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Kissed by a Cowboy
Pamela Britton
THE COWBOY WHISPERERDeep down, Jillian has always known she couldn't be a wife and mother. After the pain she's experienced in past relationships, she can't risk the heartbreak. But she has her animals and her special gift, which has brought her to Via Del Caballo, California. The tiniest sign tells her everything an animal is feeling. To observers, it's uncanny.To Wes Landon, the stories of the gorgeous "horse whisperer" are so much mumbo jumbo. Then he sees Jillian in action, charming horses, dogs…even him. When his brand-new baby daughter is left in his care, Wes has hopes that Jillian would want to be part of his family. But the closer he tries to get to her, the more she pulls away. Can he convince her to take a leap of faith?


THE COWBOY WHISPERER
Deep down, Jillian has always known she couldn’t be a wife and mother. After the pain she’s experienced in past relationships, she can’t risk the heartbreak. But she has her animals and her special gift, which has brought her to Via Del Caballo, California. The tiniest sign tells her everything an animal is feeling. To observers, it’s uncanny.
To Wes Landon, the stories of the gorgeous “horse whisperer” are so much mumbo jumbo. Then he sees Jillian in action, charming horses, dogs...even him. When his brand-new baby daughter is left in his care, Wes has hopes that Jillian would want to be part of his family. But the closer he tries to get to her, the more she pulls away. Can he convince her to take a leap of faith?
A new song came on over the speakers. Wes grabbed her hand. “Dance with me.”
“Oh, but I—”
“No buts.” He winked at Jim. “Nice meeting you.” He tugged Jillian toward the dance floor.
“That was rude.”
“No,” he said, spinning her around to face him. “What was rude was the way you told me to get lost last week.”
“I did not.”
He held her too closely, and as it always did when he touched her the electricity that stretched between them danced along his arms and his belly. It’d been weeks since they’d been together, and yet he still craved her just as badly as that first time.
“You did, and you’ve been avoiding me this week.” He felt her tense in his arms. “My mom says she’s asked you to come over at least a half a dozen times.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he repeated.
Just as quickly as it’d come, the tension left her body. “All right, I have.”
Dear Reader (#ulink_d530f84b-97f5-560f-96ed-77ec6bed3937),
Two years ago I bought a horse out of someone’s backyard. It was love at first sight. It was almost a disaster.
The horse had serious mental issues. I feared for my life every day I went out to ride. If he wasn’t trying to take my head off in his stall, he tried to kick me or run me down. Scary.
The breeder of the horse heard about my problems. She took pity on me and arranged for a session with a world-renowned animal communicator. Desperate, I agreed to talk to the communicator even though I didn’t believe anyone could actually communicate with animals, especially over a phone. Boy, was I in for a surprise.
The communicator told me things about my horse that blew my mind, things that only I would know. She knew he had a problem with his right front hoof (he’d recently suffered an abscess). That he hated anyone invading his space. That he thought of himself as king. Most surprising of all, she claimed that he loved me. Loved? The skeptic in me had a hard time believing that. Still, I was desperate enough to listen to her advice.
Two months later it was like I owned a different horse. I became a believer.
There are things in life that we can’t understand. I wanted to write about those things. I wanted to tell the story of a heroine with a heart as big as the animals she loved, but who was afraid. And I wanted to give her the man of her dreams—her perfect match. She just has to take her own advice—to trust in something you can’t see—in this instance, love.
I hope you enjoy Kissed by a Cowboy.
Pamela
PS: To view pictures of my reformed rake of a horse visit my Facebook page at facebook.com/pamelabrittonauthor. (https://www.facebook.com/pamelabrittonauthor)
Kissed by A Cowboy
Pamela Britton


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
With over a million books in print, PAMELA BRITTON likes to call herself the best-known author nobody’s ever heard of. Of course, that changed thanks to a certain licensing agreement with that little racing organization known as NASCAR.
But before the glitz and glamour of NASCAR, Pamela wrote books that were frequently voted the best of the best by the Detroit Free Press, Barnes & Noble (two years in a row) and RT Book Reviews. She’s won numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award and a nomination for the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® Award.
When not writing books, Pamela is a reporter for a local newspaper. She’s also a columnist for the American Quarter Horse Journal.
In Memory
Colonels Smoking Gun
(Gunner)
1993–2013
Contents
Cover (#u5d5b8faa-a286-5bb4-bba2-589928ff2a2c)
Back Cover Text (#u7ac130e0-5a59-5777-a03b-81e7accc72b3)
Introduction (#u4d3e5ff3-6406-5527-bcc6-45682e2d7be6)
Dear Reader (#ulink_e9f70492-35f5-5455-bfc7-f0980d9200c1)
Title Page (#uc6a72b4b-23e4-50bb-9d0e-c399fc82c7a5)
About the Author (#u35e8a145-e1ea-57e8-8579-53a28db4d402)
Dedication (#ub7f2fccb-4d62-5a48-9bc8-9f43cafd602e)
Chapter One (#ulink_e972b1de-c70b-5fb1-a086-da3d5c665680)
Chapter Two (#ulink_d5d02a3e-34aa-5332-8e96-ff2676042cfe)
Chapter Three (#ulink_ce436a41-056a-5225-a970-1540ef08f023)
Chapter Four (#ulink_3d03c773-1f3a-5ce6-9475-62bed483c972)
Chapter Five (#ulink_75a5585e-f1a6-5d1d-9182-eda0a7d8b79d)
Chapter Six (#ulink_7ab7cd6d-01e8-52a1-9bd5-15861dda2e49)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_8ca85a6c-7b8d-5f0f-8f86-0df260fe665a)
“Not that one.”
Wesley Landon glanced at the woman who’d spoken. Who was she talking to? With her friendly smile and bright blue eyes, she had to be the prettiest thing he’d seen all day. Then again, there were half a dozen people lining the rail at the 51st Annual Red Bluff Bull and Gelding Sale. Clearly, though, she’d been speaking to someone inside the arena.
“Can you lope him out a bit?” he called to the kid who owned the gelding he was considering purchasing.
“Sure thing,” the young man answered as he urged the big bay into a slow run.
The horse sure had the looks, Wes thought, his heart pumping in tempo with his mounting excitement. “What do you think, Cowboy? You think he’s the one?”
The border collie glanced up at him and wagged his tail, his bright brown gaze declaring he was far more thrilled to look into his owner’s eyes than at the horse in question.
“Well, I think he is,” Wes said. If the gelding didn’t turn into a total nutcase during the competition portion of the sale, he might have found a diamond in the rough.
“Seriously.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman edge closer. “That horse is plumb crazy.”
Wes glanced left again, surprised to see the cute little brunette staring at him. So she was talking to him.
“Excuse me?”
“The horse you’re looking at.”
She wasn’t flirting, he realized in disappointment—she was trying to psych him out. It wasn’t uncommon for the competition to do that. Sometimes they would tell out-and-out lies in the hopes of souring a sale.
“Who told you that?” he said, playing along.
She smiled. She had a nose that was tipped up at the end and when she grinned, the smile lit up her face and her bright green eyes like the dawn of sunrise. In a light blue ribbed shirt—one the same color as the California sky above—and jeans tucked into fancy cowboy boots, she didn’t look like someone who’d tell a lie. She looked innocent and sweet and, yes, beautiful.
“The horse did.”
“Excuse me?” he said again.
“What’s your dog’s name?” She came forward, smiling down now.
“Cowboy.”
“Hey, Cowboy.” She knelt, scratching the dog under his white chin before she rested her forehead on his black mask. “How are you, gorgeous?”
Okay, there was something about a woman loving on his dog that never failed to soften Wes’s mood, even if she was trying to pull the wool over his eyes. Unless maybe he’d misunderstood her.
“Did you see him buck someone off?”
She stood. “Nope. I can just tell by looking at him.”
Okay, this was ridiculous. He held back his laughter, although just barely. “You can just tell,” he asked, wanting to be absolutely clear. “By looking at him.”
A nod, one that set her angular bob—her hair more black than brown—into motion. It brushed her jawline, that hair, coming to a point by her chin. Wes was struck by the notion that the cut perfectly accentuated her pixielike face. A face filled with utter seriousness.
