Dancing in the Moonlight - Harlequin.com

RAEANNE THAYNE
83
Even if he wasn’t Hank Dalton’s son, she couldn’t
let this happen again.
Like it was some kind of grim lodestone, she rubbed
the spot just below her knee where flesh met metal.
It had been difficult to remember his surname all
morning. He was a good companion and a hard
worker, when he wasn’t manufacturing excuses for
her to take a break.
She saw right through his efforts. On the one hand,
she had to admit she had been grateful to him for his
sensitivity to the frustrations and the challenges she
faced in doing things that had always been second
nature to her six months ago.
On the other hand, each time he had made up some
silly reason to take a break had been another painful
reminder that she couldn’t keep up with him, that her
life had changed dramatically.
Different was not the same thing as over, she
reminded herself as she opened the barn door and
walked inside. The barn smelled sweet and musty, a
combination that instantly transported her back to her
childhood.
Dust motes floated like gold flakes in the sunbeams
shining down from the rafters, and the air smelled of
horses and new hay and life.
She paused for a moment to enjoy the memories that
rushed back, of chasing mischievous kittens through
the barn, of learning to saddle a horse for the first time
in one of the stalls that lined the wall, of the stomachtwirling
excitement of swinging on the rope Abel hung
from the crossbeams, to land in piles of soft hay below.