Sweet Child of Mine by Jean Brashear

cheeks, and she was fascinated by it. “That was the plan. Unfortunately, I’m pretty picky on what I consider a good home. And then I get attached.”
    Every time she turned around, she discovered some new, surprising facet to a man she’d once considered unbearably arrogant and hardheaded. The knowledge disturbed her. He’d made it clear that his heart was not available. Caring too much about him would only break her own heart.
    “Bobby will love it. Jim used to ride in rodeos and Bobby has inherited his love of horses.”
    “Does Bobby have his own horse?”
    She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
    Michael slowed and pointed to a paint. “That mare is very gentle and she’s not too big. Daisy might be a good match for him.”
    Gratitude swamped her. She reached out and brushed his arm. “Michael, you’re doing so much for him. I don’t know if—”
    “It’s no big deal.” His jaw flexed as he shifted away from her touch. “Daisy needs exercise, and I could use the help. If you’re interested, pick out the one you want to use while you’re here.”
    While you’re here. The words snapped her back into what was real. She and Bobby would only be guests, only for a small span of time. She’d do well to remember that.
    He drove on, and she studied the house up ahead. It was like nothing she would have ever expected from the man she’d always considered some kind of misplaced urban sophisticate, despite his boots and jeans.
    This, she realized, was more than a house. It looked like home, like the very definition of the word, and she couldn’t be more surprised that Michael had chosen it. Two stories and Victorian, it looked big enough to shelter a family, a place where you grew up with traditions and handed them down with love. A dusty blue with darker blue and white trim, it was the jewel in this wonderful, unexpected place, the harbor she’d wished for all of her life.
    “It’s beautiful, Michael.” She turned and caught the quiet pride in his smile.
    Michael stopped the car in front of the house and pointed to the left side. “I thought I’d get the pen for the pup built there. That way when nobody’s home, he’s safe from wandering so far away he gets lost, but he’s right next to the house so he’ll have shelter. We’ll get him a doghouse, too.”
    “I’ll pay for—”
    He rounded on her, eyes snapping. “Maybe I’ll want a dog when you’re gone, ever think of that? Dammit, Suzanne, we’re not keeping score here. I can’t be wondering every second if I’m spending money that will beggar you.”
    “You’ve never had to worry about money, have you?” It was such a novel idea, she couldn’t quite take it in.
    His shoulders stiffened. “For your information, I once had to count every cent.”
    “When was that?”
    “When I defied my parents and married my wife. They cut me off without a penny. I’ve never accepted anything from them since. Everything I have, I’ve made on my own.”
    She’d always assumed his wealth was inherited, that he was a trust-fund kid. “What a terrible surprise that must have been.”
    “It wasn’t a surprise,” he snapped. “I knew they would do it.”
    “And you went ahead, anyway.” She studied him. “You must have loved her very much.”
    He stared into the distance, his jaw rigid. “My pride cost her everything.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    His head whipped around. In his eyes was a bleakness she’d never seen on a living soul. “I’d call her life everything, wouldn’t you? Her life and our baby?”
    Then suddenly he was out of the car, leaving the air behind him stinging with an angry grief bigger than she knew how to handle. She wanted to understand. She wanted to go to him, to soothe him, but he’d walked around to grab their things from the back, and every implacable line of his frame shouted out a warning not to trespass.
    Something festered deep inside him, but she was a stranger. She had no right to pry into