His smile faltered. “I think you might be wrong about this one.” He glanced back at the animal in question. The gelding loped around like a pleasure pony, completely calm and relaxed.
She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She shifted her smile down to his dog. “Nice talking to you, Cowboy.”
He watched her leave, admitting he’d never seen such light green eyes; her gaze seemed otherworldly, and it tried to convince him she told the truth. He didn’t believe her, of course. There might be some people who could take one look at a horse and know if it was a good animal, but he’d never met any. His friend Zach knew someone like that. A friend of his fiancée’s. He claimed she was a real-life horse whisperer, a woman with short black hair and bright—
He jerked around. “Jillian?”
She immediately turned and frowned. “Yes?”
Oh, good Lord. This was one of Zach’s fiancée’s best friends, the horse trainer.
“You’re Jillian Thacker?”
She smiled a bit, and he could tell the grin was tinged with relief. “Oh, good, maybe now he’ll believe me ” relief. She tipped her head.
“Do I know you?”
“No. Yes. Sort of. I’m Wes Landon.”
Any doubt that she didn’t recognize the name faded the moment he saw her green eyes widen almost imperceptibly. Her gaze swept over him as if matching up her last image of him—probably out at Golden Downs racetrack—with the man in the cowboy hat, long-sleeved white button-down, jeans and boots who stood before her. He’d seen her before, too; he just hadn’t recognized her.
“Well, well, well,” she said, her eyes narrowing before she slowly crossed her arms. “The evil racehorse owner in the flesh.”
He smiled, well aware of her derision but completely unfazed. He knew that she and her fellow members of CEASE—Concerned Equestrians Aiding in Saving Equines—hated him. Okay, not really hated, more like...wanted to put him out of a job. They couldn’t stand people who raced horses, because they all thought it was cruel. It still struck him as a small miracle that Zach had somehow managed to charm the founder of the group, Mariah Stewart, into marrying him.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Dr. Dolittle in the flesh.”
Zach had taken to calling her that. When Wes had first heard about the woman who claimed to have a special touch with horses, he’d pretended to believe it was possible. He didn’t, of course. In his line of work as an equine-farm manager he’d heard it all. The miracle worker who could pop a horse’s bones into place and make them instantly sound. The massage therapist for sore equines. The herbal concoction that would give a horse extra zip. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe some of that stuff might help—he just wasn’t sold they were the miracles some people purported them to be.
“What are you doing here?” She lifted a brow. “Slumming it?”
“I could ask the same of you.”
He’d only ever seen her from a distance, usually as he was driving through the entrance of Golden Downs racetrack, and she was holding a protest sign. Cute, he admitted, even if she was bat-shit crazy.
“I’m here with a client. She had me look at that one yesterday.”
They both turned to stare at the horse in question. “Given your low opinion of me, I’m surprised you didn’t encourage me to buy him.”
She released a huff of agreement. “Even if I had recognized you, and I might not like what you do for a living, that doesn’t mean I want to see you get killed, either.”
“Ah, but see, I don’t make my living racing horses.”
“Yeah, right. I’ve seen you at Golden Downs. You’re the owner of Landon Farms.”
He took pleasure in contradicting her. “My mom owns Landon Farms. I just manage her operation, so technically, my mom’s the enemy.” He gave her a teasing smile. “So if you like, I can give you her cell phone number so you can call her and tell her how much you despise what she does for a living.”
She appeared genuinely perplexed. He wasn’t surprised. It was a common misconception that he was part owner. “But you’re always at the track.”
“Not always.” He met the gaze of the cowboy riding the gelding and signaled him to stop. “I drop horses off and sometimes pop in to see my mom, but that’s about it. Racing is my mom’s thing.”
“But...Mariah told me you’re on the board of directors at Golden Downs.”
“Because of my mom.” The seat had actually been foisted on him by both his mom and his fellow board members, sort of a consolation prize back when his dad had died. As if a board seat could make up for his loss. “She insists I keep my finger on the pulse of the industry, for her sake.”
A look of curiosity had taken the place of her frown. She glanced at the horse in the arena, then back at him. “So what are you doing here, Mr. Farm Manager?”
“Looking for my next cutting horse.” But as he thought about the reason he was looking, his stomach soured.
Ah, ah, ah. Don’t go there.
“I ride and train cutting horses out of my mom’s farm.”
He waited for yet another look of derision, but she apparently didn’t mind that type of horse competition, because she nodded.
“We’re looking for a reining prospect. My friend Natalie decided she’d like to give it a try—goodness knows why. As if jumping horses doesn’t keep her busy enough.”
Natalie Goodman—he’d heard of her thanks to Mariah. It seemed as though everyone knew everybody in the small town of Via Del Caballo, especially if you were into horses.
“So what makes you think there’s something wrong with this horse?” He might not believe in her “special touch,” but he was curious.
“I can just tell by looking at him.”
“Uh-huh.”
Clearly she’d picked up on his skepticism. “If you look closely enough, you can see it in his eyes.”
They both eyed the horse. “All I see is an animal doing its job.”
“Right now, yes, but look at the way its tail is twitching, a sure sign it’s bothered by something.” She pointed, her expression one of complete conviction. “Every time that cowboy asks him to do something, he twitches. He doesn’t do anything about it now, because he’s too tired, but I can tell that horse would ordinarily blow, its rider tossed to the ground in the process.”
He scratched his chin absently, although maybe not so absently, because he noticed he needed to shave. “Let me get this straight. You think because that horse’s tail is twitching that it wants to buck that cowboy off?”
“Yup. And look at its ears. And the way its nose is wrinkled. Classic signs of a horse that’s not happy doing its job.”
He had to admit, she had a point. “And so based on that you think he’s a nut.”
She shook her head. “No. That’s just what tipped me off he might be a nut. I spotted him yesterday, thought he looked nice, so I peeked in on him last night, and he damn near took my head off the moment I opened his stall door. I actually heard his teeth clack together when he tried to bite me.” She shivered. “Scary.”
He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he should make a pithy comment of his own or if he should pretend as if he believed her.
“I slammed the door just in time. He kicked it just in case I didn’t get the message. Bam!” She reenacted the moment by pretending to jump, her bob swinging. “Scared me half to death.”
He glanced back at the horse, although he did so to get control of his facial expressions. Was she trying to sour him on a sale? She didn’t look like the deceptive type. The docile-looking gelding didn’t look like a nut, either. It walked with its head down, ears pricked forward now, eyes bright—completely contradicting her claims.
“Bring him outside, if you don’t mind,” he called to the man riding him, though why he did so he had no idea.
The horse obeyed the rider instantly. Wes shot Jillian an expression of doubt. As good-looking horses went, the gelding took the cake. A little taller than he would like for a potential cutting horse, perhaps, but he’d seen some bigger geldings get down in the dirt. He’d watched a video of him working cows yesterday and been impressed. If he’d owned the horse, he wouldn’t have offered him for sale for any amount of money.
He eyed the man on horseback, a younger cowboy with scruffy blond hair who hadn’t outgrown acne just yet. “You the owner?”
The kid’s eyes darted right before he answered, “Yes,” but the way he said the one word caught Wes’s attention. A little too quick. Wes might have missed it if he hadn’t been listening closely.
“How long have you had him?”
Again the cagey look. “Long enough to know he’s a good one.”
Honestly, he didn’t believe Jillian was some kind of horse whisperer, but he didn’t like the way the kid was responding to his questions, either. “Ever been bucked off him?”
If he’d looked uncomfortable before, he was positively sitting on tacks now. “No, sir.”
“Never?”
“Wellll, he can get a little high sometimes, but nothing someone with a good seat can’t handle.”
Wes had heard enough. “Okay, then. Thanks for showing him to me. I appreciate it.”
He turned away before he said something sarcastic. Cowboy fell into step beside him. Good Lord, the kid was a bad liar. He heard more than saw Jillian follow in his wake.
“Now, there’s a horse trader if ever I’ve seen one,” she said.
