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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.”
