t get enough of her mouth, her taste, her tongue.

      Instinctively, Callie’s hands moved along his arms and to his shoulders. She touched his hair, felt the silky strands beneath her fingertips and slanted her mouth against his. Finally, when he lifted his head Callie felt so much a part of him she swayed toward his chest. Noah held her still, one hand on her shoulder while the other splayed on her hip and she lifted her chin higher to look into his eyes.

      “Noah—I think.” Callie willed herself to move, but found such incredible comfort in his arms she simply couldn’t.

      He didn’t let her go, either. “You think too much. How about you stop thinking and just feel?”

      Oh, how she wanted to. But her doubts tormented her, taunting around the edges of her mind in a little dance, telling her that taking meant giving. And giving was … giving felt as far out of reach to her as the stars from some distant planet.

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