Horse trader. The scourge of the equine industry. People who picked up horses for cheap and tried to resell them, usually telling a whole boatload of lies along the way. He would bet if he looked at the horse’s registration papers, he’d see that the kid wasn’t even listed as owner. He stopped suddenly.
“Did you see him try to buck that kid off earlier?”
Jillian drew back, obviously offended. “No. I told you, I could tell something was off the moment I spotted him and so I dropped in on him last night.”
He looked away from her piercing green eyes, still not really convinced, but damned if he didn’t agree that something wasn’t right. Perhaps it’d been a lucky guess on her part.
“You believe me now, don’t you?”
He faced her squarely. “I believe you’re an astute horsewoman, one smart enough to check up on a prospect when nobody was around. And I believe you’re probably right. If he’s got issues in the stall, he probably has issues under saddle.”
“Thank you. I’m flattered.”
They stood in a place just outside the arena, in between the fenced enclosure and a long line of stalls. Horse heads bobbed up and down as they watched the activity directly across from them.
“I don’t know why you men are always such skeptics,” she added. “I get so tired of having to explain to your sex why I feel a certain way about a horse. For once it’d be nice to meet someone who says, ‘Oh, you have a gut feeling? I completely understand. Thanks for the tip.’”
A horse neighed in the distance. In the arena, one of the animals being ridden answered back. Typical sounds for an equine event except in the distance, off in the barns a ways away, one could hear the sounds of bulls calling to each other. Wes had planned to go look at them earlier, but then he’d spotted the kid riding the gelding...
He turned back to Jillian. She sure was cute, especially standing there, branches from a nearby tree sifting sunlight onto her hair and throwing dappled patterns on her shoulders.
“I see your point, and I’m glad you spoke up. I’m still interested in the horse, but I’ll be watching him more closely from here on out.”
“Suit yourself, but I’m telling you, you’ll be sorry if you end up buying him.” She bent and scratched Cowboy again.
“Duly noted.”
“Your dog knows I’m right, too.”
“Yeah?” Cowboy whined. When Wes looked down, he was chagrined to realize his dog sat at Jillian’s feet.
“Dogs have a sixth sense about other animals. They know when they’re bad. You ever watch a cattle dog run up to the rankest bull in the herd? They just know, and they step in to protect their master.”
“If you say so.”
“One more thing,” she said. “If you want your dog to stop chewing your boots, give him something else—like a pig ear or a cow bone. He’s never going to stop on his own.”
Wes jerked upright.
“What makes you think he likes to chew my boots?”
“Another gut feeling.”
He didn’t move for a second. Could she see the chew marks along the top? No, she couldn’t see them.
“Lucky guess.”
She must have realized she wasn’t going to get anywhere with him, because she nodded. “Just do me a favor. Stay away from that horse. He’s a bad one.”
“Duly noted.”
She turned away. He watched her for a moment before doing the same. Crazy. The whole thing was crazy.
“By the way,” he heard her call, “Cowboy strikes me as the type that likes to bury things, so if you’re missing a boot, check for fresh piles of dirt.”
He almost stumbled. She was looking over her shoulder, a wicked smile on her face. How did she know about that—?
She started walking backward, thumbs hooked in her jeans. “But that was probably just a lucky guess, too, huh?”
She turned away before he could respond, which was probably a good thing because she’d done something a woman hadn’t done to him in a long time.
She’d rendered him completely speechless.
Chapter Two (#ulink_25198fac-1734-538f-a70f-fa228e4f351a)
Typical male, Jillian thought as she took her time walking back to the show arena. You had to slap them in the face with the truth before they believed you.
Story of her life.
If he had a hard time believing she had a sixth sense, then he’d really freak out when he discovered the truth. Still, he’d seemed nice, she thought as she reached the interior of the massive enclosed arena, the sound of Gene Robertson, this year’s clinician, droning on in the background. Oh, damn. She’d wanted to watch that. That was what she got for dillydallying outside.
“There you are,” said one of her closest friends, Natalie Goodman, a blonde spitfire who had every cowboy within twenty yards looking their way. Thanks to her trim figure, bright blue eyes and generous smile, men didn’t know what hit them when she looked in their direction.
“I was out talking to Wes Landon.” She took a seat on the aluminum bleachers that stretched along one side of the arena. Her backside instantly chilled. It was the end of January and if you weren’t out in the sunlight, you froze half to death.
“Landon, Landon,” Natalie was saying. “Why does that name sound so familiar?”
“Zach’s friend. The one who races horses, only he tells me he isn’t the one who breeds them or owns them. He just manages his mom’s farm.”
“That Wes,” Natalie said, focusing on the man on horseback. He spoke about the shape of a horse’s shoulder and its importance when it came to clearing obstacles, something that Natalie should have been speaking to the crowd about. Natalie was a shoo-in for this year’s equestrian games in show jumping. As long as they could keep her primary mount, Nero, sound, she’d be representing the United States of America.
“Was he as good-looking as Mariah claims?”
“He’s not bad.”
More like drop-dead gorgeous with his blond hair and green eyes. He had the looks of a movie star. She frowned because that was something she knew firsthand.
Negative energy. Focus on the positive.
“Not bad?” Natalie repeated, blond brow arched over an almond-shaped eye.
“Okay, fine. He’s pretty hot.”
No sense in denying it. Natalie would see for herself one day soon.
“Wow, that’s pretty high praise coming from a woman who dated Jason Brown.”
“Shh,” she hissed, glancing around. She had no idea why. It wasn’t as if there were members of the paparazzi nearby. Those days were long behind her.
“What? I think it’s kind of cool that you dated People magazine’s sexiest man alive.”
“Yeah, well, they didn’t know him like I did.”
He’d called her because he’d been having problems with his Arabian stallion. She should have known right then that he was an idiot because only egotistical jerks owned stallions if they weren’t in the breeding business. But no, she’d accepted the job, figured out the problem and ended up getting asked out on a date, and he was just so dang handsome and sweet that she’d said yes. And then yes again. Only he’d turned out to be nothing like the men he portrayed on-screen. He wasn’t a sweetly sexy hometown boy. He was an ass who’d broken her heart.
“...don’t you think?”
Jillian shook her head. That was all in the past. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...
“What?” she had to ask.
“I said you should probably answer your cell phone, don’t you think?”
Jillian jumped, then fished into her back pocket for her phone and as she glanced down at the unfamiliar number, she knew—she just knew.
“It’s him.”
Sometimes her abilities extended beyond the animal kingdom.
“Him who?”
“Wes Landon.”
Natalie smirked. “That was quick.”
“Yeah.”
She ignored the voice of reason, the one that told her to ignore him because he was just a little too good-looking. It would be easy to forget the rules around him.
Her finger had a mind of its own. “Hello?”
“You ran away before you could give me your phone number.”
She wanted to grin like a silly teenage girl. What a doofus. She had sworn off men after Jason had left her shattered.
She glanced left. Natalie stared, her expression one of clear interest.
“You never indicated you wanted it,” she admitted. “Not that I was surprised. You know, me being a crazy woman and all.”
Next to her, Natalie broke into a wide smile.
“Come to think of it, how did you get my number?”
“Mariah.”
“I should have known.”
She shot Natalie a look of apology and then stood, heading toward the middle of the building and the exit. She didn’t need grief from her friend.
“What did you want?” she asked.
The noise of the crowd in the arena made it hard to hear and so she headed for the atrium at the front of the building. The smell of hot dogs and hamburgers filled the air and reminded her she hadn’t eaten lunch.
“You were right.” There was a pause, and she could perfectly imagine him shaking his head. Or maybe that was a visual she picked up from his dog. Hard to tell.
“I followed that horse back to the barn so I could watch the kid untack.”
“Oh?” She’d reached the exit and it was immediately quieter. “What’d you find out?”
A large man with a dog at his side blocked her path. The dog was a black-and-white border collie. She glanced up sharply, her heart flipping over in her chest. Beautiful green eyes smiled down at her from beneath a black cowboy hat, one nearly as dark as the man’s lashes.
“He about kicked the kid in the head.”
Her hand dropped, cell phone forgotten. His hand did the same, although he took the time to disconnect. She absently did the same.
