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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?”
