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She met up with Conner at the gate.
“Wait here,” he instructed. “These ponies are fresh off the Navajo Reservation and pretty unpredictable. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Dallas started to tell him she wasn’t a novice where horses were concerned and could handle herself, then reconsidered. Things were different now, and she’d be wise to practice caution. So she did as instructed and waited beside the gate, readying her camera.
Conner shook the bucket. That got the attention of the horses, and they meandered toward him. Dallas raised her camera and studied the scene through the viewfinder.
These mostly untamed horses were perfect for the book, in looks and disposition. Despite their shaggy coats, long manes and tails, and compact muscled bodies, they were extraordinary, and they knew it.
Not just any horse, they carried the blood of their Spanish ancestors, brought over on ships crossing the Atlantic Ocean nearly five hundred years ago. It showed in the proud, regal way they held their heads, the intelligence reflecting in their eyes and the graceful movements of their bodies.
Dallas was transfixed—by the horses and also by Conner.
He might possess two MBAs and be as smart as a rocket scientist, but he belonged to this land every bit as much as these mustangs. How many systems analysts handled a rope as if it was an extension of their arm? Had an uncanny ability to predict a horse’s next move? Wore their jeans, Western shirt and cowboy hat with the comfort and ease of a suit?
Conner did.
Except Dallas liked him infinitely better in jeans.
She snapped several pictures of him while he waited for the mustangs to approach, certain he had no idea he was the focal point of all her shots.
A mild breeze tousled the lock of unruly blond hair that swept across his tanned forehead. His hazel eyes narrowed with interest as he studied the approaching horses. A shade shy of six feet, he had the build of an athlete despite spending the last six years in an office, and he carried himself with confidence, completely ignorant of his effect on the opposite sex.
For every hundred or so pictures Dallas took, she might use one for the book. To that end, she snapped away.
“I want to get a few shots of the baby.” Without waiting for Conner to reply, she climbed the fence and straddled the top rail, careful to maintain her balance.
The filly, no more than six months old, cooperated nicely, turning her sweet face toward the camera. When Dallas went to climb down the fence, the material of her slacks caught on a piece of wire. She momentarily wobbled and let out a startled yelp.
“Don’t move!” In a flash, Conner was at her side, assisting her down.
The horses fidgeted, not entirely happy with this new intruder on their side of the fence.
When both of Dallas’s feet were firmly planted on the ground, she looked up and went instantly still. Conner’s nearness, not to mention his strong hands resting protectively on her waist, brought a rush of heat to her cheeks.
“Th-thanks. I’m all right.”
“You sure?”
No, she wasn’t. Sure or all right.
“I’m fine. Really,” she insisted, silently scolding herself. She wasn’t some silly buckle bunny or schoolgirl, and her reaction to Conner was entirely over the top.
He turned from her in that unhurried manner of his. “I was thinking, maybe we could grab a cup of coffee at the Corner Diner when you’re done here. Strictly work,” he clarified, when she didn’t respond. “To go over what you need to do and how we’ll accomplish it.”
“Of course. Strictly work.” She shoved her disappointment aside. Conner was right; they needed to maintain a professional relationship. For many reasons. “Except, if you don’t mind, I’d like something a little more substantial. I wasn’t feeling like eating earlier, and now I’m starving.”
Twenty minutes later, they made their way toward Conner’s truck. The ride to Mustang Village, where the diner was located, didn’t take long. The uniquely designed, equestrian-friendly community had been constructed on land formerly owned by the Powell family.
Where cattle once roamed, commercial buildings, a retail center, apartments, condos and houses sat. The slow flowing river remained, but the lush vegetation growing on its banks had been replaced by a fence and keep-out signs. Horses still carried their riders across the valley—on bridle paths networking the area, not the open range.
Powell Ranch, four generations strong, looked down on Mustang Village from its place on the mountainside, a witness to the wheels of progress.
“You grew up in this area,” Dallas commented as they pulled into the diner’s parking lot. “Does it seem strange to you, seeing all the changes?”