“And then he yelled, ‘You crazy son of a bitch,’ before he spotted me standing there.”
Hey, Cowboy, she silently telegraphed the dog. A long black tail started to wag. She smiled and returned her attention to Wes.
So handsome. So ridiculously gorgeous. Mariah had been trying to set him up with one of the girls from the barn for ages, and he was so cute she might have been tempted to throw caution to the wind if they’d been introduced before now...before she’d pegged him as a doubting Thomas.
“Did he get nailed?” she asked to cover that particularly troubling thought.
Green eyes sparked. “Nah. He’s fine.” She saw his lips turn up in a brief smile as he remembered the incident. “But when he realized I’d heard, I could tell he was about to offer up some excuse. I told him don’t bother.”
“So you believe me now?”
And why did the thought make her so giddy? She knew what his answer would be even though she hoped for something different.
“I believe you intuitively knew something was off with that gelding.”
Intuition. A sixth sense. Men had excused her abilities a million times over. Women had, too, but it always felt different when it was a man.
“I’m usually pretty good at reading horses, but I’ll admit I missed the mark on this one.”
“That’s big of you.”
His smile was pure charm. “Mariah says you’re the real deal, a bona fide horse whisperer, and so I was thinking...”
No. Don’t say it. She didn’t want to spend any more time with him. To be honest, she had been glad when he let her walk away.
“...maybe between the two of us...”
He didn’t finish, but he didn’t need to. She knew what he was thinking.
“You want me to help you pick out some prospects, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
She shouldn’t have been surprised. Still, there was a part of her that wished that for once in her life she could meet someone and tell them the truth. It wasn’t a sixth sense. She picked up images from the minds of animals. Her friend Mariah said she talked to them, but it wasn’t really that. She could see what was going on in their minds, but she could never tell people that, not when she first met them. They’d call her crazy, but for some reason she wanted to tell Wes, and she wanted him to believe her.
It’s because you think he’s cute.
“What’s in it for me?”
She hadn’t meant the question to come out so cool, but something about the man set her teeth on edge. It was as if she fought an invisible force field, one she wanted to break through.
He doesn’t believe you and that hurts.
It shouldn’t have hurt. It never hurt. So why now?
“I don’t know. What do you have in mind?”
You.
She almost blanched. “Money.”
Beneath his black cowboy hat his brow lifted. “You mean like pay you for your services?”
“Something like that.”
“How much are your rates?”
“I’m expensive, but I have another idea.”
The brim of his cowboy hat tipped a bit. If she wasn’t mistaken, his gaze had just intensified, green eyes flashing with...what? Interest?
“Like what?”
Good Lord, he’d taken her words wrong. He was thinking something personal. “I’ll help you in exchange for a sizable donation to CEASE.”
If she’d told him she wanted to use the money to fly to the moon, he couldn’t have looked any more surprised.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. See, we want to hold a big fund-raiser, but we’re a little short on cash. If you want my help, you’ll have to help CEASE.”
She heard him huff something out under his breath. He wouldn’t accept, couldn’t accept. She had a feeling the whole “you have a good eye” thing was just an excuse to get to know her better. Chances were, as a farm manager, he had a good eye, too. He didn’t need her. Not really, but she could tell her offer had put him off. He might not breed horses, but she knew he didn’t like the group she hung out with; ergo, he wouldn’t like her...or so she’d thought. The dratted man actually appeared to be considering her offer.
Why had she ever opened her mouth about that horse?
Wes Landon could be dangerous to her health. Good-looking. Sexy smile. Horse lover. She’d never be able to resist his charms, and if she didn’t, she’d pay the price once he discovered the truth about her “sixth sense.” She always did.
“Let me get this straight.” He leaned in closer to her. “You want me, a farm manager whose mother breeds racehorses, to donate money to CEASE, the people who picket the racetrack where my mom runs her horses.”
“Yup.”
Don’t say yes. Don’t say yes. Don’t say yes.
But he didn’t look as perturbed as she’d expected. “Deal.”
God help her.
Chapter Three (#ulink_7a8e6707-37e8-5299-9cfa-0cc718d4bd23)
The next day she was still irritated as hell that she’d agreed to help. Granted, it was for a good cause, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be a pain in the rear. She’d had to spend all day yesterday visiting the horses in the sale catalog. Natalie had joined her, and Jillian had mulled over each horse, trying to decide if it would work best for Natalie or Wes.
Fortunately, she hunted for two very different animals. Reining horses performed a pattern in an arena, trotting, loping and running, followed by working with a cow. Cutting was all about the cow, so it was easy to separate the two types of horses. By the end of Wednesday she’d picked out a horse for Wes, but instead of being excited to see him, he stared at the animal as if she’d lost her mind.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said Thursday morning.
The thing about his opinion of the horse was that it didn’t disturb her nearly as much as the man himself. There were times when you met a man and he just...did something to your insides. Wes was one of those men for Jillian. Frankly, he was probably “one of those men” for a lot of women. She’d seen women do double takes as she’d followed Wes over to the stables. She didn’t blame them. He might have been wearing nothing more than jeans and a dark green button-down, but the cotton shirt did something to his eyes. They were so green you could spot them from ten paces away.
“Okay, I know he’s not much to look at, but it’s what’s inside that counts,” she said, referring to the horse they were examining.
“Is he even big enough to carry my weight?”
Jillian nodded her head emphatically. The horse looked as plain as a copper penny, she admitted. He stood in the far corner, head toward them, the smell of pine shavings in the air. His red coat marked him as a sorrel, and about the only thing interesting about his features was the blaze on his face. Typical of horses that traced back to the legendary Gunner, the white covered nearly half his head—the top half. Horse people called it bald-faced. Jillian called it a good sign—a sign he had a lot of his sire’s blood in him.
“He’s by Colonels Smoking Gun, Wes, one of reining’s all-time leading sires.”
“I know who he is.”
“I think he’s going to be just like him.”
“But I don’t want a reining horse.”
“I know, I know. But he’s cutting bred on the bottom. He’s got Dual Rey in his lines. And he likes cows, and he has his father’s desire to win.”
He glanced at her sharply. “Let me guess. Another one of your ‘feelings’?”
“Yes.”
He eyed the gelding again. “He looks like a mule.”
“He does not!”
Wes stepped back from the stall and crossed his arms. The horse inside barely lifted his head. The gelding looked tired, Jillian noticed. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and asked the question she didn’t want to ask.
You okay?
She received an image of long spurs and sweat-soaked sides. Of an evil-looking spade bit and a dusty arena. His owner had ridden the socks off him last night.
Poor baby.
The horse lifted its head, nodding as if in silent agreement.
“What are you doing?”
Jillian’s eyes popped open. She wasn’t normally so obvious, especially in front of men.
“Ahh. Nothing. Piece of sawdust in my eyes.”
He turned to face her again. Beneath the overhang of a stall he seemed all the more imposing. He wore cowboy hats low on his brow, she noticed, not that it mattered how he wore them, because he was a big man and he probably could have covered his nose and still seen the world.
“You okay?”
She looked down at Wes’s feet, at the dog that faithfully sat by his side. Your human is very handsome.
The dog wagged his tail, the soft hairs brushing the ground and kicking up dirt.
And he probably knows it, too.
“Fine.” She nodded toward the horse. “See how quiet he is?”
“Well, yeah, I don’t need a sixth sense to know why that is. Clearly someone rode him pretty hard today. Look at the marks by his girth.”
She leaned in, then immediately drew back. How had she missed that? She could see where the skin was raised beneath the hide. Horizontal lines and one diagonal line intersected right about where a spur would rest. She would bet if she examined the gelding up close, she’d find broken skin.
“You have to buy him.”
Cowboy whined as if trying to urge his master to do as she suggested, but she could tell Wes wasn’t convinced.
“And why should I do that?”
“Look at him. Nice head, and with that short back, he ought to be pretty handy. He’s flashy, too, with those four white socks and half-white head. And smart. You can tell by looking in his eyes.”
“I don’t like four white feet. Their hooves are horrible. Too brittle.” Their gazes connected. “Sorry—I probably should have told you that before you started scouting prospects.”
“You don’t even want to see him work? Because of his feet?”
