Isabeau thought of her own family, of her mother’s grief over being abandoned. Over her struggles to build a life for them. Isabeau thought of her own possible pregnancy. Could she do this alone? Was she being hardheaded and impractical in keeping boundaries up between her and Trystan?
“How did you all pull through?”
“Uncle Conrad stepped in. He has his own business interests and this isn’t his passion, but he’s savvy and he kept things on track. We owe him so much.”
“He isn’t able to help now?”
“His own corporate interests have grown too large, and we’re not children anymore. He says it’s on us and he’s right.”
Isabeau couldn’t help but note, “For a large family who says they want to keep the family business afloat, everyone sure is preoccupied.”
“You have Trystan, who’s more capable than he realizes, and there’s my brother Marshall if you get desperate.”
“What a ringing endorsement.” They laughed together, a much-needed tension reliever. “And they’re both so into the social scene. Not.”
“Ironic. I get it. The only person more reserved than Trystan is Royce—and okay, maybe my brother Marshall, too, and he’s been sent to a conference anyway—under duress. But at least he agreed to go. Family is everything to all of us—Steeles and Mikkelsons. It’s what binds us. So much so that Trystan is willing to step way outside his comfort zone.”
“So much so, Jeannie and Charles Mikkelson adopted their nephew.” The story touched her heart.
“And my brother adopted Glenna’s daughter, who isn’t even her biological child,” Naomi added.
“You are all lucky. You all have people to count on, no matter what.”
As Isabeau spoke those words, she realized how applicable they were to her too. While she hadn’t had the luxuries of this lifestyle, she had been fortunate too. From her mother to the older woman who had taught her how to crochet, to Paige...and even to Trystan.
The last realization stunned her.
She wondered how she’d allowed herself to become so isolated and independent since the stalker incident when actually she craved more connections. More family like these people had.
Perhaps a couple of weeks ago, Isabeau would have continued keeping him at a distance. But deep in her gut, she felt courageous.
She wanted to let her feelings carry her forward.
* * *
After a relatively successful meeting, and while the others had gone salmon fishing, Trystan found himself again craving the more familiar scents of horse musk, hay and leather.
The two former rival families turned business associates had meshed together better than he’d anticipated. Nothing like a string of crises to motivate teamwork and camaraderie.
Try as he might, the boardroom scene—with all its posturing—was never his thing.
But as much as he wanted to help his family, he was finding himself wanting to please Isabeau, as well. Still, before he spoke with her about the results of the meeting, he needed to ride off the tension.
And yes, give himself some distance from the attraction to Isabeau that was so strong he was beginning to lose objectivity.
Luckily, horses grazed just outside and he nodded his thanks to Royce before rushing to the barn, eager to exchange the wooden table and its complications for a pair of cross ties and Abacus, the spunky bay quarter horse.
He made short work of getting to the barn, clipping the leather lead line to the designer halter. Abacus’s ears perked up as Trystan brought him to the cross ties. The horse stuck his tongue out in a lazy yawn.
After securing the bay, Trystan retrieved a tack box full of supplies. Picking up a currycomb, he allowed Abacus to smell it. The horse’s whiskers tickled the palm of his hand. Once Abacus adjusted to the scent, Trystan placed a steady hand on the animal’s neck, stroking the silky bay. With his other hand, he moved the currycomb in small, concentric circles, freeing some of the dirt and loosening Abacus’s muscles. While he knew the stable hand had probably already done this, he felt peace of mind taking care of the horse himself.
From a distance, the now-familiar jingle of a dog’s collar caught his attention. Looking over the bay’s withers, he saw Paige keeping pace with Isabeau. His heart pounded just a little faster as he took in the red hair piled in a high ponytail on her head, the tight fit of her jeans and shirt.
Isabeau allowed Abacus to sniff her hand, stroking the other side of his neck. The horse leaned into the rub, clearly enjoying the extra affection. “Are you going riding again?”
“I’m just checking to make sure they were brushed and settled properly.” He tipped his Stetson down, shaking his head. Trystan finished currycombing and picked up a hard, stiff brush.
“More decompressing after the family meeting?”
“Perceptive and pretty.” He smiled over his shoulder, sending the tufts of loose hair and dirt off the bay’s hindquarters. The excess hair and dirt pooled on the ground. “How’s Naomi?”
“Settling in after her visit to the emergency room. It’s reassuring they didn’t hospitalize her, but she has gestational diabetes and elevated blood pressure. She’s on bed rest.”
“Gestational diabetes? How is that different from your kind of diabetes?” Placing the hard brush back in the tack box, he picked up a red hoof pick.
He’d needed their earlier ride to escape the pounding heat. He didn’t want Isabeau to think he lost control at the drop of a hat after the way he’d punched that guy. But too many more tempting touches with this woman were going to drive him crazy.
Making his way back to the bay, he ran his hand down the front right leg, touching the soft spot above the hoof. In a snap, Abacus responded, picking up his foot. With practiced ease, Trystan removed the dirt the horse had acquired from pacing in the stall.
“Yes, it’s different. I had juvenile onset. It’s a lifelong condition. Naomi’s was brought on by pregnancy and should
