Kitabı oku: «The Cowboy Claims His Lady», sayfa 2

“When in Rome,” Hazel said, handing her a glass from the bartender.

Lyndie took a sip and coughed. “This is whiskey!”

“Like I said, dear, ‘When in Rome,’” Hazel repeated, smiling secretively.

“I’m not much of a drinker…” Lyndie tried another sip. The next one didn’t burn nearly as much.

“That which doesn’t kill you, my dear…”

“Yeah, I know. But I’m really sick of having to be so strong.”

Hazel gave her another one of those tricky smiles. “That’s what tonight is for. Don’t be strong tonight. Just loosen that girth a little and— Why, speak of the devil! There’s Bruce Everett!”

Lyndie looked across the packed dance floor.

She found him in the haze, leaning against the bar like a gunslinger. She’d thought he was tall, but in the crowd he looked even taller, gazing over the crowd with those shuttered, unapproachable eyes.

“Look! He’s seen us! He’s coming over!” Hazel exclaimed with glee.

Suddenly the whiskey started tasting pretty good to Lyndie. Another gulp and she was prepared to meet those silvery eyes.

“Miss Clay, Hazel,” he said, tugging on the front of his black cowboy hat.

“Why aren’t you out there on the floor boot-scootin’?” Hazel demanded.

“I was waiting for you,” he offered, taking Hazel’s arm and wrapping it inside his, as he led her away.

Lyndie watched the two on the dance floor. Bruce and Hazel waltzed as if they’d been made for each other. As they floated and laughed around the crowded floor, Lyndie gripped her whiskey. She was feeling braver, and yet more out of her element with every passing second.

And for this, she had agreed to a vacation?

She should have stayed home. It was less bruising to her ego to spend every day hunched over her books, than hunched over a bar, hoping some cowpoke would ask her to dance.

Bruce brought Hazel back to the hitching post that separated the bar from the dance floor. Lyndie leaned against it, anticipating the moment he’d ask her. She couldn’t dance a two-step but she was suddenly eager to try.

She watched as Bruce whispered something in Hazel’s ear.

The cattle baroness laughed.

Then he was gone, like a shadowy sharpshooter who dissipated in the mist.

“Well, I’ll be,” Lyndie muttered.

“You’ll be what, dear?” Hazel asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

Hazel winked at Lyndie’s empty whiskey glass. “Why, you’ve gone dry!” She was off to the bar before Lyndie could stop her.

It was another hour before she saw Bruce Everett again. Lyndie spied with him a young brunette who was falling all over him on the dance floor.

“Don’t you think he’s robbing the cradle a bit there?” she muttered over her glass.

“Who?”

Lyndie went to point out Bruce, but the waltz had stopped and the band picked up a lively two-step.

“Dance?”

She looked up and found Bruce next to her, his dark expression quizzical.

It took a moment for Lyndie to realize what Hazel had done. The cattle baroness had to have known that after watching all the couples dancing for an hour, and downing a couple of stiff ones, Lyndie would be tipsy and, at last, ever so grateful to be asked to dance.

“Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you,” she joked to herself before taking Bruce’s strong arm.

Out on the dance floor she had some difficulty following him. Then suddenly she burst out, “I get it! A two-step is really three steps!”

He laughed. His teeth were very white.

The vision sent an unwanted thrill down her back.

“Give the little lady a hand,” he smirked, pulling her back into sync with him.

“This is fun, actually,” she confessed.

“’Course it is. Why else would we do it, then?”

She looked up at him, capturing his gaze through the shadow of his low-slung hat.

“I’d better watch out,” she teased. “A girl could get used to having fun and not working so hard.”

“Why do you need to work so hard? I thought you were the boss.”

“That’s exactly why I have to work so hard. I’m expanding and I can’t find a silent partner, so I’m having the worst time financing—”

She giggled and put her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to bore you.”

“You’re not boring me,” he said, his gaze never leaving her.

She laughed out loud. “But it’s technical. You won’t understand.”

“I may not be an MBA from one of those fancy East Coast schools, but I understand a good—”

She put her hand to his mouth. His lips were taut with suppressed anger, and she wondered what it would be like to try to kiss the anger away.

“Look, I don’t want to ruffle your feathers. I’m here on a vacation. To have fun. So let’s have fun.”

He pulled her around the dance floor one more time before he spoke.

“You wanna have fun?” He seemed like he’d pondered something for a while and finally had made up his mind.

“Sure,” she said lightly.