“I’m saying no because he’s reining bred, too. He even looks like a reiner.”
“Would you refuse to date a woman because she came from the wrong bloodlines?”
She had no idea where the question came from, except maybe she was trying to give herself one more reason to stop thinking about the breadth of his shoulders. Normally, she would never push a client toward something they didn’t want, but she enjoyed the way his eyes widened beneath his black hat. She could practically hear the thoughts going through his head.
Should I answer that? Maybe I shouldn’t. Lord, that’s a loaded question.
She almost laughed.
“I guess it would depend on the woman.”
“How about a woman who’s short, a little bit overweight, but who makes you laugh. Would you say no to that?”
Why was she pushing him?
“Well, I can overlook a lot of things if someone can cook.” He smiled. She looked away. “How’s your cooking?”
“I can’t boil an egg,” she lied.
She thought she heard him laugh. And she could have sworn he softly said, “Liar.”
Okay, so she was a great cook, but she wasn’t going to let the conversation flow into territory she’d rather avoid.
Arm’s length, she reminded herself.
She’d agreed to help him because of CEASE, because what they needed, what they had always needed, was a wealthy sponsor to help fund their organization. With financial backing they could get the word out, tell more people about the plight of unwanted racehorses. Not just racehorses but all horses. His mother might be just the ticket.
“Seriously, Wes, you shouldn’t turn up your nose at something because it’s different from what you want. Plenty of good reining horses have made good cutting horses—and vice versa.”
Was she speaking to herself? Or him?
When she felt his gaze fall upon her, she dared to look up at him.
“That sounded personal.”
It had been, and she had no idea why she’d said it, not after warning herself off.
“No. Not at all. I just think you should give him a try.”
He went back to peering at the horse in the stall. So did she. Inside, the gelding swished his tail.
“He’s young,” Jillian added. “He’ll do some growing over the next couple of years.”
She felt something cold and wet touch her hand. When she glanced down, Cowboy stared up at her.
Maybe you can talk some sense into him.
More tail wagging.
“Okay, fine. I’ll watch him perform today.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
She didn’t know why she did it, didn’t have a clue what prompted her, but suddenly she hugged him. She felt so strongly about the gelding in the stall it took her breath away. She didn’t pretend to be psychic. She just had a feeling they’d be a perfect match.
“Wow.” He drew back. “If I’d known that’d be your reaction, I’d have said yes ten minutes ago.”
She felt so small in his arms. Hated that she noticed again how wide his shoulders were. Loved the way his eyes lit up when he smiled.
She stepped back.
“Sorry. I just think...” You have the sexiest eyes I’ve ever seen. “You won’t be disappointed.”
She turned away before she forgot it all—forgot the pain and sorrow and wasted tears she’d spent on one man after another. Forgot the crushing disappointment and how stupid she felt afterward, forgot how many times she’d gotten her hopes up by telling herself, once again, that it would be different this time around.
It never was.
She started to turn away again.
“Wait.”
She didn’t turn back, didn’t want to look him in the eyes. She didn’t want to connect with him at all.
“Don’t you have more for me to look at?”
“Nope.” She gave him her profile. “He’s it.”
“Well, all right, then,” he said. “What time do you want to hook up at the arena?”
“One o’clock. He’s the third one out.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond. He would either be there or he wouldn’t. From here on out it was horses and horsemanship. That was it.
Too bad she had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy.
Chapter Four (#ulink_572eac1a-2ce9-506c-a4fe-9f6f386a0f63)
“She’s an odd one, isn’t she?”
Cowboy peered up at him intently.
And you’re getting desperate, buddy, if you’re talking to your dog.
A cute oddball, he amended, watching her walk away, but an oddball just the same.
Desperate straits call for desperate measures.
The words had become his mantra recently. If Bugsy hadn’t pulled up lame... He shook his head in disgust and disappointment. Now he was dead in the water and a fully trained replacement horse would cost a fortune, which was why he’d traveled to Red Bluff this weekend to look at prospects. The equine equivalent to a Hail Mary pass. He had to find a horse that could nudge him over the half-million-dollar mark in earnings. Pronto. If he didn’t... Well, he couldn’t even think about that.
“Come on,” he said to Cowboy.
Two hours later she stood right where she’d said she’d be, out in front of the two-story brown building that served as a horse arena. She wasn’t alone. A woman with blond hair and blue eyes stood next to her.
“Wes,” Jillian said, barely making eye contact. “This is Natalie.”
He glanced at Natalie, offering a “Nice to meet you” before looking back at Jillian and puzzling through why she seemed so cold all of a sudden.
“Wow,” he heard Natalie say. “You weren’t kidding when you said he was good-looking.”
He had a front-row seat to Jillian’s reaction. She flinched, turned on her friend and sharply whispered, “Natalie!”
Now, that was more like it. At least she had some color back in her cheeks.
She thought he was good-looking?
For some reason that made him stand up a little straighter.
“And who’s this cutie?” Natalie said.
“This is Cowboy,” Wes said.
Natalie squatted down to meet his dog. “Hey there, boy. Gonna watch some horses work with us?”
Cowboy barely shot Natalie a glance. His dog only had eyes for Jillian. The canine stared at her as if she held the keys to a room filled with bones.
“We better get in there before the seats all fill up,” Jillian said.
She still wouldn’t look at him. It’d grown colder since that morning. Overcast. Both women wore jackets, Natalie’s made of leather and Jillian’s a black knitted cardigan that hung past her hips to midthigh. It hugged her petite body but didn’t look all that warm, and he knew it would be even colder inside.
“Are you excited?” Natalie asked Wes.
“I’m curious,” he replied. “The horse Jillian chose for me isn’t exactly what I was looking for.”
Natalie nodded. “I know how you feel. She narrowed the field down to three for me, and not a one of them is what I would have picked for myself. But I’ve learned over the years to listen to her. You’ll learn the same thing, too.”
Great, he thought as they headed inside. Two crazy women.
The building had been built in the ’50s. A beige stucco facade on the outside and a concrete floor that seemed to radiate the chill. They were a little late to be finding a seat, most of the grandstands already filled, but they wedged themselves into a spot near the top. Cowboy settled at Wes’s feet. It looked like a sea of cowboy hats from where they sat, as if you could hop from brim to brim and never touch the ground.
“I’m so excited,” he heard Natalie say. She wore her long blond hair in a braid, a brown ball cap on her head, one with rhinestones in the shape of a horseshoe catching the light. The glimmer of the stones nearly matched the blue in her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”
“Me neither,” Jillian said, and Wes noticed she’d made sure Natalie sat next to him and that Jillian sat on the other side of Natalie—as far away as possible. “I have no idea how you’re going to wedge in learning to ride a reining horse and continue with your show jumping career, too.”
“Who’s your reining trainer?” Wes asked.
“I don’t have one.”
Wes pulled his gaze away from a horse just entering the arena, an average-looking bay gelding with big ears and a bushy black tail, and shot her a look of surprise. “You’re buying a reining horse and you don’t have a trainer?”
“I am a trainer,” Natalie said.
“You ride English.”
“Yeah, which means I know how to ride.” He tried to keep a straight face; clearly he failed. “You try and ride a horse over a five-foot fence.”
“No, thanks, I prefer to keep my feet on the ground, but I know someone who would take up your challenge.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“A friend of mine. A rodeo performer. I’ll have to introduce the two of you.”
“Rodeo?” Natalie’s look said it all. Yuck. “Can’t imagine anyone involved with the world of rodeo knowing anything about reining horses.”
“You might be surprised.”
In fact, he’d make a point of introducing the two. In the arena a black horse worked—unimpressively, he thought—over so-called trail obstacles that were nothing more than wood poles, tires and plastic bags filled with aluminum cans. The gelding was slow on the uptake, so much so he almost dumped his rider when the man picked up one of the bags.
“That was scary,” he heard Jillian say.
The main arena had been sectioned off into three different pens. The first was meant to showcase the animal’s horse sense—in this case, none. The second was for showing off the animal’s maneuverability. The third was where they would work a cow. The middle ring was the one that Natalie would pay close attention to because that was where the horse would circle, stop and back...along with a few other tasks, all moves that would be necessary at a reining competition.
