Love Inspired January 2014(255)

                If he recognized that as a dude, he could only imagine how much further Emma was taking it.

                His fears—hopes?—were confirmed as an immediate red flush crawled up her face. Her mouth opened and closed, as if she were unsure what to say, and she grabbed for the stall door frame.

                He really wanted to be the one holding her up right now.

                A warm feeling spread through his chest, returning his breath even as hers was apparently being stolen. His feelings mattered. The past few years still counted. Even hearing about it secondhand, her reaction proved it—she still felt something, too. If she were as indifferent toward him as she pretended, she’d have cared less at Rachel’s admission.

                Rachel came out of Buttercup’s stall with her bag, her next words too low for Max to catch, and stopped abruptly as their gazes locked. Emma turned, and there they stood, an unlikely triangle, all eyes pointedly fixed on Max.

                First he was jealous of the wood propping up Emma, now he was jealous of the horses that got to hide in their stalls. Not that he had any reason to be embarrassed—if anything, Rachel should be, for having slipped personal information about him to a near stranger.

                Though, since they’d dated back in his womanizing, desperate-for-distraction days, he probably deserved it.

                He adjusted his hat and grinned. “Ladies.” He still had some charm left, somewhere. Not that it would affect either of those two. “How’s Buttercup?”

                Maybe if he pretended he hadn’t heard, they could all save face. But denial had never been his specialty. He might have done a lot of things worse in the past, but lying was never his crutch. He hadn’t had anyone trying to keep him accountable in the first place until Emma. His dad couldn’t care less what he did, and if Max told him flat out, he’d probably reach for another shot glass and toast him best wishes.

                But they knew he’d heard. He could see it in the guilt clouding Rachel’s eyes and the mortification lurking in Emma’s.

                “She needs an X-ray.” Rachel jangled her truck keys as if in proof of her pending deed. “Was just headed to get the machine.”

                “And let me know?” An X-ray definitely fell under the unofficial doctor/client relationship they had going, though the question was more to distract from the tension radiating off Emma than from his own personal desire to find out.

                “Of course.” Rachel smiled, that gentle, practiced white smile she’d perfected over the years of having to break bad news to animal lovers.

                But this time, Max knew the bad news had nothing to do with Buttercup.

                “Need help?” She’d say no, but he had to ask anyway. Maybe she’d take pity on him—or Emma, at the least—and give them an excuse to delay the inevitable.

                Nope. Rachel Peters owed Max Ringgold no favors. Her smile deepened as she rushed past them. “I’ve got it.”

                Of course she did.

                He couldn’t resist. Not that he’d call it desperation but... “Are you sure? Emma or I could—”

                Rachel stopped, back stiff, and slowly turned. “Emma?”

                He pointed, and Emma ducked her head, turning even redder than before. In fact, she was downright burgundy. Clearly, he’d missed a step. He frowned. “Emma Shaver.”

                And then the pieces connected. Rachel had been talking to Emma earlier without knowing her name. Obvious, now, by the particular way she’d phrased her tell-all sentence. Too bad he hadn’t caught that tiny detail before now. Talk about upping the embarrassment factor.