“Have you seen the old gristmill?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen an old gristmill—let alone the one here in Mystery.”

“Then, let’s go.” He stopped dancing and took her hand.

The whiskey must have really hit her hard because she heard herself saying, “What do you do at the mill?” instead of, “My God, I’m not going anywhere with you alone!”

“Skinny-dip,” he answered.

She took this bit of news more calmly than she would have expected. “But you don’t understand. I can’t—” she began.

He stopped her. “Sure you can. Just take off your clothes and jump in. It’s easy.”

“Take off my clothes?” she repeated numbly. “I really don’t think I can take off my—”

“Hey, you’re the underwear queen. I thought showing off the merchandise would be second nature.” he countered.

“Just ’cause I sell lingerie doesn’t mean I can go around—”

“Sure it does,” he said soothingly, putting a vise-like grip on her arm as he led her away.

“No really,” she countered, but still let him lead her.

“I’ll make you a deal then. I’ll let you keep on everything you sell in your shop.”

“It’ll just bore you. I only wear what’s beige and functional. I save the froufrou for the customers.”

He seemed to hold back a grin. “I’m a cowboy, ma’am. Plain and simple’s just fine with me. In fact, you’d like to get plain right down to your birthday suit—”

“I couldn’t. I just couldn’t,” she added.

He grinned in full. “Then, bore me with the beige and functional. And hey, think of it as advertising. Do it for the business. It’s good customer relations to show off the merchandise.”

She didn’t really have an answer for that one.

His arm went around her waist and soon they were out the door.

“Shouldn’t I have told Hazel where I’ll be?” she asked before getting into an old faded-red pickup.

“You never lived in a small town, did you?” he asked, sliding behind the steering wheel.

“Nope,” she answered with more vigor than was necessary.

“Believe me, everybody, including Hazel, knows we’re going to the mill.”

“Now, how can that be?” she murmured stumped. “Does everybody here have cell phones I can’t see?”

“Don’t need ’em. We’ve got Hazel McCallum—and everyone reports to Hazel the goings on ’round here. That’s twice true if it concerns one of her own.”

He smiled that carnivore’s smile and said, “So are you ready?”

She looked at him in the dark. Suddenly she wanted to get out and run.

“I guess,” she whispered, all the while wondering what madness had gotten hold of her.

“I’m only doing this because Hazel trusts you. Otherwise, let me tell you, I never go off with strangers.” Lyndie rambled on while the pickup negotiated the unpaved mountain road.

“I’m no stranger,” Bruce said. “Ask Hazel.”

“She says you used to be a tomcat. And even this city girl can figure out what that means.”

“Haven’t been tomcatting in a while,” he almost whispered.

“She told me that, too.”

A silence permeated the truck’s cab. It was so deep and oppressive, Lyndie was glad when the silhouette of the mill appeared over the hill.

“Here we are.”

He pulled next to the fieldstone building. A small river emptied alongside the building and drove the wheel. Beneath it all was a large inviting pool of river water that shimmered in the opalescent moonlight.

She opened her door and got out.

The creaking wheel and the splash of water suddenly set her nerves on edge. As did the tall dark man next to her.

“So, what do you do here?” she asked in a tough voice.

“Swim. I’ll show you.”

He tugged his shirt out of his jeans and peeled it over his head.

In the moonlight, she could see the ripple of muscle on his chest. There was also a light sprinkling of dark hair that narrowed where his abdominal muscles tightened into a grid. It formed a trail that disappeared into the waist of his jeans.

When he reached for the button on his jeans, she held up her hand.

“If I’m giving a lingerie show, then, so are you. Keep ’em on,” she instructed, gesturing to his white boxers that showed through his fly.

“You sure you’ve never done this before?” He grinned.

She nodded. “I’m sure.”

Tossing off his hat and scuffing out of his boots, he finally stood in his boxers, arms crossed as if impatiently waiting for her to follow suit.

A lump of anxiety caught in her throat, but the whiskey told her she wasn’t out of her mind—that it was perfectly acceptable to go swimming with a man she’d only met that afternoon.

“Hell, it’s the country, isn’t it? What’s wrong with getting back to nature when I’m on vacation?” she muttered, pulling off her hat.

“That’s the spirit,” he coaxed.

“But I’m keeping my T-shirt on,” she told him.

He seemed only too compliant. “Sure. Go right ahead.”

She looked down at herself.