“Sometimes.” He grinned affably. “When I was twelve, Gavin’s dad started letting me go with them on cattle roundups. The corrals were over there.” He pointed to the park a block down the street. “The loading station just beyond them. We’d drive those cows from all over the valley right past this very spot.”
“What a sight that must have been.” She imagined the pictures she’d have taken. Hundreds of cows on the move. “I bet you loved it.”
“Are you kidding? It was dirty and sweaty and backbreaking work.”
“You did love it!”
He grinned again. “The only thing more fun was the night we captured Prince.”
“You’ll have to tell me about it.”
“For the book?”
She shook her head. “I’m only responsible for the photographs. I just want to hear any stories you have from the days before Mustang Village was built. For inspiration.”
They entered the half-empty restaurant and were promptly seated.
“If I do, you’ll fall asleep,” Conner said, opening his menu.
“I doubt that. The last thing you are is boring.”
He looked up at her.
When their gazes connected, a zing went through Dallas, half warm and pleasant, half...
Wow!
So much for keeping their relationship professional.
Was he feeling it, too? Did he also sometimes think about what might have been?
Attempting to distract herself, she perused the diner’s daily specials and waited for her unpredictable stomach to protest. It didn’t. Whew. She wasn’t going to embarrass herself in front of Conner.
After giving their orders to the waitress, he removed a pen from his shirt pocket and began making notes on a paper napkin. “I was thinking of Saturday for our trip into the mountains. Unless you have plans for the weekend.”
“No plans.” She peered at the list he was making, tilting her head and reading upside down. Water, snacks, twine, a tarp, a map, GPS, first aid kit, rain ponchos.
“Is eight o’clock too early?” He continued to scribble as he talked.
“No. I’m up at six most days.”
“Any preference on a mount?”
“Just something broke. Very broke. Like, if there’s a freak earthquake while we’re out, the horse won’t so much as swish his tail.”
Conner’s brows drew together. “You’re an experienced rider, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I’d rather not take any chances.”
“If you’re worried about the trails being rugged, we can always take the easier ones.”
“It’s not that.” She set her fork down, suddenly nervous.
“What then?”
She hadn’t planned on making any announcements until she started showing.
“Well.” She mustered a smile while rubbing her damp palms on her slacks. “I’m pregnant.”
Conner spilled several drops of coffee onto the table before managing to steady his mug. “Pregnant! Wha...when?”
“When did I find out? A couple weeks ago. And to answer both questions you’re too polite to ask, yes, Richard knows about the baby and no, we didn’t discover I was pregnant until after we’d called off the engagement.”
Chapter Two
Twice in one morning Dallas had thrown Conner for a loop. First, when she’d told him about her broken engagement. Then the really big bombshell.
She was pregnant. With Richard’s baby.
A hundred thoughts raced through Conner’s head. First and foremost, there went the possibility of him asking her on a date.
“Do you think it’s wise, riding a horse in your condition?”
“The thought occurred to me, too. What if we took ATVs?”
“Motorized vehicles aren’t allowed in the preserve.” Conner shook his head. “We’ll cancel the trip. Gavin can find another photographer.”
“I’m doing this. With or without you.”
He’d forgotten how stubborn she could be when she set her mind to something.
“I know the book’s important to you,” he stated.
“Honestly, I don’t think you have any idea. Yes, it will educate people on the plight of wild mustangs. And the profits will benefit the sanctuary. But this book has the potential to launch my career. Take it to an entirely new level.” She continued in a gentler tone. “It may also be my last opportunity before the baby’s born.”
“What if you’d fallen off that fence earlier?” Conner asked. “You might have been hurt. Or worse.”
“What if you walk in front of a moving car when we leave the diner? There are no guarantees in life.”
“And no reason to take foolish chances—which riding a horse when you’re pregnant is.”
“You said yourself we can take the easy trails.”
“Not happening.” He could be as stubborn as Dallas. “And don’t think you can find someone else. I’ll put the word out. Most cowboys in these parts are my friends.”
Dallas startled him by reaching across the table for his hand, slipping her fingers easily, naturally, into his. “I appreciate your concern.”
Conner stared at their joined hands, unable to tear his gaze away. The rest of what she said dissolved into a jumble of unintelligible words.