Less than a minute later a horn sounded, signaling it was time to move. Alas, the black horse didn’t appear to be any better at reining than he was at trail. Meanwhile, a new horse had entered the first ring. There would always be a horse working in one of the pens, something that made watching interesting.
“Here we go,” Jillian said. “This is one of the horses we’re interested in.”
Curiosity made him study the dark bay gelding. Like the horse Jillian had picked out for him, the gelding hardly seemed impressive. No flashy white on his face. No tiny dish head. No thick neck and round butt. He seemed as plain as a brown paper package. He glanced at the catalog. The horse’s name was Playboy Gunslinger.
Each horse had been given ninety seconds to work each pen. The dark bay obviously had a good head on his shoulders, because he didn’t spook at any of the obstacles. He cleared the log poles without a second glance, walked obediently around pylons and didn’t so much as flinch at the bag of cans.
“Well, if I ever need to go on a trail ride, I won’t have to worry about breaking my neck.”
Wes had to agree. He liked the look in the animal’s eyes, too. Even though they were high in the grandstand, he could tell the horse seemed calm and cool, as if nothing would faze him.
A horn sounded again. He sat up a little straighter.
“He’s going to be great,” he heard Jillian say.
Wes almost leaned forward and asked if she’d spoken to the horse personally. For some reason the thought amused him. Nobody could talk to animals, but wouldn’t it be interesting if they could.
Once the gelding stepped into the middle ring, Wes knew they were in for a show. The rider stopped the gelding dead center, dropped the reins and waited for his horse to settle. Even so, Wes could see that the horse waited to be told to go. Like a rock in a slingshot, he wanted to shoot off. Sure enough, the moment the rider tapped the horse with a spur, the animal spun around his hind end so fast that his black mane seemed like streamers of liquid onyx. So fast that the animal appeared to sink low to the ground. So fast that his tail became wound up in his legs.
The audience roared.
“Impressive,” Jillian said.
The rider stopped. Wes wondered if the tall, lanky cowboy on board the animal’s back was dizzy. He sure would be. After a moment or two, he set off at a lope that was both beautiful to watch and clearly comfortable to ride. The horse’s head was low, not too much but enough that Wes knew the animal respected the bit. He was in a snaffle, too, not one of those long-shanked implements of torture known as a spade bit. He watched as the horse changed directions, switched the leg he was leading with as effortlessly as a world-champion horse and continued on with his figure eight.
“I think I need to buy this horse,” Natalie said.
“I think you’ll be bidding against a lot of other people.”
As if hearing him, the crowd erupted, this time at yet another flawless lead change. When the rider headed to the rail and began to pick up speed, everyone knew what came next. Wes held his breath as the animal headed toward the opposite end of the arena at a full-out run. If he’d blinked, he would have missed the cue the rider gave for the gelding to stop, which he did instantly, the horse seeming to sit down, back legs leaving twin skid marks in the dirt.
“Wow.”
It was Jillian who’d spoken but the word was echoed by dozens around him.
“What is a horse like that doing at an auction like this?” Wes asked.
“That’s a good question.” Natalie shot him a glance. “I would expect him to be a futurity horse. He should be out earning money.”
“He was raised on a cattle ranch,” Jillian said. “The kid riding him is the owner’s son. He learned about reining horses by watching YouTube videos.”
Wes’s mouth had dropped open. “He learned all that from a video?”
Jillian leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Yup. And by studying the rulebook.”
He clamped down on his lips just in time to stop a laugh. Unbelievable.
Whoever the kid was, he had a brilliant career ahead of him as a trainer. The gelding worked the rest of the pattern beautifully. When it came time to switch arenas, Wes expected to be disappointed with the way the animal handled cattle. He wasn’t. He was half tempted to make a bid on the animal himself, except he strongly suspected the horse would sell for more money than he could afford.
“I hope jumping horses pays well.”
Natalie didn’t hesitate. “It does.”
Of course it did. As with horse racing, the people involved had money, and lots of it. The purses for jumping competitions were pretty big, too. He’d heard Natalie had won a big grand prix not too long ago. It made sense that she had the means to afford a nice horse. Yeah, his buddy Colton Reynolds needed to meet her. He’d probably appreciate meeting someone who wasn’t a buckle bunny.
“You’re not even watching the horse I picked out for you.”
Huh? He turned toward the first arena and sure enough, there was the sorrel gelding with the four white socks. He looked tiny beneath the man who rode him, a big hulk of a cowboy with a bushy beard and black half chaps and spurs. Wes disliked him on sight.
You have to buy him.
Jillian’s words reminded him that they did have something in common. They both hated animal abuse. He’d like to rake the man in the sides with his own spurs.
The little gelding barely glanced at the poles in the arena. He seemed unfazed by the bright orange pylons, too, and the audience watching him so intently. Jillian shot him a “See? I told you so” look. When the whistle sounded a little while later, he was curious to see how it would go. Like the man before him, the gelding’s rider paused in the middle of the center arena. He no doubt planned to wow the crowd just as the last cowboy had done, only when he tapped the horse with his spur, the gelding erupted, and not in a good way.
The crowd gasped. Wes came half out of his seat as the demure sorrel gelding turned into the best-looking bronc he’d ever seen. One jump, two, three—the cowboy came off. Wes wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t found himself amused. The man had it coming with the ice picks he used for spurs.
“Bad horsey.” He could hear the laughter in Natalie’s voice. He shot her a look that conveyed he agreed.
The horse had begun to run around. Much to his credit, the gelding in the cutting arena—the big bay Natalie wanted to buy—hardly spared the little bronc a glance. His owner did, however, stopping the horse as officials ran for the man who lay in the arena. The cow the bay horse had been working ran up the rail nearest to the riderless horse, and Wes couldn’t believe what happened next. The sorrel horse pinned its ears, snaked his head and tried to bite the little steer through the pipe-panel fence. Not only that, but he followed it along the rail. The cow, terrified, turned back in the other direction. So did the gelding. Back and forth the two of them worked, more than a few audience members laughing as the little animal doggedly stalked the calf.
“Too bad he’ll be sifted,” Natalie said.
He would, Wes agreed. Any animal caught misbehaving would be sent home. It was part of why the sale remained popular. You had a better-than-average chance of buying a good animal when all was said and done.
“I can’t really blame the horse for bucking him off,” he admitted.
“What do you mean?” Jillian’s friend asked.
“That’s the horse I was telling you about earlier,” Jillian said. “The one with the spur marks on his sides.”
Someone managed to intercept the animal on the rail, stopping the fun the gelding had been having with the steer. A few people in the crowd groaned. Wes wasn’t the only one who’d been impressed by the gelding’s natural ability.
“You’re going to buy him.”
The statement came from Jillian, and Wes couldn’t believe his ears. “Excuse me?”
Jillian stood up, motioning to Natalie that they should change places. His dog’s tail thumped when he spotted his favorite human.
Traitor, he silently told the dog.
“He’s going to be amazing, Wes.” She sat down next to him. “I know he’s not reining bred, but you saw him with that cow.”
“He could be by Secretariat for all I care. He’s a gelding. I can’t breed him.”
“He has ability. He would have cut that cow by himself if someone who knew what he was doing had been on his back.”
Wes followed her gaze. The horse had been caught. Its head was down, sides heaving, tail swishing as it passed by its still-prone rider.
“I think he might have been hurt,” Natalie observed.
No less than he deserved, but Wes kept the thought to himself. There was no excuse for leaving marks on a horse. If it misbehaved or behaved like a bronc, half the time the spurs had caused the problem, that or a bad-fitting saddle. Men like the guy in the arena—a man who would be okay, judging by the way he waved people away and slowly came to his feet—shouldn’t be allowed to ride horses. They were bullies, pure and simple.
“What makes you think that horse doesn’t have some serious mental issues?”
But he didn’t need to wait for her answer, and he almost shook his head.
“I just know,” she said.
His gaze shot to her own. She had a way of looking at him. A challenge shone from her eyes, but there was also a plea, one that begged him to trust her.
