Maggie stared at him, but raised no objection to the personal history. She’d researched him just as thoroughly, after all. “True enough,” she said evenly.
Still impersonal, his gaze holding hers, Rafe went on. “The two of you shared a home for a while after that, but you were virtually on your own. Because you and your father disagreed on your choice of career, it was somewhat difficult for you to get a job. Your father’s highly respected, and no one wanted to hire his daughter when he made it more than obvious that he disapproved. Still, when he took a trip to Germany some years ago, you managed to find a stable owner who didn’t particularly care about your father’s opinion. You took a job in that stable, and delighted your employer by turning two Thoroughbred hunters from temperamental slugs into prizewinning jumpers. Within a year you were on your way to earning a reputation, and not even your father could hinder your advancement. You pleased your employer enough so that he gave you a secondhand horse trailer in decent shape. He mentioned you to other people, who in turn hired you to show their horses for a percentage of the winnings.
“You finished high school at night, then took college courses at night, too, since you worked every day. You doubled up on most of your courses, because you often had to show at night. By the time you were twenty, you’d earned enough to buy a couple of fairly cheap young horses. You trained them, showed them successfully, and sold them at a profit. The next two horses you bought were slightly more expensive, and your profit after training and showing was larger. You began riding gaited horses and performing in dressage events, and were good enough in Grand Prix jumping to earn a place on the Olympic equestrian team. You won the gold in individual events, and the team took the gold primarily because you had the fastest clean round in the finals. And you rode your own horse.”
“Lady Fair,” Maggie said softly, her gaze a bit unfocused. “I had to put her down a year later.”
Rafe’s dark eyes showed quick sympathy, one horse lover to another, but he said nothing more about her lost horse. “I gather your father continued to disapprove, even though you’d become so successful?”
Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. “Because I’d become successful,” she said flatly. “He didn’t think I could do it. He told everyone I couldn’t. And…he never rode for an Olympic team.”
Rafe nodded, hearing not only her bitterness, but also her pain. “You left Grand Prix events for a while after that, concentrating on gaited horses. You bought and trained other horses, selling at a profit every time. Two years ago you bought your present horses as colts.” He grinned suddenly. “Calypso and Dust Devil—both of them with champion bloodlines and well on their way to being champions in their own right due to your training and showing. And when you received my letter offering a thirty-day trial, you bought that Jeep out front.”
It was a far more comprehensive history than Maggie had expected, and she reluctantly tipped a mental hat to his ability to ferret out information. But Rafe wasn’t finished.
“I talked to a few of my friends you’ve ridden for recently. I was told you’re a fine rider, an excellent trainer, and a model employee. You can work with any horse, get along with all kinds of people, don’t cause trouble, and if something makes you mad, you never take it out on a horse.” He smiled just a little, his gaze intent. “Your conduct in the ring is impeccable, you possess a vast amount of dignity for your young years, and your judgment with horses is nothing short of uncanny. If there were any personal criticisms directed toward you by former employers, they had to do with the belief that you’re a bit too serious.”
The last didn’t surprise Maggie, since she’d been told often that she should loosen up and enjoy herself more. It had always puzzled her to be told that. She was enjoying her life, she thought.
Commenting only on the information in general, she said, “If you knew all that before I came, why didn’t you think I could handle Diablo?”
“I told you,” he said. “You looked too damn small. I’ve wrestled with that hellion for weeks with no result. How did you do it?” he asked with honest interest.
“My father is a born horseman,” she said slowly, the praise clearly sincere—and difficult for her to express. “He was always…careless with money, so he was never able to afford a place of his own and always handled other people’s horses. He put me on horses before I could walk, taught me everything I know about them.” She paused, brooding on the complex temperament of a man who would teach her all that he knew, and then disapprove violently when she chose to use those teachings to build a career. Then she sighed and shrugged. “He used to say ‘You never broke a young horse, you gentled it.’ And no matter how wild the horse, he could gentle it within a day. He talked to them, treated them with the kind firmness a parent uses with a child.” She shrugged again. “And he taught me. I’ve never stopped to wonder why I’m successful with horses, or how I can gentle a wild one. I just do what he taught me to do.”
Listening intently, Rafe heard more than she said. He heard the source of her ambition, its roots deep in the father who had always been “careless with money” and forced always to work for others. He heard the determination of a young woman painfully estranged from her father because of that ambition—and because of her success. And he heard the deep love of a woman with horses in her blood and her soul.
Rafe had been born, as the saying went, with a silver spoon in his mouth, his family old, wealthy, and powerful. But he knew well the hard physical work that went hand in hand with horses. And he knew that for Maggie to have weathered roughly ten years in a profession in which hard physical labor was a daily thing, she had to be much stronger and tougher than she looked. And it had been twice as hard on her, he realized, because the father who could have smoothed the way for her had instead turned his back and made his disapproval painfully obvious.
After listening to her and sorting through the facts of her life, he knew that no step in her career had been taken by chance. Maggie meant to be a success, eventually her own boss, and the seriousness her previous employers had mentioned had taken her steadily up the career ladder in spite of her father.
