But the thought didn’t sully his mood, as it normally did. Instead, he found himself drifting off to sleep that night with images of his own family around a dining table—and thoughts of a pretty, mischievous redhaired woman.
He’d have to watch himself around her. One blink of those clear blue eyes and he’d tell her secrets he’d never planned to tell a soul.
Chapter Five
“Only one piece.” Lararubbed Murray’s nose as the gelding tried to snuffle his way toward more of the molasses and oat treat in her skirt pocket. “Once we have water again, I’ll make you an entire batch, all right?”
Murray looked at her through doleful eyes, and she laughed. He’d been her favorite horse since she’d arrived in Last Chance, and she was thankful each day they didn’t have to sell him off as they had with so many of the other horses. Not that there were many left who could afford to buy a horse.
Lara gave Murray one last scratch on the nose before moving to the next stall, where Mr. King’s horse had been pressing his nose as far around the stall as possible. “How about you, sir? Would you like a bite?”
The horse snorted as if saying yes. Lara grinned and extracted the last bit of the cookie. She held it out and the horse gobbled it up.
“Are you looking for something of mine?” Mr. King’s low voice sent goosebumps racing up her arms.
Lara forced herself not to leap back from his horse. She was doing nothing wrong. “Indeed, I am not. Unless you consider offering your horse a cookie something nefarious.”
“A cookie?” He arched one of those eyebrows again as he removed his hat, and Lara’s pulse quickened.
Get a hold of yourself. She’d never been so flustered around a handsome man before. It was ridiculous that she should be with Mr. King, considering how he clearly didn’t much care for her.
“Yes,” she said primly, running her hand over the horse’s velvety nose. “A horse cookie. It’s made of molasses and oats. Sometimes I add bits of apple or carrot. When we have those . . .” She was rambling. Lara forced herself to stop speaking, which was much easier to do when she looked at the horse instead of Mr. King’s half-amused, half-suspicious expression.
“A horse cookie,” he repeated. “Now there’s something I’ve never heard of in all my years.”
“Well, now you have. And your horse here liked it.”
“Trip,” he said. When she glanced at him, he added, “The horse’s name is Trip.”
She remembered that now from the bunkhouse. “So Trip enjoys cookies and being photographed.” Lara winced the second the words were out of her mouth. Why was she reminding him of her interest in his photograph?
But to her surprise, Mr. King laughed. “That photograph wasn’t of Trip, although I’m sure you figured as much.” He paused. “It’s a photo of my parents.”
The words were like water to a parched throat, slaking her curiosity for at least the time being. Lara stepped back from Trip and looked at Mr. King again. His face was serious now, and if she wasn’t wrong, she thought she saw a trace of sadness in the way his shoulders dropped.
Guilt crept up her spine.
