Kissed by a Cowboy

Negative energy. Focus on the positive.

“Not bad?” Natalie repeated, blond brow arched over an almond-shaped eye.

“Okay, fine. He’s pretty hot.”

No sense in denying it. Natalie would see for herself one day soon.

“Wow, that’s pretty high praise coming from a woman who dated Jason Brown.”

“Shh,” she hissed, glancing around. She had no idea why. It wasn’t as if there were members of the paparazzi nearby. Those days were long behind her.

“What? I think it’s kind of cool that you dated People magazine’s sexiest man alive.”

“Yeah, well, they didn’t know him like I did.”

He’d called her because he’d been having problems with his Arabian stallion. She should have known right then that he was an idiot because only egotistical jerks owned stallions if they weren’t in the breeding business. But no, she’d accepted the job, figured out the problem and ended up getting asked out on a date, and he was just so dang handsome and sweet that she’d said yes. And then yes again. Only he’d turned out to be nothing like the men he portrayed on-screen. He wasn’t a sweetly sexy hometown boy. He was an ass who’d broken her heart.

“...don’t you think?”

Jillian shook her head. That was all in the past. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

“What?” she had to ask.

“I said you should probably answer your cell phone, don’t you think?”

Jillian jumped, then fished into her back pocket for her phone and as she glanced down at the unfamiliar number, she knew—she just knew.

“It’s him.”

Sometimes her abilities extended beyond the animal kingdom.

“Him who?”

“Wes Landon.”

Natalie smirked. “That was quick.”

“Yeah.”

She ignored the voice of reason, the one that told her to ignore him because he was just a little too good-looking. It would be easy to forget the rules around him.

Her finger had a mind of its own. “Hello?”

“You ran away before you could give me your phone number.”

She wanted to grin like a silly teenage girl. What a doofus. She had sworn off men after Jason had left her shattered.

She glanced left. Natalie stared, her expression one of clear interest.

“You never indicated you wanted it,” she admitted. “Not that I was surprised. You know, me being a crazy woman and all.”

Next to her, Natalie broke into a wide smile.

“Come to think of it, how did you get my number?”

“Mariah.”

“I should have known.”

She shot Natalie a look of apology and then stood, heading toward the middle of the building and the exit. She didn’t need grief from her friend.

“What did you want?” she asked.

The noise of the crowd in the arena made it hard to hear and so she headed for the atrium at the front of the building. The smell of hot dogs and hamburgers filled the air and reminded her she hadn’t eaten lunch.

“You were right.” There was a pause, and she could perfectly imagine him shaking his head. Or maybe that was a visual she picked up from his dog. Hard to tell.

“I followed that horse back to the barn so I could watch the kid untack.”

“Oh?” She’d reached the exit and it was immediately quieter. “What’d you find out?”

A large man with a dog at his side blocked her path. The dog was a black-and-white border collie. She glanced up sharply, her heart flipping over in her chest. Beautiful green eyes smiled down at her from beneath a black cowboy hat, one nearly as dark as the man’s lashes.

“He about kicked the kid in the head.”

Her hand dropped, cell phone forgotten. His hand did the same, although he took the time to disconnect. She absently did the same.

“And then he yelled, ‘You crazy son of a bitch,’ before he spotted me standing there.”

Hey, Cowboy, she silently telegraphed the dog. A long black tail started to wag. She smiled and returned her attention to Wes.

So handsome. So ridiculously gorgeous. Mariah had been trying to set him up with one of the girls from the barn for ages, and he was so cute she might have been tempted to throw caution to the wind if they’d been introduced before now...before she’d pegged him as a doubting Thomas.

“Did he get nailed?” she asked to cover that particularly troubling thought.

Green eyes sparked. “Nah. He’s fine.” She saw his lips turn up in a brief smile as he remembered the incident. “But when he realized I’d heard, I could tell he was about to offer up some excuse. I told him don’t bother.”

“So you believe me now?”

And why did the thought make her so giddy? She knew what his answer would be even though she hoped for something different.

“I believe you intuitively knew something was off with that gelding.”

Intuition. A sixth sense. Men had excused her abilities a million times over. Women had, too, but it always felt different when it was a man.

“I’m usually pretty good at reading horses, but I’ll admit I missed the mark on this one.”

“That’s big of you.”

His smile was pure charm. “Mariah says you’re the real deal, a bona fide horse whisperer, and so I was thinking...”

