Riding Hard. Vicki Thompson Lewis
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parts mischief and sin would make short work of any girl’s virtuous resolve. Pair those attributes with broad shoulders, slim hips and coffee-colored hair with a slight tendency to curl, and you had the promise of intense pleasure wrapped up in one yummy serving of manhood.
She certainly didn’t want to be attracted to him. God, no! Too bad. She was, anyway. Her line of defense had been a cool, distant manner. Apparently it had worked, because he thought she didn’t like him. Actually, he was right about that. She didn’t like him, or more precisely, she didn’t like the kind of person who would betray his best friend.
Yet whenever Drake came within five feet of her, she tingled. At the three-foot mark, she burned. She’d made sure he never got any closer than that, because she didn’t want to find out what would happen. She was afraid she’d turn into a hypocrite.
So calling him about the mare presented a problem. She’d have to keep her distance when he showed up. No one would ever need to know about her inconvenient case of lust. She’d taken in the pregnant mare, and consequently she had to do the next logical thing and summon Drake.
Pulling her phone from her pocket, she located his number. Her pulse accelerated at the thought of talking to him. That was the other thing about Drake. He had a voice like aged bourbon, complete with the soft drawl of a man born and raised in Virginia. It was a bedroom voice if she’d ever heard one. He sounded like effing Rhett Butler.
He answered quickly. “Hey there, Miss Tracy. Problems?”
She hadn’t counted on the effect of his voice murmuring in her ear, and she felt chills down her spine. She brought the phone to waist level and punched the speaker button. “Not a problem, exactly. I took in a pregnant mare today.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I couldn’t turn her away. The guy is down to his last dime, but he refused to sell her to someone he thought might mistreat her. He chose to bring her here instead of taking the money, which he obviously needs. He’s being evicted and he has no job.”
“Did you give him a job?”
His compassionate suggestion impressed her. “No, but that’s a fabulous idea. Obviously I can’t hire him, but Regan and Lily might. That’s assuming we can find him again. We have no permanent address or phone number. Just a name.”
“In a place where everybody seems to know everybody, that should be enough. How far along is the mare?”
“I didn’t think to ask. But I assume she needs special care, and I didn’t want to bring the vet down from Jackson and incur extra expense.” She paused to see if he’d volunteer his services.
“She might be fine for a week or so.”
Damn him, he was going to make her ask. “She might, but I would feel terrible if she or the foal had issues because I didn’t give her what she needs. Besides, it would be nice to know her approximate due date.”
“True, but Regan can figure that out when he gets home.”
Tracy’s frustration grew. “What if she’s ready to pop?”
His laugh was like warm maple syrup. “Is that your roundabout way of inviting me over to take a look?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d come and examine her.” She injected as much formality into the statement as she could muster.
“I’ll be right there.”
Her stupid adrenaline level spiked. “Thank you. Bye.” She disconnected quickly. Brisk and efficient. That was the key. Somehow she’d continue to strike that note.
Now that he was on his way, she was suddenly concerned about how she looked. She’d showered this morning, but she hadn’t bothered with makeup and her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. Whenever Drake had seen her at Spirits and Spurs she’d been wearing makeup and a cute hair arrangement. To her secret shame, she’d spent more time on her appearance since he’d started coming into the bar.
How sick was that? She didn’t really want to attract his attention. Well, apparently she did, and now he’d arrive and discover what she looked like au naturel. That was a good thing. No matter how much she longed to race into the house and slap on some lipstick, she would not.
Instead she picked up a brush and went to work on Dottie’s speckled coat. To Jerry Rankin’s credit, Dottie didn’t look as if she needed to be brushed, but Tracy did it, anyway. Then she combed out the black-and-white mane and tail, all the while talking to the mare and telling her what a beautiful baby she would have.
Dottie stood quietly and seemed to enjoy the attention, but she’d maneuvered herself so that she could look out the stall door as if watching for Jerry to return. At one point she moved her head to gaze at Tracy as if trying to decide why this strange person had replaced her old buddy.
“He would have kept you if he could,” Tracy said. “Bringing you here was an act of love. He didn’t want you to fall into bad hands, or to suffer because he wasn’t able to take care of you properly.”
The explanation seemed to help. Dottie heaved a big horsey sigh and lowered her head to nibble on the straw scattered at her feet.
Tracy wondered if the mare was still hungry. After all, she was eating for two. What Tracy knew about such things would fit inside a bottle cap. She really did need Drake’s advice.
As if her thoughts had conjured him up, she heard him enter the barn, his boot heels clicking on the wooden floor. She hurried over to the stall door and glanced quickly down the aisle. Sunlight streamed into the barn, outlining his manly physique in gold. He’d taken to wearing Western clothes recently, and they suited him. Boy, did they ever suit him.
She needed to gather her wits, so she didn’t call out to him. Hoping he hadn’t noticed her, she went back to brushing Dottie. For someone who had vowed to remain cool and distant, she sure had a lot of heat pouring through her veins. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Tracy? Are you in here?” His rich voice echoed in the rafters.
“Down here, last stall on the left.” Damn, but her hands were shaking. This was not good.
“Thanks. I tried the house, but you didn’t answer the door.” His footsteps came closer. “My eyes aren’t quite adjusted to the light.”
She glanced up, and there he was, six-foot-something of testosterone-fueled male. His Western shirt emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. He wasn’t wearing a cowboy hat, and she didn’t think she’d ever seen him wearing one. She wondered about that. Most cowboy wannabes couldn’t wait to show up in a hat.
When he opened the stall door, she realized her mistake. Jumpiness aside, she should have walked out to meet him. Then she could have let him go in the stall alone. Instead he was about to come in with her.
Unless she engineered a little do-si-do with him and then made her escape looking like a frightened rabbit, she was stuck here. Her three-foot limit was about to be violated, and she didn’t know what to do about it.
He caught sight of the mare and let out a low whistle. “She’s a beauty.”
“I know.” Her plan of maintaining a formal distance crumbled. She’d been through an emotional experience and she needed to talk about Jerry and his willingness to sacrifice for Dottie. “I’ll bet he could have sold her, but he couldn’t find the right buyer in time. I was touched by the fact he was choosy when he couldn’t afford to be.”
“Yeah, that’s damned noble.” He entered the stall and smiled at her. “For the record, I’m glad you followed your instincts and took her. Those instructions didn’t anticipate a mare like this showing up.”
Five feet, still just the tingle. “I’m sure she was the one bright spot in the guy’s life. I hope Regan and Lily are ready to take on some help and that we can find him again if they are.”
“I’d say there’s