The sheer white T-shirt would be worse—or better, depending on the perspective—than being naked. Still, her sense of modesty wouldn’t allow her to fling it off.

“You know, I think you’re setting me up,” she added warily.

“For what?” he whispered in her ear before he took her hand and pulled her on top of him into the swimming hole.

“You j-j-jerk!” she stammered, gasping at the frigid chill of Rocky Mountain melt water.

“Best to keep moving” was all he offered.

Enraged, she tried to dunk his head.

Laughing, he even let her a few times, as if it would be good for her to get her anger out.

“Bet you can’t do this.” He swam over to the wheel and held on to it for a few feet. Then he dove into the pool as if from a diving board.

“Oh, yeah?” she taunted, answering the challenge. She was shivering and acting like a child, but she had to admit, she couldn’t remember ever feeling so free.

She held on to the churning wheel. After a couple of seconds, she pushed herself off and plunged into the dark, frigid pool.

When she came up for air, she screeched with laughter. “My God, it’s c-c-cold!”

He went to her. Unbidden, his arms encircled her waist. His torso was like a branding iron against her, but she couldn’t deny herself the welcome warmth.

“Is this how you’ve gotten all your girls? Through hypothermia?” she jabbed.

“Nope,” he answered, looking down at her while they treaded water. “Whiskey always worked just fine. But I figured you’d be a tough pony to tame.”

“Ha!” She pushed his head into the water and swam away.

To prove her point, she held on to the wheel, this time longer, then cannonballed him.

“You know,” she said blithely, swimming on her back, “this is fun. I’m actually getting used to the temperature of the water.”

“Unfortunately, once you get out, you freeze all over again.” His gaze followed her.

“Can’t wait.” She splashed him, he nearly splashed back.

She laughed and was almost grateful when he took her waist again and warmed her.

“I have a confession,” she sputtered, wiping the water from her eyes. “You wouldn’t know it from what I do for a living, but I was a tomboy as a child. I always wanted an older brother, too. To do stuff like this. Now I kinda feel like I have one.”

He pressed her closer. “I hate to tell you this, but I have no intention of being your older brother.”

She looked at him. The moonlight sparkled across the water and upon the droplets that clung to his chest hair. He seemed sexier by the minute, and yet, no warning bells went off in her head.

She feared it might still be the whiskey.

“No, really,” she insisted. “That was a compliment. I always wanted some guy friends to pal around with. I thought after five years of marriage that I’d get some companionship from my husband, but, boy, was I wrong!” She smiled and gave him a little splash. “This has been just what the doctor ordered.”

“Good,” he answered in a husky tone, just staring at her.

“What?” she asked, her words lazy and maybe even more inviting than she had intended.

“How’d you meet him?”

“Who?” she asked, suddenly blank.

“Your husband.”

She almost laughed. “At a book reading. Can you imagine anything more dull? That should have been the first warning, huh?” She treaded water. “Then, after that, he decided to write the Great American Novel, and like the infatuated fool, I did everything I could to support him. Even when he took all the money I had to give with my little business, I still believed he deserved more. I always thought he needed to travel more, to prop up his surroundings so he could write. I had to be the perfect helpmate, and that meant to give and give and give ’till I and everything else was spent. But I wasn’t going to end up alone and poor like my mom.” She released a wry smile. “So since I’m alone now, I work 24/7, so I won’t be poor, too.”

A long pause reigned when the only sounds were the creak of the wheel and the soft splash of falling water.

To relieve the tension, she flicked some water at him. “So how d’ya like that for a sisterly confession?”

“Nothing sisterly about it.”

“No?” she asked, raising her damp eyebrows. “You think I’d confess that to a date? I don’t think so. That’s for brothers only, pal.”

His stare only grew more intense. Even in the dimness of the moonlight, she could see his gaze tracing every shadow of emotion that swept past.

“Can’t be my little sister,” he instructed, his voice low, like a seductive growl. “Impossible. Because, first of all, I already have one. Her name’s Becky.”

“I’m sure she’s lucky—” she stammered, losing her train of thought beneath that dark stare.

“And second, I never wanted to do this to her.”

His arms tightened. He crushed her against his chest. Slowly his hard lips descended upon hers. The heat of his mouth shocked her. The delicious contrast of her cold lips and his warm tongue made her release an involuntary moan.

