Sara Rand waved goodbye to her next-to-last student as the boy climbed into his mother's minivan. Jeremy offered a rakish grin in return before the door slid shut, then the minivan retreated down the gravel driveway of the Rescued Hearts Riding School. The car turned right onto Stony Creek Road toward the tiny Sierra Nevada foothill town of Hart Valley. Jeremy's mother had promised him a bowl of ice cream at Nina's Café.

Only Grace Thorne remained, the last of Sara's charges in this week's summer horse camp session. Grace's mother had dropped her off that morning, dashing in from her well- worn sedan, turning Grace over to Sara's teenage assistant, Dani, then hightailing it out again. She'd left in such a hurry Sara hadn't had a chance to talk to her or even meet her. Sara knew only what the little girl's therapist had been able to tell her — that Grace's father had died a year ago and Grace had not spoken a word since.

She'd hoped to have all the children picked up before Keith Delacroix arrived. The Rescued Hearts program director, Jameson O'Connell, had arranged for Delacroix Construction to volunteer a few man-hours to fence the pasture into paddocks. Sara would need some time to show Keith around and give him a rundown on how she wanted the pasture divided. She hated to ask Dani to stay behind to keep an eye on Grace. But her only alternative was to let the little girl tag along as she gave Keith his tour.

She suspected the builder might object to Grace's presence. She didn't know him except by reputation. Although she often saw the Delacroix Construction trucks around town, she'd only crossed paths once with Keith himself in Nina's Café.

The tall, broad-shouldered man with dark blond hair and a serious expression on his face had finished his meal just as she sat down. His gaze had passed over her as he took his check to the register, then he'd glanced back at her as he took his change. Her stomach had clenched at the lack of emotion in those piercing blue eyes. Not coldness, but emptiness.

It might be her own history that made her so wary of Keith Delacroix. But she'd just as soon have Grace gone before he arrived.

The eight-year-old perched on a wooden bench beside the covered riding arena, hands folded in her lap, fair blond head tipped up as she stared out into the trees beyond the pasture. She didn't squirm with impatience; there was not an ounce of fidget in Grace's small feet. She sat perfectly still, perfectly quiet.

Like many kids whose world had careened out of control, where everything they'd trusted had been torn away, Grace held tightly onto the only thing she could — her own behavior. She'd completed every task asked of her today without the least complaint. Halter the horse, lead the horse, tie the horse and brush it. Clean its feet, bring out the saddle and bridle. She did it all. Sara had never seen a more compliant eight-year-old.

Except when Sara asked her to share her name with the other children in the camp group. No amount of prodding could induce Grace to make a sound. The little girl hadn't spoken once in the entire six hours she'd been here today.

The sound of a car engine caught Sara's attention, and she tensed in expectation of seeing one of the white Delacroix Construction trucks approach. She'd learned to feel comfortable around men after years of conscious effort. She'd even managed to forge friendships with a few. But she couldn't seem to squelch the fear, however faint, when she first met someone new. Her brief encounter with Keith in the café only seemed to make the anticipation worse.

A rattletrap muscle car packed with teens came into view on Stony Creek Road, its engine roaring. The driver gunned the engine as the wreck sailed by the NJN Ranch — named for Nate, Jameson and Nina O'Connell — and disappeared toward town. The sudden jolt of sound sent her heart rate up, adding to her anxiety.

The late spring heat and the weight of her auburn hair on her neck added to her discomfort. Sweat melted the thick ponytail against her back where her tank top dipped low. She lifted the hair from her neck and let the faint breeze cool her skin.

Sara had insisted Grace wait in the shade and now she turned to the towhead with a smile. "Your mother should be here soon."

Grace's gaze flicked in Sara's direction, the faintest trace of rebellion in the little girl's blue eyes, before she resumed studying the tall pines beyond the pasture. Rebellion — because she didn't want to see her mother? Or because she didn't want to leave?

Sara checked her watch. Nearly three-thirty. Keith was due any minute. She supposed she'd better take Grace over to Dani so she could give the builder her full attention.

She held a hand out to Grace. "Let's go see what Dani's doing, sweetheart."

Grace scooted off the bench and they started toward the pasture where her teenage assistant was coaxing a dose of bute into old Dudley. Dani had mixed the bitter-tasting anti-inflammatory with some sweet feed, hoping to get enough of the medication into the twenty-five-year-old gelding to ease his arthritis.

"Can you watch her a few minutes, Dani? Just until her mother gets here?"

Dani smiled. "Come on in, short stuff."

Sara unhooked the gate to let Grace through, then headed back toward the arena. She might as well get the tack organized while she waited.