Son of a—
“All right.” He couldn’t keep himself from shaking his head this time, though. “I’ll take a look. But you know he’s going to be sifted. I won’t be able to buy him at the auction. It’d have to be a private treaty sale.”
“All the better. After what just happened, they’ll all but give him away. You could probably buy him out behind the barn right now.”
“For good reason.”
She placed a hand on his thigh. His gaze quickly moved to where her fingers rested, Wes wanting to move his leg out of the way, stopping himself just in time, wondering why he minded her touch so much.
“Just give him a shot.”
Her hand, those eyes... He had to look away. “Okay, fine.”
But he got up before he changed his mind. No, before he convinced himself he should give something else a try...like touching her back, maybe even kissing the woman with the kind green eyes.
Chapter Five (#ulink_b63c8dce-0e3b-5739-b91b-da1f15f0ed0f)
She didn’t have a hard time finding the owner of the sorrel. All she had to do was go out behind the barns, where, just as she expected, the man had the gelding at the end of a lead rope, lunge whip in his hand.
“Don’t you dare hit him!”
The jerk masquerading as a cowboy flew around to face her. She wanted to run forward and grab the whip from his hand.
It’s okay, she told the horse.
The animal stood there, head thrown up in terror, nostrils flaring, feet braced as if waiting for the next blow...which he was.
“Get the hell out of here.”
“I want to buy that horse.” The declaration had popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. If Wes wouldn’t get this horse away from his owner, she would, although she had no idea how she’d afford the purchase price, much less the cost to transport him home.
The cowboy tugged the brim of his hat down low, eyes as dark as the irises of a snake’s. He’d taken off his half chaps, but he still wore his jeans and white button-down, although that shirt was stained by arena mud. He had body-builder shoulders and with his black beard and dark eyes he reminded her of Bluto, a cartoon bully from a decades-old television show.
“You can’t buy him.” The man’s hand lowered. The tip of the long whip touched the ground. “He’s been booted from the sale.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t buy him.” Sensing the man’s obstinacy, she quickly added, “But if you don’t want to sell him today, that’s okay.”
She forced herself to turn away, told her feet to take steps even though every fiber of her being cried out to stand her ground. That horse...that poor horse. She had to save him.
“How much you willing to pay?” the cowboy called out.
“I want to try him first.”
Jillian’s whole body reacted to the words, an involuntary jolt that had her whirling around to face Wes. She hadn’t even seen him follow her, but there he stood, with Cowboy sitting at his feet, panting, tongue out—as if they’d both run to catch up to her.
“Who are you?” Bluto asked.
Wes’s gaze found her own. She smiled, so happy to see him she wanted to run over and hug him.
“I’m Wes Landon, not that it matters. The point is I want to buy your horse.”
They both turned to face the man who still held the reins of the horse. The poor animal hadn’t relaxed one iota. His sorrel coat had started to darken from sweat.
You have to buy him.
She realized she’d looked up and spoken to Wes with her eyes. She’d felt him staring at her. Strangely, though, he seemed to understand.
“Let me get on him.” But he spoke to her, not the man.
“Did you see what happened in there?” Bluto asked.
“I sure did.”
“And you still want to try him?”
“The sooner, the better.”
A breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding breezed past her lips. She had no need for a cutting horse, but she’d have taken this one home even if it’d meant riding him back and begging people for a second job.
“There’s no cattle to work him on,” the man said.
“That’s okay. I can work him without a cow. I mainly want to see if I can stay on.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.”
Wes headed toward the horse, but he leaned toward her and said, “It’s funny how you warn me away from one horse, yet insist I ride an animal that just bucked a man off.”
“It’s not the horse’s fault.”
The man turned back to the horse when they reached him, but the reaction of the sorrel was immediate, scooting backward so fast he almost jerked the reins from the man’s hands.”
“Knock it off, you son of a—”
“Here.” Wes jumped forward and slipped between man and horse. “Let me take those.” He didn’t wait for the owner to respond, just took the two reins and blocked the man from approaching the gelding. “What’s his name?”
With a glance in her direction, one that conveyed the ominous portent of a thundercloud, Bluto said, “Dudley.”
Jillian stepped forward. “His registered name is Dudley Dual Right.”
She loved the name. Honestly, she’d spotted it in the program and known she’d had to see him. Sometimes that happened, too...a feeling. She’d had one about this young colt.
Hopefully he won’t break Wes’s neck.
“Hey there, bud,” she heard Wes say softly, so softly the horse’s ears flicked forward and back as if straining to listen. “It’s okay, son. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Son of a bitch deserved to be whipped.”
And maybe we should beat the crud out of you for being such a poor rider.
The words were on the tip of Jillian’s tongue, but she didn’t dare say them out loud, not when she wanted so badly to buy the horse. That was her plan. If Wes didn’t take the gelding, she would. Natalie would help her purchase him and know what to do with him.
“Come on.” Wes gave the reins a gentle tug. The gelding resisted for a moment, but when he realized Wes wasn’t going to jerk on his mouth or hit him, he obediently followed, Cowboy trailing at their heels.
It’s okay.
The horse’s ears flicked again, and Jillian knew he’d heard her. His head even dropped, not that Wes would notice. Not that he’d believe her even if she pointed it out. Men were just that way.
The activity in the barn area increased the closer they moved toward the main facility. Horses trotted. People called out to one another. Grooms worked to get the best shine on a horse’s coat. She noticed that Wes kept his attention on the animal by his side. He absently stroked a piece of copper-colored mane as he murmured quietly to the gelding. Dual Rey, one of cutting’s all-time leading sires, had been a redhead, too. She had to admit he had sure been trying to cut that cow like Dual Rey. Couldn’t Wes see that? He was a good colt in the wrong hands. By the time they got to the arena, the animal clearly understood Wes wasn’t going to flog him.
“Name’s Gordon.”
Jillian hardly looked at the man; she was too focused on projecting mental images to Dudley of Wes getting on his back. Of a good ride. Of green pastures and warm stalls. Of the life he would have once they bought him.
“Okay, here goes.”
They stood by the entrance of the arena. Cowboy glanced around, spotted her, then came to sit by her feet. Jillian found herself squatting down and stroking the dog’s head while she waited for Wes to mount. He was busy tugging on the girth to make sure it wasn’t loose. Next he checked the length of the stirrups and then glanced at the bridle. After one last pat, he positioned himself to mount.
Jillian’s breath held.
She knew the animal wasn’t bad. Knew he wasn’t the type to intentionally hurt a human. Still. Horses could be like children. Unpredictable.
Wes swung a leg over the horse’s back. Nothing happened. He settled his hat more firmly on his head before standing in the stirrups and shifting from side to side, the girth apparently tight enough to suit his needs, because he gently sat back down again. Still, the horse didn’t move.
“Can you open the gate?”
She wasn’t sure if he spoke to her or Gordon, but Jillian rushed forward to do as asked. Dudley moved forward when Wes lightly tapped his sides. The whole time he spoke softly to the animal, patting his neck.
It was crowded inside the practice arena. Jillian had to lift her hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Dust clouded the air. Spurs clinked. The slobber chains attached to the horses’ bits jangled. In the distance a horse neighed. The metal rail was cold beneath Jillian’s hand as she leaned against it. She admired the way Wes sat on a horse. He didn’t choke up on the reins, something the horse seemed to appreciate. Dudley’s head dropped, his long mane dangling down his neck. He was a young horse—all harsh angles and big head—but one day he would fill out, and Jillian just knew he’d be stunning.
She saw Wes pick up the reins. The gelding instantly tensed, as if he expected a sharp stab of the spurs and a flick of the reins, but Wes merely clucked and squeezed with his whole leg, not with the rowels of his spurs. The animal obediently moved into a trot. Beside her, she felt more than saw the man relax. He’d obviously been expecting a bronc.
“He’s going to be a good one,” Gordon said.
