The Texas Way. Jan Freed
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Table of Contents
“Easy, handsome. Don’t be afraid. How’d you like to go for a ride?”
Tightening her fist in the stallion’s mane, Margaret gathered her muscles into vault position, then gasped.
Cold metal—round, hollow and unmistakably lethal—pressed into her neck. “Don’t listen to her, Twister,” a deep voice drawled from behind. “Takin’ a ride with Maggie here can kill a guy.”
Blood rushed to her face in a sickening wave of guilt. “You,” she whispered.
“Yeah, me. The owner of the land you’re tresspassin’ on.” The pressure on her neck eased, replaced by the sliding caress of a gun barrel. “All grown up now, are you? Let’s take a look. Turn around, Maggie.”
Schooling her features into a cool mask, she turned. “Don’t call me Maggie.”
“Seems to me I can call you any name I want. And right this minute, ‘Maggie’ is the nicest one that comes to mind.”
Nothing had changed, she realized. He would never forget…or forgive.
After years of writing advertising copy, Jan Freed decided that if she could make washing machines sound glamorous, creating likable characters should be a breeze. Jan’s second book combines her pride in the indomitable spirit of Texans with her lifelong love of horses. “Cowboys and the Arabian breed share a mythical appeal that makes for great romance—pairing the two was a natural choice.”
Jan lives in Texas (of course!) with her husband and two children. She’d love to hear from readers and invites you to write to her at: P.O. Box 5009-272, Sugarland, Texas, 77487.
The Texas Way
Jan Freed
To Mica Kelch and Marian May, sisters in madness and valued friends. And to Jenny Hiller, blood sister and my truest fan. Thanks for the advice and support, buds!
Special thanks to Sharon and Xavier Moreau, owners of Bloodstock International, Inc., for sharing their knowledge of the Arabian horse industry. Any errors are accidental and entirely my fault.
MARGARET CHELSEA WINSTON crouched behind a clump of cacti, peeked over one spiny rim and forgot to breathe.
Moonlight leeched all color from the red clay and yellowed grass. Only light and dark contrasts remained. At the center of this ghostly vista stood a commanding figure, the embodiment of proud male arrogance—a shimmering gray stallion.
Twist of Fate, she’d named him six years ago, hoping she wasn’t overestimating his potential, praying he’d really beaten the genetic odds. He had. His magnificence surpassed her girlish dreams. He was one of the finest Arabians in the world.
Gripped with excitement, she rose and stood tall, giving him time to study her as thoroughly as she had him. Earthy smells nettled her nose. Coyotes yipped in the distance, two, maybe three miles away. Sound carried far in this part of Texas.
He stared back across the stark landscape, his dark gaze asking, Who watches me in the night?
A friend, she answered, not questioning their silent communication. She’d long ago accepted her uncanny rapport with animals as compensation for the skills she lacked.
After learning the stallion still lived in this area, she’d planned on sneaking a glimpse, then slipping away unseen. But nothing had prepared her for the ambition and resentment he awakened—the burning need to reclaim him.
She walked to the fence and slipped between the strands of barbed wire. “Hey, handsome. What’s a fella like you doing in a place like this?”
She kept her voice soothing, knowing he understood her tone if not the words. Ears pricked forward, he blew short and hard through flared nostrils. A fluttering snort would have indicated fear. She smiled.
“Curious, huh? I came to get reacquainted, that’s all.”
Her