She'd just gathered up a halter and bridle left behind by the campers when she heard the sound of tires on gravel. There was no mistaking the big white pickup truck turning into the driveway. The sun's glare on the wind-shield obscured the driver's face, but she could see his well- muscled arm resting on the open window.

Keith drove slowly along the driveway, minimizing the dust kicked up by his truck. The dust did the horses no good, especially the somewhat elderly geldings and mares she used for the camp program. Somehow that small kindness eased the knot inside Sara.

The truck angled toward the parking area at the far end of the arena and pulled in next to Dani's little red car. A bit too close — he could only open his truck door halfway. Sara remembered those broad shoulders, the tall frame. There was no way he'd be able to squeeze his way out of his truck unless he moved it.

The door shut again and she saw him slide across the bench seat. When he stepped out of the cab, the midafter-noon sun marked his face with shadows. The distance between them gave Sara only the impression of his size, the stiff set of his shoulders, the length of his legs.

She couldn't hold back a habitual stab of fear. She'd become adept at acknowledging it, then setting it aside. As he drew close enough that she could make out the rugged lines of his face and his sharp blue eyes, her fear faded, washed away by a sense of awareness that shocked her.

"Sara Rand? Keith Delacroix." He put out his hand as he approached.

The impulse to protect herself pushed words from her mouth. "I don't think we can do this today."

He dropped his hand, slowing as he continued toward her. When he stopped maybe a couple yards away, he towered over her, seeming a foot taller than her five-seven.

He frowned down at her. If anything, he looked even grimmer than the day at the café, and full of tension. "I canceled an appointment to be here today."

Now that he was closer, fear flickered to life again inside her. She thrust it aside. "I'm sorry. One of the students is still here. Her mother's late picking her up."

He directed his gaze toward the pasture. "Can't the girl watch her?"

Of course she could. She'd already arranged it with Dani. "I'll have to excuse myself when Grace's mother arrives."

His jaw tightened; in irritation she supposed. But when he looked off toward the pasture again, he'd relaxed his expression into careful neutrality.

Sara turned to check on Dani and Grace. They'd pulled grooming tools from the caddy by the pasture gate and were brushing Dudley as the old gelding grazed.

When she turned back to Keith, he stared down at her, the intensity of his blue eyes unnerving. "Let's get started." He put his hand on Sara's arm.

The heat of his touch jolted through her and she pulled away with a gasp. She trembled in shock, not because the light press of fingers had frightened her, but because of her sensual awareness of it.

She rubbed her arm, not liking the sensation. "Sorry."

She wasn't even sure what she was apologizing for. "If you'll follow me."

She led him past the small octagonal structure that served as her home and office. He walked alongside her, shortening his stride to keep pace with her. "You teach kids to ride here?"

"I help kids work through their problems." He felt too close and she edged away. "Sometimes on horseback, sometimes on the ground."

They reached the knoll that overlooked the pasture and arena, a good vantage point to explain how she wanted the paddocks laid out. Below them, Grace and Dani fed carrots to the horses.

"The horses represent the problems these kids face." Sara looked out over the gently rolling landscape. "They learn to handle the horses and deal with their frustrations, their fears and their sorrows at the same time."

He paced across the knoll, his work boots scuffing through the dry grass. "Nice spot."

She gestured out at the pasture. "I want six paddocks, each about twenty-five by fifty feet. On that end, where the oak trees will give the horses some shade."

"Easy enough." Propping his boot on a boulder jutting from the knoll, he bent to tighten his laces. His thigh muscles flexed under his jeans as he pushed off and resumed his restless stroll. "Beautiful piece of land. Jameson could have gotten a hell of a lot of money for it if he'd sold it."

"I would have thought he'd keep it. Build a house for him and Nina."

Keith paused to pick up a piece of quartz crystal. "Too many bad memories." He dropped the quartz in the grass.

Sara glanced over at him, wondering if he'd elaborate. She doubted he would. "So Jameson's a friend of yours?"

"Yeah. Worked for me a couple years ago. Damn good carpenter."

That was a surprise. Still fairly new in Hart Valley, Sara knew Jameson was co-owner of the café in town with his wife, Nina. She'd heard whispers that he'd once been in prison and that some of his grandmother's wealth had filtered down to him. Jameson had donated the land, but it was his grandmother, Lydia Heath, whose largesse mainly funded the program.

Down in the pasture, Grace wrapped her small arms around Dudley's neck. The patient old horse stood stock- still. "I'll need to get a barn up before winter. These old horses will need shelter when the rains hit."

He looked over his shoulder at her. "I'm only here to fence the paddocks." His blue eyes seemed to bore into her, digging into the barriers she kept around herself. "I can't build the barn, too."