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Her Rodeo Hero
Pamela Britton
Laura Altom Marie
TOUGH LOVEColton Reynolds can tame the wildest of stallions, so how can working with Natalie Goodman be this hard? Colt tries to keep his distance while helping the former equestrian champion overcome a serious injury, but her feisty spirit and tender heart prove to be an irresistible combination.Natalie knows that beneath his surly demeanor, Colt is haunted by his past and his time serving as an Army Ranger. He believes he's too scarred to love…or be loved. But she won't give up easily. Just as Colt is determined to help her find her way back into the ring, Natalie is doing everything she can to find a way into his heart.
TOUGH LOVE
Colton Reynolds can tame the wildest of stallions, so how can working with Natalie Goodman be this hard? Colt tries to keep his distance while helping the former equestrian champion overcome a serious injury, but her feisty spirit and tender heart prove to be an irresistible combination.
Natalie knows that beneath his surly demeanor, Colt is haunted by his past and his time serving as an Army Ranger. He believes he’s too scarred to love...or be loved. But she won’t give up easily. Just as Colt is determined to help her find her way back into the ring, Natalie is doing everything she can to find a way into his heart.
ALSO INCLUDED IN THIS VOLUME
A Home for Christmas by Laura Marie Altom
“I had nothing left.”
Natalie took a deep breath for courage and looked Colt in the eyes.
“When I got out of the hospital I was up to my eyeballs in debt and barely able to walk.” Just talking about it brought it all back. The fear. The sorrow. The hopelessness. “And then I went out to the barn to see Playboy. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my head in his mane and I knew that somehow, someway, I’d ride him again.”
She felt the familiar burn of tears in her eyes. He started to move past her again, but Natalie snatched his hand and tugged him toward her, silently begging him to understand with her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she admitted, holding his gaze. “I don’t expect you to understand...” She squeezed his hand and then turned to leave. But something changed.
One moment he was immovable, cold. The next he’d pulled her up against him and dipped his head down toward her.
With his thumb, he brushed away a stray tear on her cheek. “I do understand.”
Dear Reader (#ulink_6d347db3-d91f-5437-acb4-52c0776576a6),
It’s no secret I love horses. As a child I used to read books by Marguerite Henry, gobbling up tales of Misty and Stormy and Justin Morgan. I firmly believe reading provided early training for my career as an author.
I can’t tell you how proud I am to be a writer. It’s a dream job for someone like me—someone who loves to read. I call myself the author of grown-up girl horse stories. Each one of my books features the animals I love. Sometimes those stories are light on horses, sometimes they feature more prominently.
Her Rodeo Hero is one of my personal favorites. Perhaps it’s because it’s not about horses as much as it’s about a woman who’s been injured by one and her fight to get back in the saddle. It’s also about a man with his own scars, one whose love of horses helps him to conquer inner demons and find a love of his own.
I hope you enjoy Her Rodeo Hero. I loved rereading it during the revision process, something that doesn’t happen as often as you might think. When it does, it’s usually a sign of a good book. I hope you think so, too. And I hope Marguerite Henry is proud.
Best,
Pam
Her Rodeo Hero
Pamela Britton
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
With more than 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 of Troy Parke, a man who embodied the word hero. The world lost an angel on earth when you passed away, Troy. You are missed.
Contents
Cover (#ud8aa7cb1-7011-544a-907a-d0961a0bcf0d)
Back Cover Text (#uf55e0cbd-d545-5482-9ddf-64f2a27cd786)
Introduction (#u59b2ee0f-3fb7-5de8-9466-4b94aef6f9eb)
Dear Reader (#u9fee0216-28d7-5de7-ad06-5b613e458d56)
Title Page (#u92afdc4b-da0e-5b1a-9236-8ac3224a419e)
About the Author (#ue95c2ef1-52b3-5f48-981c-9100ae6195f0)
Dedication (#uea22b88c-cabe-536b-aa7c-8b92d3fab35a)
Chapter One (#u17397e3e-c45b-5b61-b308-6e874f8f6f56)
Chapter Two (#u4fd216ee-8a72-5cf3-89d0-628b6f732295)
Chapter Three (#uc2b27779-8f9c-5be2-b847-adc0f6d29f50)
Chapter Four (#u40c0a69b-1514-596c-9486-be9a33d1d922)
Chapter Five (#uad5904c6-0c84-531a-80ea-4793ec33e096)
Chapter Six (#u09daa144-0484-55ff-a3e1-7b2157b99d25)
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)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_5603cf4f-f2f1-566f-be94-2c9fcf519935)
Amazing.
Natalie Goodman watched from the grandstands, mouth slack, as Colton Reynolds stepped back from the black gelding, lifted his arms and gave the cue for his horse to rear one more time.
“See.” Jillian Thacker, one of Natalie’s best friends, leaned in toward her. She had to yell to be heard over the appreciative roar of the crowd around them. “What did we tell you?”
The gelding pawed at the air, mane flying like a royal banner, nostrils flaring. The horse was clearly listening to Colt’s commands—or did it watch for them? Natalie couldn’t tell.
The man in the arena seemed a mysterious figure in his black hat, black jeans and black shirt, a conjurer come to ply his trade with a magic wand. The only thing missing was a cape to complete the image. A day’s growth of razor stubble covered his square chin, but the rest of his face remained in shadow. Yet something about the man’s stance told Natalie all she needed to know, just like last time. She’d met him once before, at a wedding. She hadn’t been impressed. Today she couldn’t look away as she watched him lower his arms. The horse’s front feet returned to solid ground. The crowd that lined the rodeo arena went wild again.