His kiss deepened and she could taste the whiskey on his breath and smell the male scent of him. Against her will, she found her mouth opening to him, as if she was thirsty for him and all she wanted to do was drink. His broad warm chest coaxed like a blanket in the snow. It was all too much to resist, and she felt herself folding into it as if she could crawl inside the fortress of it and be safe and warm forever—

His tongue ran down the slick wet skin of her neck giving her chills that had nothing to do with the Montana night air. Instinctively she crushed her breasts against his chest, her nipples, puckered with cold, brushed erotically against the wet fabric of her bra and the hard warmth of his pectorals.

Her hand slid down his back and pressed his buttock. Groaning, he slid her fingers to his groin, enticing her to feel his arousal. But she knew he was hard and ready without having to verify it. He pressed himself against her, his maleness like a police baton.

She pulled back, suddenly knowing she was in over her head.

The weariness in her eyes seemed to stop him too. His warmth was suddenly gone. She seemed to awaken from a dream, and found herself in the arms of a snowman. He pulled away from her, the eyes still staring, but this time with accusation and censure.

“We’ve got to go,” he said abruptly, pulling her out of the water as if she were nothing but a rag doll.

“Why?” she gasped, disoriented by his moods and the lash of stinging cold air on her wet body.

“Do what’s good for you, girl. Get your clothes on,” he answered gruffly.

She looked at him. Every tight line of his buttocks was visible in the sheer wet cotton of his boxers.

He turned around to scowl at her. She held her breath. If what she saw between his legs was the result of cold shrinkage, she doubted she could handle it, even then.

“You want some now?” he demanded.

She gasped and shook her head.

“Then, get your clothes on.” He turned to scoop up his jeans and shirt.

She fumbled for her jeans. Sodden and shivering, she could hardly pull them on.

“You can put your boots on in the truck.” He led her by the elbow to the pickup and helped her into the cab.

Seated next to her, he flipped the switch for the diesel and started the engine.

“W-w-was it something I did?” she stammered.

He glanced at her, his face a stone mask in the dashboard light.

“I thought we were having fun—”

He stopped her. “Know what a grizzly feels like when it wakes up?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide.

“He’s hungry,” he growled. “So hungry he can’t think of anything but what it is that he wants.”

“And what do you want?” Her words came out in a frightened whisper.

He took one hard look at her. He didn’t have to speak.

Even she heard the word in the silence, the long, echoing word, damning her and praising her in a monosyllabic curse.

You.

Three

“A dead varmint. Yep. That’s what she looks like.” Hazel’s words penetrated the fog in Lyndie’s mind.

“It’s awake! It’s awake! Hallelujah!” Ebby, Hazel’s longtime cook, a tall raw-boned woman who’d ranched a hundred head of cattle and five sons all on a widow’s pension, stood over the bed.

Hazel peered over Ebby’s silver tray of coffee and toast. “Yep. There’s life in her still. I see her glaring at me.”

Lyndie sat up in bed. Her head pounded. She winced.

“Have a good stomp at the mill, did we?” Ebby tsked while she set down the breakfast tray.

“I’ll never drink whiskey again,” Lyndie moaned.

“Is it the whiskey you regret, or the man?” Hazel asked.

“Oh, please say it’s the whiskey.” Ebby clucked. “Even old hens like us dream about men like Bruce Everett.”

Lyndie eyed both women woefully. “I was set up. And which one of you did it? Was it—Hazel?” she accused.

Hazel smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Live life to bursting, I always say. But I didn’t think you’d go and do it the first minute you were off the yoke, dear. Still, you’re a McCallum through and through. You’ll find your way. We McCallums always do.”

“Hazel, promise me for the rest of this trip that you’ll refrain from mentioning the words whiskey and men.”

Lyndie wobbled to her feet, clad in pink satin pajamas of her own label. The memory of the night before was coming to her in waves like the water from a gristmill. She recalled the awkward silence in the pickup as Bruce drove her to the Lazy M. It was almost as if Mitch and Katherine had been in the truck cab with them, casting their pall. After a chilly farewell, she’d crawled to her bed, vowing to forget about Bruce Everett forever.

And then the nightmares came.

She’d had them all night long.

She’d be at the grocery store, the accountant’s, in line for a movie—then she’d look down and see herself as if in a mirror. Her white T-shirt was wet and transparent, outlining each half-dollar mauve nipple, and her sodden hair was plastered against her forehead like a water nymph.

But what was worse than the rush of self-consciousness and the gasps of the onlookers was the emotional crash that followed.

She’d cover herself, but everywhere she ran to hide, she found Bruce Everett and his chilled gaze drilling into her, and the word that forced her back into feeling, thinking, yearning womanhood.

