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“Look around. Are there any distinguishing landmarks?”
Corbin glanced around. “A bunch of rocks and mesquite trees, a dead gnarled oak tree that looks like it’s flipping me off—shit, is that a horse skull?”
“I’m sure it’s a mule deer skull.”
“And that’s better?”
Jesse laughed, but quickly sobered. “Okay. You have to be somewhere from here to the Holiday Ranch. I don’t know the area very well, but I’m sure I can find someone who does and can tell me where the fuck-you tree is. Although most of those folks are pretty busy right now—wait, there’s Belle and Cloe.”
“Don’t—” Before Corbin could finish, Jesse hung up.
“Dammit!” he yelled up at the clear blue sky. The last person he wanted to know he was lost was Belle Holiday. And he didn’t know why. What difference did it make if she knew he was inept at finding his way from one ranch to another? He didn’t care what she thought.
But a good twenty minutes later, he couldn’t stop the rush of embarrassment that flooded his body when he realized who was driving the pickup truck headed toward him.
The Remington Ranch truck stopped only feet away and Belle hopped out. She was dressed like she had been yesterday when she was tossed off the horse. A T-shirt, jeans, and roper boots. But this time, her T-shirt wasn’t white, soaking wet, and see through. It was pink and no doubt matched the blush on his cheeks. Which made him snappish.
“What are you doing here? Jesse was supposed to come.”
If his rudeness bothered her, she didn’t let on. “He and Sunny wanted to finish watching the branding. And since I knew exactly where you were, I volunteered.” She moved to the back of the truck and pulled down the tailgate. When he saw her struggling with a large white container of water, he hurried over to help. Their hands brushed as he took it from her and heat speared through him at the mere touch of her cool skin.
Maybe he had heatstroke. It seemed like the only logical explanation.
He quickly took it from her and then almost dropped it when he turned and saw Homer standing right behind him. Belle didn’t comment on his fear of the horse, but there was a slight smile on her lips.
Lips that had completely screwed with his mind the night before.
Of course, it hadn’t been her lips as much as Mimi’s strong elderberry wine that had him seconds from kissing Belle.
At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.
“Pour some water in here,” Belle said as she snapped open what looked like a round canvas tote. Corbin unscrewed the cap from the container and tipped water into the tote. He expected Homer to dive in and start drinking. Instead, the horse just stood there.
“Drink up, Homer,” he said.
“Homer?” Belle reached out and stroked the horse’s neck. “You don’t look like a Homer. And it doesn’t look like you’re thirsty either.” She glanced at Corbin. “Horses can go a long time without water.”
“How exactly was I supposed to know that? He was plodding along like he was on his last leg.”
“Horses are extremely intuitive. He was probably taking his cues from you and knew you didn’t like going fast.”
“I wish he had figured that out before he took off after Jesse and Sunny and almost dumped me on my head.”
A smile tickled the corners of her mouth again. A mouth he had trouble keeping his gaze from. “I would have liked to see that.”
He scowled. “I’m sure you would have.”
“You shouldn’t let it hurt your pride. I’ve been on runaway horses numerous times.” She reached into the cooler in the bed of the truck and pulled out a bottle of water. He gratefully accepted it. Homer might not be thirsty, but he certainly was.
“Thanks.” He unscrewed the lid and guzzled most of it before he lowered the bottle to find Belle watching him with the same look she had given him last night when his finger was pressed against her lip. Last night, he had blamed it on the wine. Today, he didn’t know what to blame it on. Belle wasn’t sexually interested in him.
Was she?
He mentally shook the thought from his head and returned to their conversation. “And not being able to control a runaway horse didn’t hurt your pride?”
“Control and pride aren’t really my flaws. They’re Liberty’s.”
“And what are yours?”
