Almost Heaven by Jillian Hart Page A

to be proud of it.”
    â€œAn honest man. I like that.”
    â€œSince I’m being honest, I guess I’d better admitthat I haven’t seen any horses up close yet. My courage has yet to be tested.”
    â€œWhy put it off? Come with me.” She fastened the lid, locking it against field mice, and swung her Stetson from the hook on the wall. “I hope you came prepared.”
    â€œTo ride?” The cords in his neck tensed. He stood rooted to the floor as she slid past him into the main breezeway.
    â€œYou look a little nervous, Officer.”
    â€œMe? Nervous? Nope.” He squared his wide shoulders, like a soldier preparing for battle. “I face danger every day. Armed felons and criminals and gunfire. I’m not scared of a horse.”
    â€œI like your attitude,” she replied over her shoulder as she led the way through the main stable.
    â€œWhat attitude?”
    â€œConfidence. You’re going to need it.”
    His gait fell in stride with hers, easygoing but with a hint of tension. “Why do you say it like that? Like I’ve got something to fear and you’re not gonna tell me what it is.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it. There’s nothing to fear. Really.” She liked the crook of humor gathered in the corner of his mouth.
    It wasn’t fair to tease a little nervous, first-time rider, but Cameron looked so big and strong, like a man who couldn’t ever be scared of anything, she couldn’t resist. “You aren’t afraid of hitting the ground hard, are you?”
    â€œWho, me? No. Thanks to you, I’m so relaxed about this.”
    â€œI’m glad I could help.” Biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud—how long had it been since a man had made her laugh?—she stopped at the head of the aisle, where a long row of stalls marched through the bright sunlight from the skylights overhead to the far side of the stable.
    A few horses came to look, peering over their gates, some nickering, some scenting in the direction of the stranger. Most of the stalls were empty. The scrape of a pitchfork in the distant corner accompanied the familiar scents of fresh alfalfa and straw.
    â€œSure is a nice operation you got here.” Jamming his hands in his pockets, he took his time looking around. “Clean. Nice. Who did the construction, one of the outfits in town?”
    â€œNo. Me and my cousin Ben did. My dad helped out when he could.”
    She looked with pride at the building she’d put together with her own two hands. She’d had help, but she’d checked books out of the library and studied, and her neighbor, Mr. Brisbane, was a retired carpenter who liked giving her advice.
    â€œ You did this? A woman of many talents. I’m impressed.”
    â€œNot going to censure me?” Kendra relaxed as the corner of his hard, lined, masculine mouth cinched up in a grin. “I got a lot of that when I bought this place.”
    â€œI remember this used to be an old homestead. Weren’t the outbuildings falling down in the fields? You really turned this place around.”
    â€œThanks.” Pride shone like a soft new light.
    She’d worked hard, he realized. Sacrificed a lot of her time, her energy and her courage to build this place with her own hands. Not what a lot of women her age did. No, they were falling in love and planning weddings and enjoying all that a marriage brought. A home, maybe a new car or two, babies to welcome into the world and raise.
    He hadn’t known she’d literally built this place. It had to have been about the time Deb was diagnosed and his world fell apart. He hadn’t noticed much in the way of anything after that. Woodenly doing his job to the best of his ability and hurrying home to her, to all that mattered to him.
    Sadness crept into his heart, for Deb. For Kendra. That had to be around the time he’d handcuffed Jerrod. “Folks