Which explained, he thought, her wary distrust of her new employer’s reputation. She wanted no personal involvement to hinder her career, and Rafe knew well that gossip painted him a cheerful seducer. He wondered how that particular myth had gotten started. Heaven knew he’d been too busy since taking over the ranch to have time for any seducing, cheerful or otherwise.
As he studied Maggie, taking in the fine-boned, delicate face emphasized by her severe hairstyle, he realized that for the first time he was no longer accepting his reputation with equanimity.
In fact, it looked like it would be a hell of a complication.
She had won his respect by standing up to him with a challenge, and his admiration by handling Diablo. But his heart had been won in the flash of an instant, when she had laughed helplessly at his predicament with his housekeeper. Her violet eyes had gleamed with amusement, her small face had lit up with endearing warmth, and her quiet, cool voice had been husky and musical in laughter.
He’d had to step outside for more than her luggage, needing a moment or so to wrestle with the abrupt emotional jolt she’d given him.
Rafe was a normal man, not at all the rapacious charmer gossips portrayed. There had occasionally been women in his life, but the relationships had been casual on both sides, ending without regrets. He’d never been quite sure how his reputation originated, but suspected the very few golddiggers he had met and neatly sidestepped during the past years. Gossip born of frustration? Perhaps. He’d never really thought about it until now, but it seemed probable, and he could accept it without cynicism. A few ladies ambitious enough to try to catch a Delaney had sown seeds in frustration, and a reputation had grown.
And he hadn’t, he thought, helped matters by remaining blithely single and dating different women. But he’d wanted to find the right woman and get married. That was the irony of it. He?
??d searched consciously and unconsciously as most men did, but no woman had jolted his heart.
Until now.
And this lady, he knew, would do her damnedest to keep him at arm’s length because of his reputation and her own ambition.
He pulled himself from his musings to find her gazing at him curiously, and hoped no emotion had shown on his face.
If he only knew what a vain hope it was. Maggie had wondered why his black eyes had seemed so abruptly bleak and his strong jaw had tensed in determination. What was he thinking to bring an expression of resolution to his lean face? She wasn’t about to ask.
The expression was fleeting, though. He smiled at her, an elusive dimple appearing to the left of his mouth. “Your father obviously taught you well. Strictly speaking, Diablo isn’t one of the horses I hired you to handle, but if you wouldn’t mind…?”
“Glad to.” She returned his smile. “Do you want him trained any particular way? To show, I mean.”
“No, he’s seven years old now. I bought him to breed because his bloodlines are good, but he’s always been too wild. Train him any way you like. I just want him to learn to be handled without going berserk.”
“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”
Briskly, he said, “You’ll have four Saddlebreds and three Walkers in your string to begin with. I’d like to show all of ’em next year if you think they’re ready. All except one mare in foal, that is. I have my eye on some good breeding stock, but we’ll need to build a reputation first in the show ring.”
Maggie was nodding, his plans exactly what she’d expected.
“All your stock’ll be in barn number four, along with whatever tack and equipment you’ll need. I’ve got the basics, and you can make a list of what else you want. I’ve hired six hands to work under you. All have experience with horses in general, but only one knows gaited. They’re your people, and you’ll train them any way you like.”
She lifted a questioning brow. “No…interference?”
Rafe shook his head. “None. Your barn, your stock, your people. You manage as you see fit. You’ll decide who handles the stock, who assists you in training, and who eventually shows. I have maintenance men to clean the stables, but you and your people are responsible for tack and equipment.” He smiled slightly. “The whole point of hiring a trainer was that I know next to nothing about gaited horses. I’ll expect you to know, whatever comes up, and you to make decisions concerning training. I’ll probably be watching pretty closely—not because I doubt your competence but because I’m interested.
“We have a permanent vet on the ranch, and three other trainers employed. They handle Quarter horses, Arabians, and Thoroughbreds. I’ll introduce you tomorrow. Tom Graham—the man who was with me in the corral—is general foreman. If you have a problem and can’t find me, talk to Tom. We also have a blacksmith and a few other specialists. And if we decide to tackle dressage, you’ll have your pick of horses to train.”
Maggie could say nothing for a moment, because it was much more than she’d dared hope for. Complete control….Granted, only time would tell if Rafe’s “hands-off” policy where her training was concerned would pan out, but she’d never been offered such complete authority. “I’ll try not to disappoint you,” she managed finally.
“You won’t disappoint me,” he said flatly.
She wondered how he could sound so certain. For the first time in years she questioned her own abilities. Could she handle the responsibilities he seemed so confident of?
Time would tell that too.
Rafe sighed. “You won’t disappoint me professionally, that is. Personally is another matter.”
Maggie felt the muscles of her face stiffen as she stared at him warily.
With an absurdly mournful look on his expressive face, Rafe sighed again. “I’m going to feel very uncomfortable if you keep looking for horns, or listening for a leer in every innocent word I say.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered, feeling herself flush again.