“He’s the real deal, Natalie.” Jillian’s fiancé, Wes, tipped forward so he could peer around Jillian, his handsome face glowing with approval. “If you’re looking for someone to help train your horse, he’s your man.”
Train her horse. Because she couldn’t. Or shouldn’t. Doctor’s orders—no more horses. But Jillian and Wes didn’t know that; they thought she only needed help to learn a new sport. They had no idea she’d been forbidden to ride, period.
“The trouble is getting him to agree,” Wes added.
That didn’t surprise her. The time they’d met he’d been about as friendly as a stepped-on dog. That was before, back when she’d been one of the top riders in the country, slated to represent the United States in international competition. She’d had her whole career mapped out, and then... Bam! The wreck. The recovery. The restructuring of her life. She’d lost everything but her sense of determination.
She refused to think about that. Instead she focused on her surroundings inside the Arroyo Grande Rodeo Grounds. The sky had blossomed a deep blue this morning, and a few wisps of fog had floated through a field of bonnets. The crowd let out a gasp of surprise as Colt’s horse suddenly bowed, its nose touching the ground. Natalie hadn’t even seen the man give the command. Nor did she see him signal for the horse to get back up and then head toward an open trailer parked in the middle of the ring, one with Colt’s name emblazoned on the side along with the words Rodeo Misfits in an Old West–style font.
“I’ve seen him take some of our rescue horses and turn them completely around...” Jillian had to wait to finish because the crowd had erupted again when the black gelding climbed into the horse trailer without so much as a by-your-leave from Colt. “He’s a miracle worker.”
A year ago Natalie wouldn’t have believed that the day would come when she’d need help training a horse. A year ago she’d been riding high after winning a silver medal at the Pan American Games. A year ago she hadn’t been recovering from the worst riding accident of her career.
A lot could change in a year.
“Does he train professionally?” she heard herself ask.
Jillian’s black bob brushed her cheeks as she shook her head. “No.”
If Natalie didn’t miss her guess, her friend’s eyes lost some of their luster. “He’s a bit of a recluse, but Wes can bring him around.”
“You hope.”
“No. He will.” She smiled and clutched her fiancé’s forearm. Wes tipped back his straw cowboy hat and gave his wife-to-be a kiss, after which Jillian said, “Wes and Colt go back a long way.”
Natalie hated the thought of asking anyone for help, especially a reluctant someone, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Was that relief she spotted in her friend’s expression, too? She hated to admit it, but it probably was. Jillian had been present when she’d attempted to ride her horse without a bridle the first time, something that might seem crazy, but was actually an emerging sport. To say it hadn’t gone well was an understatement.
Down in the arena Colt waved to the crowd, the white bucking chutes behind him contrasting starkly against his black attire. Natalie thought the act was over, but she was wrong. Just as Colt went to swing the trailer door closed, the black horse came bolting out. She thought the animal had made a mistake, but something about the way Colt acted, the way he placed his hands on his hips and then shook his fist at the animal, told her that this, too, was part of his skit.
Sure enough, the animal came barreling back toward him, and the crowd gasped yet again when it seemed as if the horse might run him down. It didn’t. Instead the animal snatched a black handkerchief, something Natalie hadn’t spotted before, out of Colt’s back pocket and ran off with it. Colt spent the next few minutes making a big show of trying to get it back, much to the crowd’s amusement. Natalie continued to be amazed as the animal expertly played its part. Finally, Colt appeared to give up. He climbed into the driver’s seat of his truck, pretending to be so mad he’d decided to drive off with the trailer door still wide open. Natalie saw why a moment later. As he drove out of the ring, the black gelding followed, leapt for the open door, and then whipped around, still holding the black handkerchief. The horse waved it at the crowd as if saying goodbye.
“Amazing,” she heard herself say.
“He is.” Jillian and Wes applauded as loudly as the rest. Heck, even the cowboys who sat or stood behind the chutes gave him a hand. “Wes can go down and talk to him right now.”
Natalie stood up. “That’s okay.”
Jillian’s pretty green eyes dimmed. “Are you certain? Colt would never so no to Wes.”
She smiled tightly. “He won’t say no to me, either.”
* * *
DAMN SPURS. THEY ALWAYS seemed to hang up in the carpet of his truck, Colt thought. He’d nearly fallen on his ass when one of the rowels snagged a loop as he hopped out. He’d be glad when he could take them off. He never used the damn things anyway—they were all for show. Part of the act. Jeans, black chaps and black cowboy hat. City people seemed to expect that.
“Get on out of there, Teddy.”
The gelding stood just where he expected—at the back of the trailer, head hanging out, handkerchief still clasped in his mouth.
“Come on. Show’s over.”
He could swear Teddy understood, because the horse dropped the handkerchief, lowered his head to examine the ground before gingerly stepping out of the trailer—looking for all the world like a toddler exploring new surroundings for the first time—and came over to Colt. Soft puffs of breath emerged from the black muzzle as Teddy attempted to sniff out the treat he knew Colt would have stashed somewhere. Finding which pocket was part of the game, and it didn’t take the gelding long. Within seconds he was nuzzling Colt’s left hip, darn near knocking the halter Colt had hanging on his shoulder to the ground.
“Peppermint.” Colt reached into his pocket for the treat, unwrapped it, and offered it to the horse. “Your favorite.”
The gelding suckled the mint as if wanting to make it last. It made Colt smile. He fingered the wrapper, thinking back to the time when he couldn’t even get near the creature. That’d been two years ago and there’d been days when he’d been ready to throw in the towel, but he hadn’t given up. The horse wasn’t the only one with an abusive past. He understood more than most what it took to overcome that kind of adversity.
“We got you turned around sure enough, though, didn’t we?”
“You sure did.”
Colt looked past the horse and right into the eyes of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Scratch that.
