Ambushed!. Vicki Thompson Lewis
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her in that little white uniform, but he didn’t say that. “I went in there one day and they said you’d left.”
“That was right before the Fourth of July celebration,” she said. “And speaking of that, you’d better get back or you’ll be late.” She unclipped a cell phone from her tooled leather belt. “I’ll call the stable and tell them to come get this nag. I’m afraid Geronimo is a parade washout, at least with me on board. Oh, well.” She shrugged. “Chi non risica, non rosica.”
He knew absolutely no Italian. “Which means?”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
Gabe wasn’t fooled. Her cheerful acceptance of her fate didn’t ring true. From what he remembered of her, she loved to be part of things and a Fourth-of-July parade would be right up her alley.
“Don’t call them,” he said. “We’ll just switch horses.”
She paused in the act of dialing. “That’s very generous, but I couldn’t possibly accept.”
“Don’t you want to ride in the parade?”
“Well, sure, but I don’t think I quite realized how tricky it would be.”
“So this is your first parade?”
She smiled. “Yep. I’m a parade virgin.”
“Then we need to change your status today.” And if their discussion had sexual overtones, he didn’t mind a bit. She’d started it.
Still smiling, she shook her head. “I’ll bet your horse is worth a gazillion dollars.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Gabe thought Jack might say it mattered a lot, but Top Drawer was Gabe’s horse and he could loan out the roan paint if he wanted to. That meant Gabe would be riding an Appaloosa instead of one of the Last Chance paints, and Jack might not like that, either. The ranch used the parade to showcase their registered horses, so in the past their entry had been all paints, all the time. But Gabe wasn’t in the mood to please Jack right now.
“No, really, Gabe. If anything were to happen to him, or to someone in the parade while I’m riding him, I’d never forgive myself.”
“Nothing will happen.” Gabe gestured toward his horse. Top Drawer hadn’t moved since Gabe had dropped the reins to the ground. “He’s trained within an inch of his life. You won’t have a single problem, but if you’re worried, you can ride next to me.”
Eagerness gleamed in her eyes for a moment before she looked away. “I really appreciate the offer. You don’t know how much.” She glanced back at him. “But it wouldn’t be right.”
“Why not?”
“I’d be horning in on your parade entry, interrupting your family event, insinuating myself into a situation that isn’t my—”
“Aw, hell, Morgan. You know you want to do it, so just get on my horse and make it snappy or we’ll both be late.”
She hesitated another second and then grinned. “Okay, Gabe. You’re right. I really do want to be in this parade. I’ve been thinking about it ever since … well, since I was sixteen, I guess.”
Thank God he’d offered. “Then let’s do it.”
“I’ll be forever in your debt.”
“Yeah? That sounds promising.”
She laughed. “Don’t get all excited. Opening a business has sucked up most of my capital. But I might be able to swing dinner at Spirits and Spurs if you avoid the steak.” She walked over to Top Drawer and scrambled aboard. The fourth snap on her shirt popped open again.
Instantly Gabe thought of another way she could show her gratitude, and immediately felt like a jerk. He was doing a good deed and expected nothing in return. Absolutely nothing.
“Damnation.” She pulled the shirt together and snapped it.
Doing his level best not to stare, Gabe led the Appaloosa over so he could hold on to the wayward horse while he adjusted her stirrups. No doubt being turned on by a glimpse of her spectacular cleavage reflected poorly on his character.
But there you had it. He was superficial and immature enough to wish that snap would stay open.
“Oh, would you please get my little purse?” she asked. “I left it tied around the saddle horn, and I doubt you’ll want to ride in the parade with it hanging there in full view.”
“That would be a negative.” He fetched the small leather purse, no bigger than a wallet, and handed it up to her.
As she reached for it, the snap popped again. “This is getting annoying.”
“Maybe you should give up and leave it undone.” He figured every guy along the parade route would be grateful.
She looped the purse strap over the saddle horn and snapped her shirt together again. “Now you sound like my mother—if you’ve got it, flaunt it.”
“Your mom said that?” Gabe couldn’t imagine that sentence ever crossing his mother’s lips, especially in relation to one of her kids.
“She’s Italian,” Morgan said, as if that explained everything.
Gabe thought about that as he lengthened his stirrups and mounted up. Kids tended to take after their parents, and obviously Morgan had inherited her red hair and blue-green eyes from her Irish dad, a guy he’d met once at some school function her parents had attended. What had she inherited from her hot-blooded, dark-haired Italian mother? A passionate nature?
In high school he’d been unavailable, but it happened that he was fancy-free at the moment. Even though he expected nothing in return for this good deed, he wasn’t about to refuse if Morgan wanted to renew their friendship. This horse trade might turn out to be one of his better moves.
2
EVEN A dedicated optimist like Morgan couldn’t have predicted that renting that stubborn horse Geronimo would have an upside—a rather spectacular upside, in fact. Although she was a little nervous about busting in on the Chance family’s event, she’d been invited by one of the crown princes to do exactly that. She thought of the Chances as Shoshone’s royal family.
Gabe certainly carried himself like royalty, his posture relaxed and easy in the saddle as he rode beside her to the parade staging area. Morgan had never known one of the Chance boys to look nervous, and why should they? They all had a strong sense of self, a trait she was working hard to make part of her personality.
She’d admired Gabe from the day she’d arrived at JHHS twelve years ago. No, admired was too tame a word. She’d had a crush the size of the Teton Mountain Range. Of course, she’d had no shot back then. As president of the junior class and star running back, Gabe Chance could have had almost any girl in school. He’d been going steady with somebody named Jennifer.
Amazingly, he now appeared to be unattached. With his all-American good looks, sandy hair and laughing blue eyes, she would have expected him to be off the market. Instead he’d asked her to ride with him in the parade, and that didn’t seem like the act of a man with a girlfriend.
He’d also been very interested in her tight shirt. She gave him points for not openly staring, though. She’d suffered through her share of ogling and crude remarks over the years. As a young teen she’d wished for smaller breasts, but eventually she’d learned to accept, even be grateful for the body she had.
Her generous measurements provided a terrific litmus test to see whether a guy had any class. Although she couldn’t expect men to ignore her double-Ds, she appreciated any effort at subtlety. Gabe had made that effort.
Come to think of it,