You.

She clamped her eyes closed and tried to erase it from her mind. Opening them again, she glanced at Ebby and Hazel and announced, “I’d better check work. I’ve got a lot to do before noon, when we’ve got to go to that—that—” she shuddered at the thought of seeing Bruce Everett again “—that dude ranch.”

“Noon?” Ebby exclaimed, giving Hazel a raise of her eyebrows. “It’s two hours past that and then some. We thought maybe you never slept in New Orleans—vampires and all that kind of stuff.”

“What?” Lyndie grabbed the silver alarm clock next to the bed. She nearly screamed in horror at the time. “I had an investors’ meeting online at eleven.” She put her aching head in her hands. “Now I’ve messed everything up.”

“Dear, cheer up. You’re on vacation. Forget about that shop for now. You’ve got the dude ranch to go to,” Hazel comforted.

“But I might have lost a whole pool of potential investors. There goes my expansion plans. There goes everything.” Lyndie wanted to cry.

“The only expansion plan you should be thinking about is your horizon. Go out there, dear, and have fun at the ranch.”

Lyndie moaned anew. “Even that’s gone to hell. According to the Mystery Dude Ranch schedule, we were supposed to have our first trail ride at two. Now I’ve missed it and I’ll be…” She cringed. “…noticed.”

Ebby shrugged. “Young people nowadays. You’re all just a bunch of flapdoodles.”

Hazel held out her hand to Lyndie. “C’mon, gal. You’re a McCallum. And McCallums never know defeat.”

Lyndie got out of bed, but she had the sinking feeling she’d regret it. It was the kind of day that she expected even her horoscope to read: Do not venture beyond the covers for destruction awaits you.

And certainly, after her experience with her father’s cheating, and then with Mitch, there was no greater destruction facing her than a cool-eyed man with hunger in his stare. Hunger that seemed only for her.

Hazel drove Lyndie to Mystery Dude Ranch and left her at the bunkhouse, aching head and all. The ranch was deserted. It seemed everyone was on the trail. With nothing else to do, Lyndie checked her e-mail.

She’d received several urgent messages from her accountant. The last was the notice that the investors she had painstakingly courted for months had all declined to be involved. There was no money coming in for the expansion because she hadn’t been able to convince anyone she was serious enough.

Nothing was further from the truth.

She ate, drank and breathed All for Milady. The shop was everything to her. Her entire life. Especially since she and Mitch split up.

And now, because of one foolhardy night, she was bound to fail.

Depressed, she turned off her laptop.

She looked at the pine log bed and wanted to throw herself upon it in a fit of tears. But it was no use. She’d cried a flood of tears over Mitch, and they were not the answer. The only thing that was, was diligent hard work.

Clearly, as exhausted as she was, she was still not working hard enough. The only thing left for her was to pack her bags, return to New Orleans and rededicate herself to her business. It was the only way to find happiness. It was the only thing she could control, and she was doing a poor job of even that.

Her head still feeling as if it was being breached by a ballpeen hammer, she retrieved her suitcase from under the bed and unzipped it.

“You’re late.”

She looked up to see Bruce Everett standing in her doorway, a scowl on his handsome face.

He looked wonderful, of course. Dust from the trail clung to his well-worn chaps. His face was hard and unshaven, but it only added to the overall ruggedness of his appearance. His gray stare pinned her down with icicles.

“I know. I’m sorry,” she offered, unable to hate him when she was so busy hating herself right now. “But I’ve realized I’ve got to get back to New Orleans today. Business.”

She tried to ignore him and the uncomfortable way he made her feel, by grabbing her clothes from the bureau and stuffing them in the suitcase.

“No planes today. You won’t be going. So let’s get on the trail. That way you can keep up with the others.” His words brooked no discussion.

She looked up from her packing. “What do you mean there’s no plane today? If I can get to Salt Lake City or Denver—”

“There’s no plane out from the airport today. It’s Sunday and this is Mystery—a small airport. And if you’re thinking Hazel can drive you to the next nearest airport, she can’t. It’d take too long, and then you’d miss that flight. So you’re stuck here for at least a day. Let’s go.”

She stood, dumbfounded. He motioned the way out of the bunkhouse. Numbly, she followed, feeling like a canary in a cage.

“We’ll start in the corral today. No time for a trail ride.” His gaze slid to her. “I’ll get you through all you need to know for tomorrow’s ride.”

