The Cowgirl's CEO

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“Where’s your saddle go?”

She was in way too much of a hurry to swallow the pills to protest. “In the tack room,” she rasped, the bitter taste of the painkiller filling her mouth. “Back of the trailer,” she added after she’d gulped them down.

But she kept an eye on him as he picked up where she’d left off, expertly looping the billet strap around a metal ring so it wouldn’t drag on the ground. Next he hooked the buckle at the end of the girth onto the leather strap attached to the side of the saddle. When he lifted the saddle off Thumper’s back, pad and all, she finally looked away. She’d seen enough. He really did know something about horses.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

“You don’t need to walk him for too long,” she said. Thumper’s hooves clip-clopped against the pavement. “He hardly broke a sweat.”

“Do you want me to cover his back?”

She was certain Ty must have seen the surprise in her eyes. A cold back might mean muscle spasms. “If you don’t mind,” she said. “There’s a wool cooler in the trailer. Green.”

He nodded before setting off. Caro slumped down on the steps, resting her head against the aluminum door. If she sat for a few minutes, she’d feel better. That’s the way it always was.

I grew up on a ranch.

It’d been fine to think he was handsome when he wasn’t her type—busy, bossy corporate execs weren’t her thing—but now she knew otherwise. He might not know anything about rodeos, but that wasn’t because he came from the city. Obviously, he just didn’t follow the sport. Until now. Until her.

Why did that make her feel odder still? She’d seen the hint of interest in his green eyes that first night. Was that part of the reason he’d agreed to sponsor her? Had his interest in her started before he’d met her?

And maybe your headache’s made you crazy!

“Feeling better?” he asked a few minutes later.

Caro’s head snapped up. Damn. He’d sneaked up on her.

“Uh, yeah,” she said. “I think.” She tried to move, tentatively at first, then slowly stood.

He’d been in the midst of coiling the lead rope, but stopped, one eyebrow lifted.

“Getting there,” she amended.

“Good.” His gaze lingering on her lips, and she froze.

Oh, no. No. No. No. You are not interested in him merely because you’ve learned he’s a cowboy. Cowboys are clowns, remember? Cowboys are to be avoided at all costs.

Remember David?

“Um, thanks,” she said. “But I should get to work.”

“About that,” he said, his mouth tipping into a slight smile.

Oh my.

Ty Harrison with a smile turned the three-alarm bells clanging in her head into an air-raid siren.

“I was thinking while walking old Thumper here,” he said, patting the horse’s neck. “What if I make you dinner?”

She was so busy trying to recover from that smile she found herself saying, “Huh?”

“I have a rental car. I can go out and get some steaks. You have an oven in there, I noticed. Why don’t I broil some up?”

“You want to make me dinner.”

“Yeah,” he said. The smile dissolved like salt in vinegar. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Mr. Harrison, I—”

“Ty,” he corrected.

Didn’t he see? He couldn’t be “Ty.” He could never be, not to her.

“Mr. Harrison,” she said, hoping he’d get the point. “That’s really kind of you, but I’m busy—”

“You need to eat.”

“I know. And I’ll grab something. Just not right now.”

“Actually,” he said, “I’m not giving you a choice, not when I need you hale and hearty for the NFR.” He held out Thumper’s lead rope. “I’ll have dinner ready by seven.”

Chapter Five

To be honest, Ty half expected her trailer door to be locked when he got back. It was.

He smirked. Smart girl.

But he had her outwitted. Among his groceries was one lightweight, ultramodern, genuine hibachi. Hah. He also had briquettes, lighter fluid and barbecue tongs. As side dishes he’d bought potato salad and mixed greens. There were even late-season cobs of corn that he’d wrap in foil and grill. Everything he needed.

The sun had long since sunk beneath the horizon, but parking lights illuminated his cooking area at the back of the trailer. One of Caro’s neighbors—a broad-shouldered man—took one look at Ty’s groceries on the ground and said, “You need to borrow a table?”

“If you’ve got one handy,” Ty replied, the flames from the hibachi licking the air and painting the side of the trailer a Halloween orange.

“Got one right here.”

“Thanks.”