Her fingers, with their pink-tipped nails, were delicate and soft as silk. He could imagine them stroking his cheek or caressing his arm. Imagine lifting her hand to his mouth and brushing his lips across her warm, smooth skin.
He suddenly straightened, reason prevailing.
She was pregnant. With Richard’s baby.
He should not, under any circumstances, be having these kinds of thoughts about her.
“Please, Conner.” Her index finger drew tiny circles on the back of his knuckles. “There isn’t anyone else I want to work with on this assignment.”
So much for reason prevailing.
Instead of telling her to stop, he prayed she would go on indefinitely.
“Does, um, Gavin know about the baby?” he managed to ask in a hoarse voice.
“No.” The tracing of circles abruptly stopped. “I haven’t told him.”
“Because you’re afraid he wouldn’t give you the job?”
“I’m only ten weeks along.” She withdrew her hand and squared her shoulders. “I can do this. My pregnancy will not interfere. And if you’re considering telling Gavin—”
“I’m not telling him.” Conner picked up his coffee mug. It didn’t feel anywhere near as nice as Dallas’s fingers. The haze surrounding his brain, however, had dissipated. “You are.”
“What?”
“Seriously, Dallas. He has a right to know.”
“Are you making that a stipulation of working with me?”
“No. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” He’d also do whatever was necessary to protect her.
“Except into the mountains.”
“Not until you tell Gavin and he agrees.”
“You’ll let me ride a horse?”
“Hell, no!” His loud response had several heads swiveling in their direction.
“You just said—”
“We’ll take the wagon. Less jarring than on horseback.”
Her eyes lit up. “I’ve never ridden in a wagon before.”
“We can’t go everywhere we could on horseback.”
“What about the canyon where you captured Prince?”
“I’ll check the maps, verify the trails. We might have to take a longer route, but we’ll get there.”
She sat back, a satisfied and most appealing grin on her face. “Thank you, Conner.”
“Promise you’ll let me know if the going gets too rough.”
“I will.”
“I’m serious.”
“Taskmaster.” Her brown eyes sparked with delight.
“You have no idea.”
“Right.”
Clearly, she saw straight though him. The last thing Conner would do was push her, physically or emotionally.
“We’ll find Gavin when we get back to Powell Ranch.”
Dallas made a face. “I have to tell him today?”
“It will take me a while to ready the wagon and the team of horses. I’m not starting until he gives me the okay. The ranch is liable, after all.”
“You going to make me get a note from my doctor, too?”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
Dallas grumbled, then dived into her remaining salad, polishing it off in a few bites, along with the rest of her meal.
Conner watched, forgetting about his coffee. Did all pregnant women inhale their food? He hadn’t paid much attention to Sage and Caitlin’s eating habits during their pregnancies.
“I’m not keeping you from your work?” Dallas asked when the last bit of sandwich had disappeared.
“You heard Gavin. You are my work for the next few weeks.”
“Good.” Rising from the table, she smiled seductively.
Conner waited a moment before snatching the tab and following her to the front of the restaurant, his legs alarmingly unsteady.
Had she just flirted with him?
No, he must be mistaken. Dallas was always that way, friendly and outgoing, with a thousand-watt personality. It was the reason men found her so attractive, Conner included.
Only his interest in her went well beyond casual.
He reminded himself yet again of her current condition and the man responsible for it. Acting on his attraction would surely result in trouble. And until Conner’s life was back on track, trouble was the last thing he needed.
* * *
THE FRONT DOOR OPENED even before Dallas came to a complete stop in the driveway. Her mother stepped onto the porch and raised a slender arm in greeting, the folds of her vibrantly colored peasant skirt hugging her legs. Gold bangles on her wrists and neck glinted, catching the last rays of a disappearing sun.
The bohemian style of dress was much like the woman herself, free-spirited and uninhibited.
Dallas grabbed the casserole dish off the passenger seat, fussing with the loose foil covering it. Purse in tow and dinner contribution secure, she climbed out of her Prius Hybrid and headed toward the house.
“You’re early.” Marina Camponella stood waiting with open arms.