No. Don’t say it. She didn’t want to spend any more time with him. To be honest, she had been glad when he let her walk away.

“...maybe between the two of us...”

He didn’t finish, but he didn’t need to. She knew what he was thinking.

“You want me to help you pick out some prospects, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised. Still, there was a part of her that wished that for once in her life she could meet someone and tell them the truth. It wasn’t a sixth sense. She picked up images from the minds of animals. Her friend Mariah said she talked to them, but it wasn’t really that. She could see what was going on in their minds, but she could never tell people that, not when she first met them. They’d call her crazy, but for some reason she wanted to tell Wes, and she wanted him to believe her.

It’s because you think he’s cute.

“What’s in it for me?”

She hadn’t meant the question to come out so cool, but something about the man set her teeth on edge. It was as if she fought an invisible force field, one she wanted to break through.

He doesn’t believe you and that hurts.

It shouldn’t have hurt. It never hurt. So why now?

“I don’t know. What do you have in mind?”

You.

She almost blanched. “Money.”

Beneath his black cowboy hat his brow lifted. “You mean like pay you for your services?”

“Something like that.”

“How much are your rates?”

“I’m expensive, but I have another idea.”

The brim of his cowboy hat tipped a bit. If she wasn’t mistaken, his gaze had just intensified, green eyes flashing with...what? Interest?

“Like what?”

Good Lord, he’d taken her words wrong. He was thinking something personal. “I’ll help you in exchange for a sizable donation to CEASE.”

If she’d told him she wanted to use the money to fly to the moon, he couldn’t have looked any more surprised.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. See, we want to hold a big fund-raiser, but we’re a little short on cash. If you want my help, you’ll have to help CEASE.”

She heard him huff something out under his breath. He wouldn’t accept, couldn’t accept. She had a feeling the whole “you have a good eye” thing was just an excuse to get to know her better. Chances were, as a farm manager, he had a good eye, too. He didn’t need her. Not really, but she could tell her offer had put him off. He might not breed horses, but she knew he didn’t like the group she hung out with; ergo, he wouldn’t like her...or so she’d thought. The dratted man actually appeared to be considering her offer.

Why had she ever opened her mouth about that horse?

Wes Landon could be dangerous to her health. Good-looking. Sexy smile. Horse lover. She’d never be able to resist his charms, and if she didn’t, she’d pay the price once he discovered the truth about her “sixth sense.” She always did.

“Let me get this straight.” He leaned in closer to her. “You want me, a farm manager whose mother breeds racehorses, to donate money to CEASE, the people who picket the racetrack where my mom runs her horses.”

“Yup.”

Don’t say yes. Don’t say yes. Don’t say yes.

But he didn’t look as perturbed as she’d expected. “Deal.”

God help her.

Chapter Three

The 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.

Chapter Four

“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.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“A friend of mine. A rodeo performer. I’ll have to introduce the two of you.”

“Rodeo?” Natalie’s look said it all. Yuck. “Can’t imagine anyone involved with the world of rodeo knowing anything about reining horses.”

“You might be surprised.”

In fact, he’d make a point of introducing the two. In the arena a black horse worked—unimpressively, he thought—over so-called trail obstacles that were nothing more than wood poles, tires and plastic bags filled with aluminum cans. The gelding was slow on the uptake, so much so he almost dumped his rider when the man picked up one of the bags.

“That was scary,” he heard Jillian say.

The main arena had been sectioned off into three different pens. The first was meant to showcase the animal’s horse sense—in this case, none. The second was for showing off the animal’s maneuverability. The third was where they would work a cow. The middle ring was the one that Natalie would pay close attention to because that was where the horse would circle, stop and back...along with a few other tasks, all moves that would be necessary at a reining competition.

Less than a minute later a horn sounded, signaling it was time to move. Alas, the black horse didn’t appear to be any better at reining than he was at trail. Meanwhile, a new horse had entered the first ring. There would always be a horse working in one of the pens, something that made watching interesting.

“Here we go,” Jillian said. “This is one of the horses we’re interested in.”

Curiosity made him study the dark bay gelding. Like the horse Jillian had picked out for him, the gelding hardly seemed impressive. No flashy white on his face. No tiny dish head. No thick neck and round butt. He seemed as plain as a brown paper package. He glanced at the catalog. The horse’s name was Playboy Gunslinger.