“That surprises me,” Rorie continued, setting aside her butter knife and swallowing a smile. “I could’ve sworn you were much older.”
Looking even more pleased with himself, Skip cleared his throat. “Lots of girls think that.”
“Don’t I remember you telling me you’re helping Luke Rivers tonight?” Clay reminded his brother.
Skip’s face fell. “I guess I did.”
“If Rorie doesn’t mind, I’ll introduce her to King.”
Clay’s offer appeared to surprise Skip, and Rorie studied the boy, a little worried now about causing problems between the two brothers. Nor did she want to disappoint Skip, who had offered first.
“But I thought...” Skip began, then swallowed. “You want to take Rorie?”
Clay’s eyes narrowed, and when he spoke, his voice was cool. “That’s what I just said. Is there a problem?”
“No...of course not.” Skip stuffed half a biscuit in his mouth and shook his head vigorously. After a moment of chewing, he said, “Clay will show you around the stable.” His words were measured and even, but his gaze held his brother’s.
“I heard,” Rorie said gently. She could only speculate on what was going on between them, but obviously something was amiss. There’d been more than a hint of surprise in Skip’s eyes at Clay’s offer. She noticed that the younger Franklin seemed angry. Because his vanity was bruised? Rorie supposed so. “I could wait until tomorrow if you want, Skip,” she suggested.
“No, that’s all right,” he answered, lowering his eyes. “Clay can do it, since that’s what he seems to want.”
When they finished the meal, Rorie cleared the table, but Mary refused to let her help with cleaning up the kitchen.
“You’d just be in the way,” she grumbled, though her eyes weren’t unfriendly. “Besides, I heard the boys were showing you the barn.”
“I’ll do the dishes tomorrow night then.”
Mary murmured a response, then asked brusquely, “How was the apple pie?”
“Absolutely delicious.”
A satisfied smile touched the edges of the woman’s mouth. “Good. I did things a little differently this time, and I was just wondering.”
Clay led Rorie out the back door and across the yard toward the barn. The minute Rorie walked through the enormous double doors she felt she’d entered another world. The wonderful smells of leather and liniments and saddle soap mingled with the fragrance of fresh hay and the pungent odor of the horses themselves. Rorie found it surprisingly pleasant. Flashes of bright color from halters and blankets captured her attention, as did the gleam of steel bits against the far wall.
“King’s over here,” Clay said, guiding her with a firm hand beneath her elbow.
When Clay opened the top of the stall door, the most magnificent creature Rorie had ever seen turned to face them. He was a deep chestnut color, so sleek and powerful it took her breath away. This splendid horse seemed to know he was royalty. He regarded Rorie with a keen eye, as though he expected her to show him the proper respect and curtsy. For a wild moment, Rorie was tempted to do exactly that.
“I brought a young lady for you to impress,” Clay told the stallion.
King took a couple of steps back and pawed the ground.
“He really is something,” Rorie whispered, once she’d found her voice. “Did you raise him from a colt?”
Clay nodded.
Rorie was about to ask him more when they heard frantic whinnying from the other side of the aisle.
Clay looked almost apologetic. “If you haven’t already guessed, that’s Hercules. He doesn’t like being ignored.” He walked to the stall opposite King’s and opened the upper half of the door. Instantly the black stallion stuck his head out and complained about the lack of attention in a loud snort, which brought an involuntary smile to Rorie’s mouth. “I was bringing Rorie over to meet you, too, so don’t get your nose out of joint,” Clay chastised.
“Hi,” Rorie said, and raised her right hand in a stiff greeting. It amused her that Clay talked to his animals as if he honestly expected them to understand his remarks and join in the conversation. But then who was she to criticize? Only a few hours earlier, she’d been conversing with a cow.
“You don’t need to be frightened of him,” Clay told her when she stood, unmoving, a good distance from the stall. Taking into consideration what Skip had mentioned earlier about the moody stallion, Rorie decided to stay where she was.
Clay ran his hand down the side of Hercules’s neck, and his touch seemed to appease the stallion’s obviously delicate ego.
Looking around her, Rorie was impressed by the size of the barn. “How many stalls are there altogether?”