She had no doubt, but not with Gordon on his back. Wes had just proved himself ten times the rider the horse’s owner was. He had a relaxed way of sitting in the saddle. Jillian had watched enough show jumping over the years to appreciate the way he pressed his heels down in the stirrups. So many Western riders rode flat-footed, legs kicked out in front of them. They didn’t utilize the center of gravity crucial to expert horsemanship. Wes did. Not only that, but his hands were light with the reins. He spoke to the animal, too, and the sight of his lips moving, the way he patted the animal when he obediently moved into a slow lope, the soft way he sat in the saddle—it all made her smile like a fool. He could ride. Well.
Why did that matter?
She refused to examine the question. Instead, she watched as Wes reversed direction. The longer he rode, the more Dudley relaxed. When Wes pulled the horse to a stop on the other side of the rail, he had a small smile on his face.
“You like him?” Gordon wore a salesman’s grin. “You should. He’s got the bloodlines and the talent to make a name for himself. Reining. Cutting. He’s bred to do it all.”
“If you don’t get dumped on your keister on a regular basis.”
The man’s jowls turned red. “That was just a fluke.”
“Something tells me otherwise, but I still want to see one more thing before I agree to buy him.”
Jillian’s heart leaped. He wasn’t going to let the horse go back to that awful man. Thank the Lord.
“What’s that?” Gordon glanced between the two of them. “I’m not willing to let him go on a trial, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“That’s not it at all.” Wes whistled. Cowboy bolted toward his master. “I just want to ride him out back for a bit.”
Jillian could tell that the man didn’t like the idea. He probably figured Wes hadn’t been bucked off in the arena, but it was a good bet he might be outside of it. She wondered what was going on, too, but she opened the gate nonetheless. Cowboy fell into step beside his master. They headed toward the back of the fairgrounds. The three of them—well, five if one counted Cowboy and Dudley—all walking down a dusty road like compadres at the OK Corral. Around them hundreds of vehicles, most of them trucks, sat parked, half of them pulling horse trailers. Wes took them to a spot far out back, to a large grass field used by the herding-dog people. They held an annual competition the same weekend as the bull-and-gelding sale but it stood empty now.
“Cowboy, go!”
The dog immediately brightened at Wes’s command. He charged toward the pasture as if looking for stray cows. Clearly, that was what Wes wanted, although Jillian still had no idea what Wes was up to.
“Cowboy, down.” The dog hit the ground so hard the movement resembled a canine belly flop.
“Damn.” Gordon crossed his arms and glanced up at Wes. “That’s a well-trained dog.”
“You have no idea,” Wes said, walking into the field and approaching the dog. Jillian knew then what Wes intended to do, although it was mostly the way Cowboy eyed his master that helped her figure it out. The dog stared at Wes and his horse as if a side of beef hung off it.
“Get him,” Wes ordered the dog.
Cowboy lunged, then stopped a few feet in front of the horse, squatting on his front legs and barking as if asking the animal to play. Wes just sat there, but the horse dropped his head and when Cowboy darted right, Wes leaned the reins against the horse’s neck, a silent cue that he should follow the dog. Dudley needed no prompting. It was the funniest thing Jillian had ever seen. Horse and dog faced off against each other, Cowboy’s tail wagging as the horse mirrored his moves. Left. Right. Left again. Cowboy took off at one point, running a few dozen feet, Dudley doing the same thing. When Cowboy stopped, so did the horse.
“I’ll be damned.”
Jillian silently echoed Gordon’s sentiment. Dog and horse played a game of cat and mouse, the horse moving so quickly at times that he left deep furrows in the grass. Cowboy loved it. If canines had grins, his was from cheek to cheek. Dudley did, too. There was no doubt the horse had talent. After his display in the arena trailing the steer up the rail and now this, Jillian knew Wes would be a fool not to buy the horse and at least give him a chance.
“Whoa,” he said softly.
The animal promptly obeyed.
Good boy, she silently told the horse.
“What do you think?” Gordon said.
“Not bad,” Wes replied. “Not bad at all.”
Jillian couldn’t keep the smile from slipping onto her face.
Not bad.
That was an understatement. He knew it and she knew it. The horse might just be pure gold.
Chapter Six (#ulink_b77f3356-668d-5f2a-ad55-4d7678e925aa)
Wes tried not to show his excitement. It wouldn’t do for Gordon to catch on to how badly he wanted to buy his horse.
Unbelievable.
That was how it’d felt being on Dudley’s back. It was as if they’d connected. A perfect pair. His yin to the horse’s yang. Magic.
But Gordon didn’t need to know that. Far from it. So he slipped off the horse’s back, gave him a pat and headed back to the barn. Something jerked him back. Dudley. The horse had grabbed his shirt.
“Hey.”
Dudley’s ears were pricked forward, mischief in his eyes. He even tossed his head as if silently saying, “What you gonna do about that?”
“He likes you.”
Wes just nodded, afraid to look into Jillian’s eyes. Afraid she’d see his thoughts somehow, which sounded insane because it wasn’t as though she could read minds. It just seemed that way.
“So do you want him?”
The question came from Gordon, but Wes just shrugged. He wanted him, all right, but the first rule of negotiation was to appear indifferent about the item you wanted to purchase.
“I’ll give you a really good deal.”
Now they were talking. Wes had to bite back a smile. “How good?”
They were walking between the parked cars and trucks, Dudley following meekly behind. The horse didn’t appear bothered by the vehicles searching for a parking space or the people walking to and from cars or the loose dogs that always seemed to accompany equestrian events. In the distance he could hear the sound of the announcer calling exhibitor numbers to people outside the arena waiting for their chance to work.
“I have to have at least five.”
Thousand? The man was off his rocker.
“Not going to pay that much.”
Wes glanced up at the sky, pretending an interest in the weather.
“Okay, so why don’t you make me an offer.”
He didn’t answer right away. Let the man sweat it. After the way he’d treated Dudley, he deserved it.
He walked all the way back to the barn area, then paused near the arena to say, “Where’s your stall?”
Wes knew perfectly well where it was, but he didn’t let Gordon in on the secret. He glanced at Jillian. She seemed amused. He knew in that moment that she understood the game he played.
“It’s over there. On the other side of the row of stalls there.”
The man pointed with his chin to an area with walnut trees. Wes headed in that direction.
“Look, I’m not going to accept less than three for him. He’s got the bloodlines to be successful at a lot of things.”
Wes stopped. Cowboy dropped to his haunches at his feet. “A winning sire doesn’t mean a hill of beans, especially since he’s a gelding, and especially since I won’t be using him for what he’s bred to do—reining.”
Gordon had begun to look more and more disconcerted. Wes waited until he was almost back to the man’s stall before saying, “I’ll give you twenty-two for him.”
“Done.”
The way the man leaped at the offer, Wes wondered how many times good old Gordon had been dumped on his rear. And maybe he’d made a mistake, but at least he wouldn’t be into the gelding for much.
“You won’t regret this.”
Oddly, Wes thought he might be right. “Why don’t you untack him? I’ll head back to my truck and get the money.”
“Sure. No problem.”
The man reached for the reins. Dudley backed away so fast it was all Wes could do to hold on to the reins. “Whoa there, boy,” he told the horse. Wes was certain the poor animal had been abused. “It’s okay.”
You won’t ever be struck again, he silently told the horse. He gently touched the animal and was rewarded by a dropped head and a softening of the animal’s eyes. When Gordon came up behind him, he slowly handed off the reins.
I’ll be right back, he assured the horse.
Jillian and Cowboy both fell into step alongside him. She didn’t say anything but once again he found himself reading her expression with ease. The woman was the classified section of a newspaper.
“Well?” she finally said when they were out of earshot. “What did you think?”
“I think he’s got great potential.”
She came off the ground, pumped the air with a fist, let out a woot. Cowboy took a few startled steps back. “I knew it!”
“Stupid son of a cuss doesn’t know what he has.”
“That’s because he’s a stupid son of a cuss. I know for a fact that the cinch was pinching him today. That’s why he bucked.”
“And how do you know that?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. He had a feeling she’d been about to say something but had fished it back just in time. “I could just tell.”
“Really.”
She nodded, black bob flicking forward. “Let’s face it. Gordon there isn’t exactly model thin.” She made a sound, something between a snort and a guffaw that reminded him of a seal barking. It nearly stopped him in his tracks. “Can you imagine having him on your back?”

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