Free Conall's Legacy by Kat Wells

the coat of the horse golden-red. Brilliant white legs and a white stripe down his face reflected in the glow and added a fancy touch like chrome on a hot rod. Luisa and Royal Knight danced the length of the arena, so closely bound in body and spirit they might have been one creature. Drake couldn’t separate woman from horse.
    Knight moved in perfect rhythm on each distinct count of four, moving effortlessly into another maneuver, another direction. His hooves hovered inches above the sand, appearing never to connect to earth.
    Drake shook his head in wonder. He couldn’t see Luisa move--not a muscle. How on earth was she cueing the horse? The ride appeared effortless, yet he knew it must be difficult to manage such a huge animal. Knight’s movements and rhythm were perfect for the music. Drake could practically see his old metronome from his piano lesson days clicking back and forth in time to the notes. He could easily see why she had chosen this particular piece of music to dance with her horse.
    The performance consumed her. If Drake were a two-headed dragon, she’d take no more notice of him than she was now. This was a private moment--intimate somehow.
    He started to turn away, to leave her to her peaceful interlude. She rounded the corner of the arena nearest him. Her look of pure pleasure and freedom drew his attention to her face--to sparkling eyes and curved lips. Her hair was pulled back in a braid, and the breeze kissed her cheeks.
    His gaze skidded across the jagged scar traveling across her right cheek, blending into her hairline. Agony hit him between the eyes. Not guilt. Not self-pity. God knew he’d been wallowing in both lately. This raw pain was for someone else. He hardly knew her, so why did it hit him like the kick of one of her horses? What the hell had happened to hurt her so?
    Realization hit him. Her loosened hair wasn’t vanity as he’d thought that first day. It was protection from prying eyes-- eyes she obviously didn’t expect at this moment or her long, dark waves would be swinging against her cheeks. Protection from pity, too, he’d bet. Drake knew instinctively, she’d never accept that from anyone, even herself.
    With the ease born of practice, he melted into the night shadows, wondering what secrets La Puerta de Paraíso held that explained the wounding of Luisa Montoya.
    #
    The harsh clanging of a bell jarred Drake’s nerves. He set the opened can of chili he’d planned for dinner on the Formica counter and went to the front door wondering if the place was on fire.
    Mesquite trees rimmed the yard and where night met light, Luisa stood with what looked like an old-fashioned cowbell in her hand. At her feet sat several buckets. Curiosity dragged Drake across the porch. Luisa set the bell on the ground and lifted the buckets one by one to pour their contents into ancient wooden troughs.
    Apparently finished, she backed away and sat on an old stump, keeping one bucket in front of her. He heard the brush crunching and his gaze swung to the scrubby trees. A dark javelina broke cover. The sight of a wild pig running at her brought terror to his soul. He stepped off the porch automatically reaching where his weapon should have been on his belt, but stopped and rocked on his heels. Eight tiny babies scurried out of the brush to beat the sow to the feed. They made snuffling, excited noises. A bewildered smile lifted the corners of Drake’s mouth.
    The brush shook again, but this time an odd pair of creatures waddled out that Drake didn’t recognize. Similar in size to raccoons, they had masks but no ringed tails. Hmm, have to look that one up, he thought.
    His gaze slid back to Luisa’s features dimly lit from the barn lights. The woman’s a regular Dr. Doolittle, he thought, a smile spreading across his face. Did she do this every evening? Had he slept through it?
    Then the most beautiful of all, half a dozen small deer came into view. Five of them went to one of the troughs, but one