A Cowboy's Angel. Pamela Britton
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like the way staring into his troubled eyes made her heart soften. “I know some hunter/jumper trainers that would kill for a place like this.”
“I don’t have an arena.”
“You could build one. I saw a small track out behind the barn. Build one in the middle.”
He tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Alas, that drew her eye to his midsection and what she knew would be a ridge of muscle just beneath his belly button. Did he have hair there, too? Dark hair that formed a V above his...
Stop it!
She couldn’t help herself. The man was pure good-looking. He could be the spokesperson for a cologne commercial. Sell whiskey to the Amish. Rocks to a coal miner.
“Unfortunately, that’s not in the cards right now.”
Because of his finances, she immediately realized. “Maybe if I help you sell one of your horses, you could do it then.”
What are you doing?
You shouldn’t be helping him to stay in business. Frankly, helping him go out of business should be her goal.
His hands slipped from his pockets. He crossed them in front of him. “So you’re a veterinarian and a horse broker now?”
She shrugged even as inside she mentally sucker punched herself for offering to help him out. Again.
“I’ve come into contact with a lot of different people through vet school, and a lot of really good racehorses are off the track.”
He grinned, but it was a small one, the man seeming almost bemused. “You know, I thought for sure you’d be a real pain in my rear, but you’re surprisingly nice.”
Aww, how sweet....
She had to swallow back her irritation at herself. “Give it time. I promise to offend you soon.”
The smile on his face grew. “You sound like you don’t really want to be friends.”
“I want to do what’s best for the animals.”
“It’s better than being enemies, though, isn’t it?”
No.
She needed him to be an adversary. He was easier to resist that way.
Who was she kidding?
Ever since she’d first spotted him at the racetrack, she’d been smitten. He’d caught her gaze and everything inside her had gone, “Oooh.” She’d contained her reaction only by telling herself the man was a jerk—a racehorse owner—so he was ugly inside. Only he wasn’t ugly inside. At least, she didn’t think so.
She moved toward one of the stalls, berating herself the whole way, but when she caught a glimpse of the animal inside, she said, “Wow.”
The dark bay animal took her breath away—huge shoulders, massive hindquarters, long legs, and all topped off with the prettiest head and large brown eyes she’d ever seen. The horse hardly spared her a glance, though; he was napping, back leg resting, ears cocked back casually.
“What a gorgeous animal.”
“Yup. He’s a dandy, all right,” he said with pride. “Dandy of a Dasher, that’s his registered name. Dandy for short.”
“Is Dandy one of your injured horses?”
He came up next to her and whatever aftershave he wore wafted toward her on a breeze. Sage again. And pine. And then something different, yes, there it was...leather and horses. Her two favorite smells in the world, and they emanated from her enemy.
“He’s the one coming off the sesamoid injury.”
“How bad of a break was it?”
“Doc called it an apical fracture. No tendon damage. I could probably race him, but...”
If he did, the odds of the horse breaking down again were huge, and the next time might be catastrophic. She clutched the front of the stall, her stomach doing that odd little flip thing again, the same thing it’d done when she’d first spotted him at the track. Most owners would send a horse back to work—damn the long-term consequences. That he didn’t, well, it was one more reason to get her lust under control. She could never get involved with a man who raced horses for a living, even if he was one of the nicer ones.
“Did the bone chip?” she asked.
“No. Just a hairline fracture. Enough to make him lame. He’s been off since November.”
That translated to six months. “He should be nice and healed by now.”
“Doc said he is. He gets daily turnout and I haven’t seen him take a lame step in months. Just not sure what to do with him.”
Okay, brace yourself.
She turned and faced him. “This is exactly the type of horse I think I can help you with.” She cleared her throat. “As long as there’s no bone chip or full fracture, there isn’t any reason why he couldn’t go on to perform in a dressage arena or maybe even a jumping pen. I’d want to see his X-rays before I make a judgment call, but if they look good, and you don’t mind, I’d like to put some miles on him under saddle, maybe take some new film in a few weeks to see how he’s holding up and, if it looks good, call a few friends of mine.”
“You want to ride him?”
She took a deep breath before facing him again. Why was he looking at her like that? “Yeah. You know. Leg him up, get a feel for what’s going on up here.” She tapped her head. “Maybe take some video so I can assess how he moves. See if he has any potential.”
He’d done it again, moved closer. She hadn’t even noticed. “You’re really determined to help me, aren’t you?”
It felt as if she’d swallowed an air bubble all of a sudden. “Not you,” she choked out, “your horses.”
“I see. I’m still the enemy?”
She steeled herself. “As long as you race horses, you will always be the enemy.”
When she snuck a glance at him, he seemed disappointed and almost hurt.
Ignore it, she told herself.
“Good to know where I stand.”
“I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”
“Oh, we are.”
She nodded. “I’ll partner with you, but only for the horses’ sake.”
“Got it.”
She took another deep breath, telling herself she should be grateful he understood.
Why do you feel like such a jerk, then?
“So my first bit of advice is to list your horses on this website I know about. It’s for off-the-track racehorses. A lot of trainers keep an eye on what’s being posted there.”
“Just give me the URL.”
“But before we do that, I’ll need to ride him first.”
“And are you any good at riding?”
She imagined the double entendre to his word. No way was he flirting with her again after what she’d just made clear.
“I grew up on horseback.”
“Oh, yeah? Were you one of those spoiled horse-show kids?”
He wasn’t being mean, just curious. And, yes, she had definitely imagined the double entendre.
She gave her attention back to the horse. “No. My family couldn’t afford riding lessons, so I hung out at the local riding stable. The resident horse expert took pity on me.” She tipped her chin up proudly. “It took a lot of hard work, but I learned to ride well enough that I qualified for a national