“But what’s the point of a riding lesson if I’m leaving?” She wondered how he was going to get around that fact.

He stopped and stared at her. “Why do you have to leave?”

“I told you. Business,” she answered coolly.

He lifted one dark eyebrow. “You mean that silent partner stuff? You don’t need it.” He took her arm and led her to the corral.

She widened her eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Know-It-All, but I really think since it’s my store, and my concern, maybe I should be the one to determine that.”

She had such a visceral reaction to his expression, she actually took a step backward.

But it was no use. He took her by the arm and led her to a pretty palomino mare.

“Get on up there,” he ordered. “Here, I’ll give you a leg up.”

Before she could utter another word, his arm went around her waist. She was reminded of their kiss at the gristmill and a strange electricity crackled through her. Their gazes met for a millisecond—too quick to even measure—but the current between them increased to unbearable wattage.

He drew his hand down her thigh until he gripped her shin, then he hoisted her on top of a solid palomino. Her leg still felt the heat of his touch even through the thick denim of her jeans.

“Name’s Girlie. Fitting for you, I think,” he mumbled, glancing at her with those cold eyes.

The male-to-female reaction was only heightened by his words. She didn’t want to feel feminine or “girlie” with him around. She wanted to be neutral, invisible, sexless, particularly around this swaggering tall cowboy who seemed to sniff out a woman’s vulnerability to the opposite sex like a bloodhound on the trail of an escapee.

Shaken and discombobulated, Lyndie petted the pretty animal’s flowing yellow mane in an attempt to ignore him. The palomino tossed her head, rattling her rider.

Frightened, Lyndie lashed out at her keeper. “Hey, I really don’t need a riding lesson when I’ll be taking off tomorrow—”

He ignored her. “The Western horse has five gaits—a walk, a jog…” he rambled.

Lyndie hardly listened. Her head still pounded, and now she was seeing red.

The man was a lout.

First he tried to seduce her by taking her skinny-dipping, then he rejected her, now he was bossing her around as if she were the employee, not him.

The nerve.

“Got it?” he demanded when his speech was through.

“Got it,” she spat, eyeing him balefully.

“Then, walk.” He bit out his words like a Marine commander. His lips twisted in a taunt. “Just squeeze your thighs. Both horses and men respond to that command.”

Her breath caught in her throat by the innuendo. Unable to deal with him anymore, she squeezed Girlie as hard as she could, choosing to focus on her rather than him. The mare went forward with a jolt. She nearly got tossed on her backside as the mare began to jog.

Lyndie tossed Bruce a baleful stare. Inside she was steaming.

He laughed. His white teeth flashed. “Just like a city slicker, wanting to lope before she can walk.”

He went to the mare and tugged on her bridle to slow her down.

The animal went down to a manageable walk. Lyndie caught her breath and renewed her nerve.

In the lull, she studied him as he stood watching from the center of the ring.

It’s as if he’s running from something—and I just want to see him stop and turn around, is all. Lyndie recalled Hazel’s words describing Bruce.

She looked down at the golden horse beneath her. Instinctively, she trusted the mare. The animal was responsive and gentle. Lyndie thought she could actually get used to being on her back, but that wouldn’t be a luxury she would allow right now.

Hazel may think Bruce needed to quit running, but as she rode round and round the ring, his piercing icicle gaze heating her, she knew she was the one who wanted to run.

And just like the domineering male he was, all he would let her do right now was walk.

Okay, so she fell off a few times.

Big whoop, Lyndie thought as she limped back to her bunkhouse. The whole experience racked up to zero, anyway, since all she was going to do was pack up her bags and leave.

However, she had to admit she did like Girlie.

The quarter horse had shown the patience of Job during the lesson. While Lyndie had bounced and shifted, desperate to gain her equilibrium, the palomino had been steadfast.

Even Lyndie knew the reasons she’d fallen off: her own thick head and her inability to take instruction from Mr. Bruce Everett.

Exhausted, she flung herself onto the pine bed and booted up her computer, oblivious to the dust on her jeans and boots. Going online, she checked her e-mail to see how her accountant was faring in her absence.

There was an urgent message from him, and she knew the man had to be panicking since there was no cash to pay off the new orders.

She was surprised to read his message:

Lyndie,

No worries! A new investor, the MDR Corporation, came forward with quadruple the cash we thought we’d need for the expansion. MDR heard about the deal and has assured us the money will be wired first thing Monday morning.