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laughter. Every
time she pulled the rag back and forth to clean the end of Trace's exposed foot
below the cast, he grunted and almost came up off the couch.
    She
never expected such a tough man to fall apart having his feet touched. Washing
his pinky toe, Joan peeked up at Trace. He didn't appear fierce and non-feeling
now. With his eyes squeezed tight, the bridge of his nose wrinkled, and his
lips puckered as if he had eaten a lemon, the hard mask he always wore slipped
off his face. She removed the washcloth and dropped it in the bucket of soapy
water.
    Trace's
shoulders slumped and he opened his eyes. "That was cruel."
    She
laughed. "No. That's payback."
    Patting
his toes dry with a towel, she checked to make sure there were no more swelling
or tender spots around his foot and the cotton cloth still covered the edges of
the fiberglass cast. He was doing remarkably well and never complained outright
about any pain.
    "Have
I been that hard to take care of this week?" He frowned.
    "It's
understandable. You were in pain and upset about being laid up." She
shrugged. "Even I would be grouchy if I wasn't able to move around when I
wanted."
    He
leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. "It's hard to stay
down. I have work to do and deadlines to meet. Even staying cooped up in the
house drives me crazy. I'm not much for sitting around and doing nothing."
    "I
understand." She stood and picked up the tub of water. "Let me go
dump this and throw the rags in the laundry basket, and I'll be right
back."
    The
laundry room also served as the mudroom, and the guys had saddles, boots, and
other miscellaneous items stored nearby that they used outside. Joan rinsed out
the bucket, set it underneath the sink, and rung out the rags. Trace needed
something to do besides stare at four walls all day long.
    For
someone who made his living outdoors and being active, it was no wonder he was
bored and on edge. If she knew more about the kinds of things that he enjoyed
doing in his free time, maybe she could entertain him. She switched off the
light, and accidently knocked something off one of the hooks lining the wall.
Flipping the switch back on, she found a rope with a clip on the end lying on
the floor. She hung the piece back on the wall, and paused.
    Intricately
woven strands of colored strings braided together formed one thick rope, bigger
around than her thumb. She ran her fingers over the design, trying to figure
out how someone would make such a thing. An idea came to her, and she carried
it into the other room.
    "I've
got a question for you." Joan sat down beside him and showed him the rope.
"Did you or one of the others make this?"
    "That
one's mine. It's a lead. It clips onto a horse's halter strap." He
fingered the rope and held up the other end. "See here? I always put blue
and green on the tips of the ones I make."
    She
raised her brows. "So this is homemade?"
    "Yeah."
    "Will
you teach me how to make one?" she asked.
    "I
thought Brody said you didn't like horses."
    "I
do…I think. Maybe if I was around them more I'd learn to like them. I've only
been on the one horse with Brody. I don't like heights, but that's not why I
want to learn how to braid." She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip.
"You'll think this is stupid, but I have no idea how to braid my
hair."
    "Right."
He tossed the rope onto the coffee table. "You're a girl. All girls know
how to do their hair.
    "I
know how to do a simple three-strand braid, but I want to learn how to French
braid and do whatever you did with the rope." She tugged at her hair.
"My hair is thick and heavy. When I pull it back in a ponytail I end up
getting a headache. I think if I could braid it back evenly, it'll keep the
pressure off the top of my head and keep the hair out of my face when I
work."
    He
seemed to study her hair. "I like it down."
    She
turned away to hide her smile. "When I get a full time job at one of the
hospitals, they'll require me to wear my hair back."
    The
cordless