Dallas leaned in and let her mother hug her, the most she could manage with the load she carried. “Mom, you look great.”
“Thank you, dear.” Marina accepted the compliment as she did most things in life: graciously and humbly. “How are you feeling? Any morning sickness?”
“It comes and goes, generally without me having to run to the nearest bathroom. For which I’m grateful.”
“Be happy. Morning sickness is the sign of a healthy baby.” She gave Dallas’s stomach a quick pat and relieved her of the casserole dish.
They went through the tastefully appointed living room on their way to the kitchen. Many of the exquisite pieces on display had been crafted by her mother. A talented sculptress, she’d abandoned a promising artistic career to marry Dallas’s stepfather, Hank, and raise her two children.
She still sculpted for personal enjoyment, completing only two or three pieces a year. Teaching at the Horizon School of Art in Tempe took up most of her time.
Glimpsing her newest piece reminded Dallas that her mother wasn’t enjoying the fulfilling life she might have if Hank had encouraged rather than discouraged her dreams.
Speaking of which...
“Where’s Hank?” Dallas asked, draping her jacket over a kitchen chair and stowing her purse on the counter.
“In the den. Watching the presidential address on TV.”
“Ah.” Dallas rolled her eyes. “I should have guessed.”
“You know Hank and his politics.” Her mother opened the oven, and the aroma of baking chicken immediately filled the air.
Curry chicken, Dallas could tell. So could her stomach, which roiled at the prospect of any spicy food.
“I do know Hank,” she mused aloud.
How could she not? She’d spent twelve years living under the same roof with him. Arguing with him, disobeying him, rebelling against him and finally just tolerating him until the day she could move out. It wasn’t that she hated Hank. Not at all. They were simply polar opposites.
Dallas took after her unconventional mother, something her conservative financial-advisor stepfather didn’t understand. If he had, he wouldn’t have established such strict rules for two teenagers simply eager to get their feet wet in a big, wide world.
Real-life blended families, Dallas had concluded, weren’t like the ones portrayed on TV. They didn’t always, well, blend. Dallas’s younger brother held a similar opinion and had left home the year after she did.
“Heard from Liam recently?” she asked.
“He’s in Colorado. Mapping a remote part of the national forest.”
“Sounds exciting.”
Liam had also inherited their mother’s free-spiritedness. Dallas wasn’t sure he’d ever trade his job as a surveyor for a permanent address.
Like her brother, Dallas valued her independence, but she also longed for stability. A husband and children. She believed all things were possible with the right person.
For the last two years, she had assumed that person was Richard. Except then they’d called it quits.
Dallas’s mother handed her a stack of plates from the cupboard. “You mind setting the table?”
“Of course not.”
She didn’t wait for the next item, fetching glasses and flatware while her mom sliced a loaf of freshly baked bread.
“Hank,” Marina called, then sighed with exasperation. “He can’t hear me over the TV.”
“I’ll get him.” Dallas made her way to the den, following the sound of what had to be a news commentator recapping the address. “Hi, Hank,” she said, stepping into the decidedly masculine room, the only one not decorated by her mother. “Mom sent me to tell you dinner’s ready.”
“Hey.” He pushed himself up from the recliner, turned off the TV with the remote control. “I didn’t hear the doorbell ring.”
“Mom met me outside.”
“She loves it when you come to dinner.”
Dallas detected a hint of reproach in his voice. As if she didn’t already know her visits were too infrequent.
“Work’s piled up lately.”
“You need your rest.” Hank placed a large hand on her shoulder, the gesture more stilted than affectionate.
It was, Dallas had long ago accepted, the best he could manage.
“Have you heard from Richard lately?” Hank asked as they entered the kitchen.
He was fit and tall, and the gray at his temples gave him a distinguished appearance. Dallas could see how her mother had become enamored with him.
“He called Tuesday.”
“Today’s Friday.”
“And?”
“I just thought he might check on you more often.”
Dallas automatically tensed. “Why would he?”
Her mother sent Hank a let-it-go warning.
He didn’t heed it. “You’re pregnant.”
Dallas poured iced herbal tea from a pitcher. “I’m only in my first trimester. It’s not like there’s much change day to day.”
