Читать книгу Kissed by a Cowboy - Pamela Britton - Страница 12
ОглавлениеThe 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.