“I’m not being ridiculous, I’m being honest. I can be honest, you know, in spite of what people say. Even when the moon’s full.” Realizing that Maggie wasn’t going to say a word, he went on.
“I have what I believe is a normal enthusiasm for the feminine half of humankind, but if you’ve been warned to expect seduction, I hope you’ll put it out of your mind.” He ignored her stifled protest, continuing in a calm tone, “I don’t make a habit of getting romantically involved with any of the ladies here on the ranch.”
Maggie was surprised, and it showed, because Rafe immediately responded.
“Yes, I employ other women. My Arabian trainer, for instance, is a woman. Also a score of assistants, quite a few riders, and a number of general stable hands. Some of them have been here for years,” he said blandly, “and I haven’t put the make on them…yet. Feel free to ask them.”
After a moment Maggie said, “I’m…sorry.”
“Accepted. If it’ll make you feel better, you’re not the first to come here expecting to have to lock your bedroom door. I have to fight my reputation just the way I’d guess that you have had to fight your size. Now I know you’re bigger than you look. Can you accept that I’m not quite what gossips paint me? For one thing, you know what ranches are like. I’m usually too damn busy for…uh, romance.”
He had a point, and Maggie absorbed it. She was being ridiculous, and his dry voice made her realize it. His black eyes were grave, containing no devil-laughter; his expression, serious. Fleetingly she wondered if he had to go to such pains to reassure each new female employee, then dismissed the question.
“Friends?” he asked lightly.
“Friends. And I am sorry, Rafe.”
“Don’t mention it.” He grinned. “Besides, after eating one of Kath’s meals, you may well wish seduction was all you had to worry about!”
Right on cue, heavy footsteps sounded and a round face peered around the doorway to the den, followed by the rest of Kathleen. She was fiftyish with a medium build and bright, merry blue eyes in an amiable face. Vivid red hair was wound around her head in a braided coronet, and she was dressed simply in a light blue housedress.
“Dinner, Mr. Rafe,” she said, her voice still containing a faint Irish brogue after more than thirty years on this side of the Atlantic.
He was on his feet, gesturing toward Maggie as she, too, rose from her chair. “Kathleen, this is Maggie O’Riley, our new trainer.”
The housekeeper gazed fixedly at Maggie, and Maggie’s eyes widened slightly. Kathleen’s round face took on an oddly eager expression and a pleased smile curved her lips. “Welcome to Shamrock, Miss Maggie,” she said softly.
While Maggie was replying suitably, clearly unaware of undercurrents, Rafe shot a quick look at his housekeeper. How on earth, he wondered, had the woman guessed so quickly? And she had guessed, because the only other woman he’d ever heard her address with that special affectionate formality was his mother.
As they made their way into the dining room, he made a mental note to be certain Kathleen didn’t ruin his chances because of a wrong word to Maggie. He’d just spent a great deal of effort in convincing her he had no rakish intentions toward her. The last thing he needed was for Maggie to find out too soon that his intentions were strictly honorable….
—
Years of getting up before dawn to attend to horses had molded an unbreakable habit with Maggie. She found herself wide awake and restless at five the next morning. The sky was still dark, the house silent, and she was clearly the first of the household to stir.
After a fruitless attempt to go back to sleep, she tossed back the covers and rose. By the time she had tidied her room and dressed herself in jeans, a short-sleeved blouse, and boots, and had braided her hair neatly, the sky was beginning to lighten. She turned off her bedside lamp, left her room, and quietly made her way to the kitchen.
Rafe had told her firmly to consider the house hers for the duration, to come and
go as she liked. She wasn’t entirely certain that meant free run of Kathleen’s kitchen as well, but Maggie was ready for breakfast and eager to get started with her new job. Rafe had said he would show her all around the ranch and introduce her to everyone this morning, but she had no idea what time he meant to do that.
Maggie tidied the cluttered kitchen with the automatic movements of someone to whom disarray was anathema. She grimaced slightly when she realized what she’d done, but decided that Kathleen probably wouldn’t notice anyway.
She found what she needed with some difficulty and had to force herself not to rearrange both cabinets and pantry into more efficient order. Within moments she’d assembled the ingredients for an omelet and had coffee perking and fresh-squeezed orange juice standing ready on the small kitchen table.
The omelet was golden brown and the kitchen filled with enticing scents when Maggie looked up suddenly, some instinct telling her she was no longer alone.
Rafe stood in the doorway, and she had to hold back a laugh at the pensive expression on his lean face. He was gazing at the omelet the way a half-starved man would look at a feast, she thought.
“Good morning,” she said politely. “I hope you don’t mind—or that Kathleen won’t either. I was hungry.”
He cleared his throat. “Morning. No, I don’t mind, and Kath certainly won’t. I meant to tell you last night, but I forgot. Kath’s breakfasts are so lousy that I told her ages ago not to bother. I usually just scramble a few eggs or something.”
Maggie turned the fluffy omelet onto a plate and glanced at the ingredients she hadn’t used. “There’s more than enough for two,” she offered, still trying not to laugh.
His expression brightened, then turned regretful. “I didn’t hire you to cook,” he said uncomfortably.