“Wes, please, wake up.” She felt so helpless, like the little girl whose mother would never come home. Some memories were so deep that even a young child couldn’t forget them.

His dark lashes fluttered and then he finally opened his eyes. With a low moan, he lifted his head, only to drop it back to the ground.

“Easy.” Emery patted his shoulder and glanced at Callie.

“What happened?” Wes tried to raise himself up again and this time succeeded.

“You fell,” she explained, her voice breaking. “We should call an ambulance.”

He cursed. “I don’t need an ambulance.” He struggled to get up, wavered only a few steps before he seemed to regain control, and he started off in the direction that his horse had run, which was back to the stables.

When she tried to go after him and grab his arm, Wes growled at her. She retreated a step and they all watched him stalk off toward the stables. The ambulance crew had apparently been waiting behind the tents in case of emergencies and when Emery spoke to them, he told them Wes was headed for the stables.

Callie was rooted to the ground. Her whole body shook and she was a little dizzy, and also hurt by Wes’s brush-off. He didn’t want her to check on him and that stung. More than stung, it created a heavy ache in her chest. She rubbed the spot over her heart, trying to ease a pain she knew full well wouldn’t ease until she’d taken care of Wes.

“Are you okay?” Fenn wrapped his arm around her shoulders, shaking her a little and she focused on him.

“Huh? Oh, I’m fine. Just a little shook up. I was so afraid…” Her sentence died in a breathless whisper.

Fenn cupped her cheek and met her gaze. “Pretty scary to see someone you love get hurt, huh?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, and when he chuckled she scowled. “What?”

“You love Wes. You didn’t deny that just now.” Fine lines around his eyes creased as he smiled. “I guess it was worth a few punches to get him to admit he loves you, too.”

“He doesn’t.” She rubbed at her eyes, brushing away tears, but she gasped as Fenn caught her by the shoulders.

“I was wrong about him, kid. So you listen to me. A man like Wes does not get into fights over a woman, not unless he loves her. Hell, he got mad when I suggested it was only desire for you. He was pissed. He may not be ready to tell you he loves you, but it sure shows.”

She wanted to cry. If he loved her, he wouldn’t have walked off after the accident, and she told Fenn as much.

He unclipped his riding helmet and shook his head. “You think he wants you to see him hurt? A man likes to be strong and protect his woman, not frighten her by getting hurt. His pride is injured and he’s probably scared that you’ll lose faith in his ability to take care of you.”

“But that’s ridiculous.”

Fenn laughed. “As I recall, you once told me, men never make sense.”

He had her there and she couldn’t argue.

“So what can I do?”

A serious expression lined his face as he considered this. “He needs to get his sense of power and strength back. Find a way to make him feel comfortable again and he’ll be okay.” With a brotherly pat on her head, Fenn walked away.

Callie remained on the field a few minutes longer, the grass cool beneath her feet as she watched the crowds disperse. One person caught her attention.

Corrine Vanderholt was standing next to the edge of the large party tent, her attention on the stables where Wes had gone. A smug smile curved her lips as she glanced around and then slipped back into the vanishing crowds. A little shiver of dread tiptoed down Callie’s spine. Was Corrine happy that Wes had been hurt? Would she try to get back with Wes and was she heading off to find him at that very moment? Jealousy crawled beneath her skin and she despised admitting she was worried Wes would be tempted by Corrine.

The questions had no ready answer, but Callie would be watching her closely from now on. Something wasn’t right. Every instinct she had screamed that Corrine had liked Wes getting hurt.

Callie collected her shoes and slipped them on before she headed to the stables. Wes hadn’t come back out yet, so he might still be inside. As she reached the stables’ main entrance, two paramedics walked past her. Emery was right behind them, looking bemused.

“Where is Wes?” she asked.

Emery waved a hand back down the long dim hall of the stalls.

“He’s brooding, but fine. A bump on the head is all.” Emery’s assurance didn’t soothe her. She needed to see Wes, to make sure he was, in fact, all right.

The stalls were full of polo ponies who stuck their faces over the edges of the doors to eye her curiously. The heavy warm scent of hay and grain made her feel safe. It would always remind her of the ranch. A large tack room bore glossy English-style saddles, and a rack behind them was laden with large cup trophies. Fat ribbons in a dozen colors hung from pegs on the rack, their forked ends gleaming in the soft gold glow of the ceiling lights.

Wes was at the end of the row of fifteen stalls. She saw his dark silhouette against the daylight behind him from the rear entrance of the barn. His tall, lean, booted legs, narrow hips, wide shoulders, all of him focused as he held a horse’s face in his hands, his forehead pressed to the beast’s in a sign of gentle endearment that tugged at her heart. He was so sexy, so alive, and at that moment completely ignorant of her presence.

She loved him so much it hurt. It wasn’t the same as she’d felt with Fenn. That had been a shallow cut to her soul when he’d rejected her. With Wes, it was like nothing else she could ever have imagined. Everything she someday hoped to be was tied to him, like an ocean to the shore. Always crashing back to each other, pulled by an invisible force like gravity. A love that was built into the fabric of the universe. It couldn’t be explained or ignored. Only embraced and cherished.

I will love you for the rest of my life, Wes Thorne. Even if you break my heart, it will be yours.

The horse he was stroking shifted and bumped its nose against Wes’s chest and Wes chuckled. The sound was rich and low. It made her entire body explode with heated memories of their nights in Paris. Without a word, she walked right up to him and put her arms around him, hugging him. If he was startled, she couldn’t tell. Her face was buried against his chest.

“Hello, darling.” He kissed her temple and curled his arms around her body.

“Don’t ever push me away like that again. Ever.” She rubbed her cheek against the soft cotton of his polo jersey. His scent, mixed with a little sweat and hay, made him enticing and irresistible.

A hand patted her lower back and then he eased her away a few inches so their gazes could meet. Around them, the silent equine witnesses huffed and pawed their hooves against hay-covered stone.

“Keep coming after me.” His eyes were heavy with a solemnity she hadn’t expected. “Don’t let me shut you out. Whatever you ask of me, I can’t refuse you. You know that, don’t you?”

Her heart skidded to a stop as hope sprung forth. Could he mean what she hoped? That he belonged to her just as she belonged to him? She was too afraid to ask if he meant that.

“How’s your head?” She touched his cheek gently.

One corner of his mouth rose in a crooked grin. “Just a small bump.” He reached behind his head, but she caught his wrist.

“Don’t touch it if it hurts. Did the paramedics tend to it?”

He nodded. “Are you hoping to patch me up again?” It was meant as a tease, but she didn’t find it funny.

“I don’t want to make that a hobby, stitching you back up or bandaging your wounds. I’m serious, Wes. Be careful for me.”

“You were really worried?” His brows arched and his lips softened in a tender half-smile.

“Of course I was. A horse practically fell on you. You weren’t moving…” She couldn’t finish the thought.