Rodeo Sweetheart. Betsy Amant St.
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and shot Sam a sideways glance. “Samantha.”
Her eyes, greenish now that anger sparked inside, narrowed. “You’re impossible.” She clomped back down the porch steps and Ethan watched her leave, an unexplainable joy rising in his chest at having gotten to her once again.
“See you on the trail, partner.” Ethan grinned as he braced his arms on the porch railing and watched her stalk to the main house. He had a feeling this working vacation was just getting started in more ways than one.
Chapter Three
Sam was up at dawn the next morning, partially because of her growling stomach and the full schedule for the day and partially because Ethan’s face had teased her dreams all night. There was nothing worse than tossing and turning in the midst of a dream you didn’t want to have—make that a nightmare. Who did Ethan Ames think he was, riding into her life as if he belonged there? So what if he was handsome? There wasn’t enough room in all of Texas for the size of his ego. Teasing her about her name, as if he should automatically be granted special privileges, was the last straw in Sam’s hay bale of tolerance. If money meant instant ego, Sam was glad she hovered on the poor side of the spectrum.
But poor wasn’t going to bring back her father’s legacy.
Sam dressed quickly in jeans and a button-down, then grabbed her cowboy hat off her dresser. Her eye caught the photo of her dad, taken nearly twenty years ago at the height of his rodeo fame, and she gently touched the worn wooden frame. She often wondered what their lives would be like if her father hadn’t quit the circuit when she turned seven. Would she and her mom still be following him around in that beat-up RV, touring city after city, winning prize after prize? Maybe if her dad hadn’t quit and taken over his grandfather’s breeding farm to provide a safe life for his family, he’d still be alive.
The irony was what ate at Sam for years, and still occasionally nibbled on her thoughts. Wade Jenson gave up his dreams and his talent to avoid danger and be there for his family—yet the tragic accident happened during his first tribute appearance years after quitting. Angie had told him not to ride, that he hadn’t in too long and it’d be dangerous. But Wade Jenson was never one to displease a begging crowd of fans, so he took on the infamous bull Black Thunder. It was the last time he ever rode anything. The injuries from being trampled lingered, and Sam and Angie spent the next several weeks at the hospital until Wade’s body gave out—along with their family savings.
What if Wade had recovered, and the breeding farm could have continued as planned? What if Sam didn’t have to help her mother carry the burden of providing for their livelihood, and could have moved out? Gone to college? Felt free to date and marry?
She turned away from the picture before the familiar sting of tears could burn her eyes, and shoved her cowboy hat on her head. She was through with the what-ifs. All that mattered were the what-nows. And right now, she had a trail ride to lead, an annoying man to ignore and a farm to save.
Sam pressed her knee into Piper’s side, waiting for him to exhale before tightening the girth of the saddle. The paint gelding was known for holding his breath during the tacking process, leaving a loose, comfortable girth and a rider hanging on for dear life. “I know your game, boy. Give it up.”
Piper exhaled in defeat and Sam quickly cinched the girth strap. She rubbed briskly under Piper’s mane, her fingers immediately coated with sweat and little white and brown hairs. “Just a short trip, boy. I know it’s hot out here.” Even though it was only nine-thirty on a Friday morning, the summer sun inched along its path in the sky, blazing the ranch with heat. Only a handful of tourists had shown up for the ride—unfortunately, Vickie and Ethan Ames included.
Sam gathered the reins and clicked her tongue at Piper. He followed her to the edge of the paddock, where she looped the reins around the hitching post. After last night’s drama with Ethan on the porch and her round of bad dreams, she’d hoped he’d sleep in and mercifully spare her his presence at the morning ride. He’d skipped breakfast, so Sam figured there was a good chance. But no, there he stood beside Vickie, dressed in designer jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt that revealed the tanned lines of muscle in his arms.
Sam adjusted the blanket under Piper’s saddle with a sharp tug. Where did a city boy like Ethan get a tan? Must be all that driving with the convertible top down. She would imagine he hadn’t earned it with sweat and honest work.
Same with the muscles.
“Is that my horse for today?” Vickie Ames gestured to Piper.
Sam nodded and introduced the painted gelding to Vickie. “He’s a sweetie, sort of like a big puppy. Just don’t spook him with any sudden noises.” All the working ranch horses were docile and well-trained, but they still had spunk. Piper hated loud noises, a fact he reminded them of every time it thundered. Sam had fixed more than her share of stall doors and fences after one of Piper’s episodes.
“Of course I won’t.” Vickie patted Piper’s nose, then winced at her hair-covered hand. “I forgot my handkerchief.”
“Use your jeans, Mom.” Ethan sidled up to the paddock fence beside Sam. He winked. “Good morning, Sam.”
Sam gritted her teeth, remembering how her mother had specifically asked her to be nice. Her mother was right across the corral, so Sam better fake it for a while. She drew a deep breath. “Mornin’.”
“Where’s my horse?”
Sam pointed to a chestnut mare that Cole Jackson, one of the longtime stable hands, was saddling a few feet away. “You’ll be riding Miss Priss.”
“Miss Priss?” Ethan smiled. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”
Sam shrugged, not wanting to admit he was right. The mare’s name was girlie, but the older horse was stubborn. Sam had a feeling if anyone could put Ethan in his place, it would be Miss Priss.
“Well, I’m sure me and the little lady will get along great.” Ethan brushed his hands on his jeans with a pointed look at his mom, who was still picking horse hair off her palm.
“Mrs. Ames, would you like help mounting?” Sam turned her back to Ethan.
Vickie looked up with a relieved smile. “That would be great. I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m not used to being around horses much.”
No kidding. Sam worked to keep her smile natural as she boosted the woman into the saddle, glad Vickie was at least wearing jeans and riding boots, even if they did look so new she’d surely have a blister by the end of the ride. Angie made a point of stating on the ranch’s Web site to bring comfortable, worn-in clothing for riding, but ninety percent of their guests ignored the suggestion and were usually miserable by the end of the week. Sam had never understood the fashion-over-function mindset.
Beside her, Cole shook back his dark hair in frustration as if he’d noticed the same thing. “Greenhorns,” he mumbled as he handed the reins to another tourist.
“Can I get a leg up, too?”
Sam ignored Ethan’s taunting call from two horses away, focusing on adjusting the stirrup length for Vickie instead. He was apparently determined to get to her again today, and Sam was just as determined not to let him.
“You know, since I’m not a real cowboy.” His teasing continued.
Sam moved to work on the second stirrup, keeping her eyes averted from Ethan’s position beside Miss Priss. Ignore him, ignore him. Cole could help him mount. Not that Ethan actually needed help mounting, he just wanted to rub in Sam’s face her verbal mistake from last night.
“Please, Samantha?”
Sam dropped the stirrup abruptly, jostling Vickie’s leg, and glared across the fence at Ethan. “You know, I thought they said mules were stubborn. Not—”
Angie bumped into Sam as she appeared next to her, effectively cutting off Sam’s sentence. “Lovely day, isn’t it, Mrs. Ames? Hot, but beautiful.