High Country Cowgirl. Joanna Sims
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sweat but not so hot that he couldn’t get some work done at high noon. He’d finally gotten around to cleaning his two-horse trailer, something he’d been putting off for weeks. Gabe had already sweated through his shirt, so he’d taken it off and hung it on a nearby fence post. With Johnny Cash playing on the phone in his back pocket, Gabe was pouring more gas into his pressure washer when he heard the faint sound of Tater, his dog, barking from inside the house. Tater, who was geriatric at this point, preferred sleep above all activities and only made the effort to bark when someone came up the drive.
Gabe put down the gas can and walked toward the front of the house. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but that didn’t mean much. People often landed in his driveway hunting for the main entrance to his family’s ranch, Sugar Creek.
“Hello, young man. We’re looking for Gabe Brand.”
An older gentleman with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and a bit of a beer gut rounded the corner of Gabe’s cabin. Walking beside the older man was a younger woman wearing English riding clothes. It was unusual to see someone wearing that kind of riding gear—most folks he knew rode Western.
“For better or worse, you found him.” Gabe reached for his shirt and shrugged it on.
“I’m hoping for the better,” the man said.
The minute Gabe got a good look at the woman’s face, he was smitten.
“George Delafuente.” The older man offered his hand. “And, this is my daughter, Bonita.”
George had a firm handshake and carried himself like a man who had made his own way in the world. Gabe made note of the gold-and-diamond-encrusted Rolex his visitor was wearing. Yes, George had all of the trappings of a Montana native—jeans, cowboy boots and button-down striped shirt tucked in tight. Yet all the clothing was too clean, too new, too expensive-looking to be owned by a working rancher.
Gabe shook the man’s hand and then turned his attention to the daughter.
“Beautiful,” he said rather dumbly as he shook her hand.
Behind her mirrored designer sunglasses, Bonita looked at him in surprise. “I’m sorry?”
“Your name. It means beautiful in Spanish, doesn’t it? That’s about the only word, other than hola and adios, that I can seem to remember from high school Spanish.”
Bonita pulled her hand back, her full lips unsmiling. “Yes. My parents took a gamble on that one.”
No gamble at all, as far as Gabe could see. He had ranched all of his life and had made a good living training and transporting high-priced horses across the country. He’d met a lot of women along the way. None had been as lovely, to his eyes, as Bonita. Her sable-colored hair, wavy and worn loose down to her narrow waist, framed her oval face in the most lovely way; the light, occasional breeze sent tendrils of hair dusting across her tawny cheeks.
Gabe liked how slender her fingers looked as she tucked those wayward strands behind her ear. And he noted that she wasn’t wearing a wedding or engagement ring on her left hand. Her handshake had been firm and strong, belying how delicate her hand seemed to be. This was a woman confident in her own skin, who seemed unafraid to assert herself in a man’s world.
“Do you have a minute to talk some business?” George asked him.
Gabe caught Bonita glancing at his bare chest and stomach and fastened a couple of buttons to appear more suitable for mixed company. Everything about Bonita read class act—from her polished black riding boots to the well-tailored fawn-colored breeches that hugged her hips and shapely legs to the brilliant diamond stud earrings and matching diamond tennis bracelet.
He was sweaty and dirty and had no doubt that he’d made a less-than-sterling first impression with this woman.
“I’ve got a minute.” Gabe gave a nod. “Can I get you folks something to drink?”
“No. Thank you.” George checked his phone briefly before he continued. “We don’t want to impose on you.”
“No imposition.” They walked together to stand in the shade of one of the large ponderosa pine trees near his cabin. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m not sure you can do anything for us, actually,” Bonita said, her head turned away from him, her arms crossed in front of her body. Her body language wasn’t difficult to read—she wanted to leave.
George glanced at her before he said, “We’ve got a horse back East that we need brought to Montana. He’s a graduation present...” George smiled proudly at his daughter “...and your brother told me that you’re the best transporter in the business.”
“I don’t know about the best, but I know what it takes to get a horse home safe.” Gabe spoke to both of them, even though it seemed to him that Bonita had already made up her mind about him. “Which of my brothers has been bragging about me? My pop had a litter.”
George had an easy smile; his daughter, from Gabe’s brief experience, did not.
“Dr. Brand,” George said. “He was out at our place for my wife’s horse. Your brother is one of the most competent vets I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen my share.” The man pointed at him. “That’s why I’m inclined to believe him about you.”
“I’ve been hauling horses for the better part of my life.”
Bonita had been looking everywhere but at him. “This isn’t just any horse.” That’s when she looked at him. “Vested Interest is an Oldenburg. He’s seventeen hands tall.” She nodded her head toward his two-horse trailer. “That trailer is way too small.”
As pretty as this woman was, Gabe bristled at the condescension in her tone. It was coming across to him that she thought he was a dumb cowboy who didn’t know one horse from the next. He didn’t bother to tell her that he’d trained Oldenburgs along the way—what would be the point? Yes, he could always use the business, but he wasn’t going to grovel at the feet of the princess to get it.
Flatly, he said, “I don’t transport long-distance in that trailer.”
“You have your rig here?” George seemed to want to get the discussion back on track.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’d like to see it,” George said with a bit of resolve in his tone. “If that’s not too much trouble.”
“I’ve got a minute.”
Gabe loved his long-distance rig and loved to show it off. And his bruised ego made him want to prove to the princess that he wasn’t some ignorant yokel. It had taken him years to build his reputation; he didn’t need Bonita bad-mouthing him in the high-end horse community.
“Where’s the horse?”
“Northern Virginia,” George told him. “Every day we board him in Virginia is another dollar we burn.”
Bonita trailed behind them as they walked the short distance to an oversize garage.
“I hear that,” Gabe said with a nod. “Virginia’s pretty country.”
“Yes, it is,” George agreed. “But nothing like this land right here. This is God’s country.”
They reached the large garage Gabe had custom-built to house his trailer. “I can’t argue with you there.” He pushed the heavy door open and flipped on a light switch.
George whistled, long and appreciative. “Now, that’s a fine setup!”
“Thank you,” Gabe said. “She’s my pride and joy.”
It had taken him several years to save up enough money to put a down payment on this customized, midnight blue, luxury Equine Motorcoach. It had been his dream to own one, and it still felt a little surreal every time he took it out on the road.
George was sold—Gabe could see that. He’d