“I’d think, as the father, he’d be more concerned.”
“Richard’s plenty concerned,”
Dallas sat across from her mother, who gave her a he’ll-run-out-of-steam-soon head bobble in reply. Marina could conduct entire conversations without speaking a single word.
“He is.” Hank harrumphed in agreement. “Concerned enough to make an honest woman of you and give his child his name.”
“We’re not getting married.”
The moment Richard had learned about Dallas’s pregnancy, he’d proposed. Or reproposed, in this case. She’d declined. Her parents had married solely because Marina was pregnant with Dallas—not for love.
“You could do worse than Richard.”
Dallas bit down, swallowed her retort. She’d come here for dinner, not to argue with her stepfather.
“Hank cares about you, honey,” Dallas’s mother said in an attempt to smooth things over. “After all, your pregnancy is nothing short of a minor miracle.”
“I was supposed to have trouble conceiving, Mom, not carrying.”
“And yet you did conceive. Without any trouble.” Her face radiated joy. “When you first told us you had PID, I was so sure you were in for a tough road. And then so grateful Richard was willing to brave it with you.”
“He was willing because it meant postponing starting a family. His job came first with him.”
“He wanted to wait until he was financially secure.” Hank helped himself to a serving of chicken. “I think that shows responsibility.”
“And you had your budding photography business to consider,” her mother added.
A bout with appendicitis in college had left Dallas with pelvic inflammatory disease. Because of scarring on her fallopian tubes, she was told she’d likely require the assistance of a fertility doctor in order to conceive. Finding out she was pregnant couldn’t have come as a bigger shock, to her, her family and Richard.
Terminating her pregnancy or giving her child up for adoption weren’t options. Dallas was having the family she wanted, simply a little ahead of schedule. And without a husband. Or a house. Or having become a successful documentary photographer.
A knot formed in her middle.
“You should give him another chance,” Hank said.
Her mother nodded thoughtfully. “Try living together instead of rushing into marriage.”
“We were engaged over a year without ever setting a date. Our instincts were telling us we didn’t have what it takes for a successful marriage. A baby doesn’t change that.”
Dallas was feeling ganged up on. Her mother was fond of Richard and Hank thought there wasn’t a better guy out there.
“But Richard is thrilled about becoming a father,” Marina gushed. “It would be nice for his sake if you could work things out.”
Dallas sighed. It was past time to level with her mother and stepfather.
“I hate to break it to you, but Richard isn’t thrilled.”
“What?” Her mother gasped. “But he... You said—”
“I didn’t want to upset you.” Dallas buttered a piece of bread, but she’d lost her appetite. “He wants to marry me because he believes it’s the right thing to do.”
“He loves you.”
“He did. Once.” Not for a while.
“I’ll talk to him,” Hank interjected.
“You will not! I mean it, Hank.”
“Someone needs to set him straight.”
“That’s not your job.”
He looked hurt, and Dallas instantly regretted the harsh tone she’d used.
“Are you sure he just doesn’t need more time to adjust?” Marina asked, always the mediator.
“I’m asking for you and Hank to respect my wishes and let me handle Richard my own way. Now, please, can we change the subject?”
Awkward silence followed, until Marina chimed in with “How’s the book coming?”
“Great. I got some nice pictures of a mustang family at the sanctuary yesterday. Conner took me.”
“Conner Durham?” Her mother visibly perked up. She and Hank had met Conner before, during various cookouts and holiday gatherings. “Richard’s friend who was laid off?”
“Yeah. He’s working for the Powells and the Duvalls, splitting his time between the two places, from what he told me.”
“They need a systems analyst?” Hank’s brows furrowed.
“Hardly.” Dallas laughed. “He’s teaching riding classes, supervising trail rides, overseeing the rodeo livestock and managing the mustang sanctuary.”
“Such a shame he lost his job,” her mother commiserated.
“Richard felt terrible. It ended their friendship.”
“Not Richard’s fault the economy tanked,” Hank muttered. “Sometimes management has to make tough decisions.”
“It’s not Conner’s fault, either. But he’s the one out of a job and living in an apartment on Powell Ranch.”