Battle for the Soldier's Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

you’re having a pony problem.”
    Gracie turned and looked at Rory, those amazing eyes dancing with the most beautiful light.
    “Maybe no one walks on water,” she said, quietly, “But garden-variety miracles happen all the time.”
    He wanted to ask her where the damned miracle had been for her brother. But he found, to his dismay, he was not quite hard-hearted enough to be the one to snuff out that light in her eyes.
    And the light in her eyes was doing the strangest thing to him. He knew the arrival of the cowboys was no miracle, not of the garden variety or any other. It was the Bridey variety miracle, pure and simple.
    But something was happening nonetheless. Unless he was mistaken, Gracie’s light was piercing the darkness in him, bringing brightness to a place that had not seen it for a long, long time.
    He did not allow himself to marvel at it. He thrust the feeling of warmth away. His darkness could put out her light in a millisecond.
    And he’d better remember that when he was thinking about how beautiful Graham’s kid sister had become.

CHAPTER THREE
    G RACE watched with absolute delight as the angels who had arrived dressed as cowboys rounded up the ponies. How could Rory not believe in miracles?
    In less than an hour the whole disaster was not just repaired, it was practically erased.
    It also took less than an hour to become very evident to her that Rory Adams might not know a thing about ponies, but leadership came as naturally to him as breathing.
    “How about if you just sit this one out?” Rory had suggested with a meaningful look at her damaged footwear.
    She could have resented how he took over from her, but frankly she was sick to death of ponies, and though it was probably a crime in the career woman’s manual, she reluctantly admitted it was somewhat of a relief to have someone take over. But not out loud.
    Rory set up an impromptu command center, and she found, in her softened frame of mind, with him unaware of her scrutiny, it was nice to watch him.
    Rory Adams was a force unto himself, pure masculine energy practically sizzled in the air around him. He came up with a plan, quickly, delegated, and then he pitched in. He was afraid of nothing: not ponies racing straight at him, not being dragged on the other end of a rope by a tiny pony that was much stronger than seemed possible.
    From a purely feminine point of view, watching Rory was enough to make her mouth go dry. He was agile, energetic and strong. It seemed every muscle he possessed was being tested to its rather magnificent limits. Every now and then his shout of command—or laughter—would ring out across the field.
    When a pony charged in her direction, he threw himself at it, glancing off its shoulder, but managing to change its direction.
    And then he rolled easily to his feet—as if he had not just risked life and limb to save her—and kept moving.
    It occurred to her that he protected in the same way he led. It came to him as naturally as breathing.
    And it felt like the most terrible of weaknesses that it made her insides turn to jelly.
    Within an hour the last of the ponies was loaded into the ramshackle trailer. The poop was scooped. The birthday banner was fished out of the pool. Serenity was installed in the backseat of her crew-cab truck, and Tucker, looking at home for the first time since she had met him, was sandwiched in between two large cowboys on the front seat.
    “Clayton and Sam will drive their truck to wherever they want to go,” Slim said, addressing Rory. “I’ll follow in my truck.”
    There was something in the way he was addressing Rory, with a respectful kind of deference, that gave her pause. A suspicion whispered to life inside her, and Grace could feel the pink cloud she had been floating on since the timely arrival of the cowboys evaporating beneath her.
    “Anything else you need done, Mr. Adams?”
    Mr. Adams? Grace tried to think whether there had been an exchange of names in the flurry of