“You know these horses,” Miranda said. “And you just told me you were going to look for ranch work.”
He raised a hand. “Hold it right there. This is crazy talk. I never said anything about mustangs.”
“But why not? You just adopted one, didn’t you?”
“One horse isn’t the same as taking on a herd of them, Miranda.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “But I just can’t help wanting to do something.”
“Isn’t that the purpose of your film?”
“I thought so before I understood the complexity of the problem. Until now I even thought gathering the horses was the solution. But that’s not really the case at all, is it?”
“No.” He leaned back against his truck, arms crossed over his chest. “Gathering is not the right answer, and neither is turning your grandmother’s ranch into a mustang sanctuary.”
“It was only a thought,” she replied, disappointed at his dismissive answer. Why had she expected more? Maybe it was all just wishful thinking that she could maintain some kind of connection with him. A long silence followed. He suddenly seemed so unreadable.
“Keith?” she began again.
“Yes?”
“Um, what if I have questions? You know, pertaining to the film? Is there a number or email I can reach you at?”
“In case you have questions?” His mouth curved subtly at one corner, as if he saw through her subterfuge. “You have Mitch’s number, right?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I programmed it.”
“If you need anything more, he knows how to reach me.”
He wouldn’t even give her his number? Her heart sank all the way into her stomach.
“I don’t have a phone or email to give you,” he explained. “I don’t even have a permanent address. If you need me, call Mitch.”
“Oh. Okay then,” she said softly. Sadly. What was left to say?
The moment she’d dreaded had come at last. She was leaving, returning to her work, to her world. Would he at least kiss her good-bye? Their gazes met and held. His eyes flickered as if he was asking himself the same question. Her pulse sped. For a moment she thought he would kiss her, but then he seemed to change his mind. She waited a few more agonizing seconds, but he made no move, just stood there watching her, his expression impassive, his hands by his sides.
Her throat tightened as she turned to her car and reached for the door.
“Good-bye, Keith,” she whispered. “Thanks for…well…everything.”
Did he feel nothing? Did this whole thing mean nothing? “Good-bye, Aiwattsi. Be well.”
Be well? Was that all? The end? Their final good-bye? Her chest gave a painful squeeze. She’d never dreamed that in going out into the desert she’d end up leaving a piece of herself behind. But she had—a great big chunk of her heart.
*
He’d almost kissed her. He still wanted to. It was all he could do to hold back, but he’d never have been able to stop kissing her once he started. So he hadn’t. But he still wanted her. He hadn’t stopped wanting her. The scent of her still teased him. He ached to feel himself surrounded in her warmth. There was so much he would like to have said, but what was the point? She’d come only to do a job, just as he had. Now the job was finished. She was driving back to L.A. The good-bye hurt, but a swift, clean break was for the best. This couldn’t go anywhere. She had plans, a future. He had nothing. Absolutely. Nothing. A fact that gnawed at his insides when she’d asked about his plans. So instead of kissing her, he’d watched her drive away, but letting her go still left him with a huge ache in his chest.
Keith left the prison an hour later with the horse on his trailer, bound for Tuscarora, where he’d be joining Mitch’s crew. He still didn’t know what had prompted him to take the horse, or what the hell he was going to do with it. At first he’d thought the medicine hat stallion might make a good peace offering, but it might be interpreted as trying to buy his way back into his grandfather’s good graces. He couldn’t chance the risk and humiliation of a rejection. Keeping the horse for himself was impossible, even if he was inclined to train it—which he absolutely wasn’t.
He was still mulling over his dilemma when he reached the fork in the highway at Winnemucca. But instead of continuing east on Interstate 80, he turned the wheel northward onto Highway 95 with no real destination in mind. Seventy miles later, just inside the tribal lands, he spotted several bands of horses. Pulling onto the shoulder of the deserted highway, Keith cut the engine.
Nostrils flaring blood red, the horse snorted at him through the slats as he rounded the stock trailer, where he unlatched the door and flung it open. Instead of instantly springing out, as he’d expected, the stallion eyed him with suspicion.