“You cooking for Caro?” he asked when he returned, hauling a small folding table.

“I think so. I told her I would, but she didn’t seem too enthusiastic.”

“Let me guess,” the man said, unfolding the table legs. “She told you not to bother.”

“Actually, she locked her trailer door. If I hadn’t bought the barbecue, I’d be stuck.”

“That’s Caro for you. Thinks she doesn’t need a man, or that we’re pretty useless.” He set the table upright. “Mike Krueger,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Ty Harrison.”

“I know. Watched you film that commercial. Interesting stuff. Caro looked like she did great. ‘Course, you could film Caro upside down, walking on her hands, and she’d look gorgeous.”

“That’s certainly true,” Ty said, arranging his groceries on the table. “You don’t happen to have a salad bowl, do you?”

“Got everything you need,” Mike said, motioning toward his own long, white trailer. The lights were on inside and Ty could see a TV flickering behind the windows. Modern day cowboys. “Just help yourself.”

“Are you leaving?” Ty asked when Mike turned away.

“Yup. I was about to close things up. I’m in the main performance. But I can leave it open in case you need something else.”

“That’d be much appreciated.”

“And before I go, think I’ll find Caro and tell her she has a guest.”

Ty smiled. “You do that.”

She showed up fifteen minutes later. By then Ty had the steaks on, and the smell of sizzling meat filled the air.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Cooking,” he said without looking up. “Like I told you.”

She didn’t say anything. Ty risked a peek. Furious didn’t begin to describe the expression on her face.

“Whatever,” she said, walking back toward the barn.

He let the steaks continue to cook. “Caro, wait.” She sped up. He was faster. “Don’t leave. Not without eating first. If you want to ignore me the whole time, fine. But at least get some food in your stomach.”

The light from Mike’s trailer perfectly illuminated her face. She seemed exhausted. Near the corners of her eyes, the skin appeared bruised, something you wouldn’t notice unless you were staring at her closely.

“How long has it been since you’ve had a home-cooked meal, anyway?”

The steaks suddenly hissed, as if punctuating his remark. She gritted her teeth. She’d changed since the shoot, the pressed cotton shirt she’d worn replaced by another T-shirt, which read I’m Going to Treat You Like My Dog, Cowboy.

You Wish!

Well, now he knew her treatment of him was nothing personal.

“Months?” He hazarded a guess.

She shrugged. “Can’t remember.”

“Do you ever slow down, Caroline?”

“I told you. Only my mom calls me Caroline,” she reminded him. “And, yes, I do slow down. When the season’s over. Until then I can’t afford to take it easy.”

“Will having one little steak hurt you?”

She raised her chin, her gray eyes managing to look even bigger in the murky half-light. “I’m behind today.”

Thanks to filming a commercial. She didn’t say it, but might as well have.

“Then take the food with you. I’ve got paper plates. Stop and eat.”

She slowly nodded. Ty wondered if she’d toss the plate away the moment he was out of sight.

“Have a seat,” he said. “The steaks need to cook for a few more minutes.”

She crossed her arms, turned and then sat in one of the folding chairs Mike had let him borrow.

“If I had my way you wouldn’t get up from that chair for at least an hour,” he said, waving the barbecue tongs at her before squatting down and flipping the steaks.

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t have to listen to you.”

He pulled out a chair, too, and took a seat. “Why are you fighting this?”

“Fighting what?”

“This,” he said, leaning toward her.

Her gray eyes widened.

She thought he was about to kiss her. He could tell by the way she drew back, her chest expanding, and then didn’t move as she waited…

But he wasn’t going to kiss her. He had no intention of ever crossing the line with her. He grabbed the salad bowl.

“My desire to feed you,” he said, keeping his expression carefully blank, because he couldn’t deny they were obviously attracted to each other.

“I don’t mind you feeding me,” she said after expelling a breath. “I mean…” She ran a hand through her hair. “All right, maybe I do.”

“You need to take better care of yourself, slow down a little,” he said, trying to steer the conversation to neutral ground. His heart pounded in an odd way. “I don’t want a comatose spokesperson.”

“I can’t slow down. This is how I make my living.”