A Cowboy's Angel

by Pamela Britton

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “I would appreciate that.”

  She found herself backing away before she could stop herself, as if he were a dangerous tiger about ready to pounce.

  “Call me if you can’t get those records. Some clinics can be weird about releasing information.”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  He moved away from the horse, falling into step next to her as she hurried toward the exit. The horse followed along, Mariah glancing back in time to spy the limp. Poor thing.

  “Thanks for coming out today.”

  She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t forget the way he’d studied the filly like a man worried about his best friend. It disturbed her, though not in a bad way.

  “Can I take you to lunch? As a way of thanking you?”

  “No, no. I, ah, I have another appointment to go to after this.”

  He didn’t say anything, not for the longest time. She saw him scan her face, spotted the way his gaze lingered on her lips, and then his eyes sprouted the faintest hint of a challenge. “Yeah?”

  “Yes,” she lied.

  He knew she didn’t have anything more important to do than watch YouTube videos for the rest of the afternoon. Just as he knew she didn’t want to spend any more time with him than necessary, and not because of what he did for a living. Oh, no. She didn’t want to spend more time with him, because despite what she told herself, she really did like him.

  Fool.

  There was no denying that she was.

  Chapter Five

  She hated horse racing.

  Zach reminded himself the next morning, and it was all the reason in the world to give Mariah a wide berth. Yet oddly, he kept glancing at his cell phone’s clock as he oversaw his morning workouts and then later, on the way back to his ranch.

  That cell phone chimed as he turned off the main road. A quick glance revealed what he suspected: email alert. Doc Miller’s office. They’d pdf’d the information Mariah needed. When he arrived at his ranch, he headed toward the barn and figured Mariah must already be there, judging by the car parked out front. She had to be in the stall with Dandy because he didn’t see her when he glanced down the barn aisle as he headed toward his office. It took him just a moment to print out a black-and-white copy of Dandy’s radiographs and the accompanying chart.

  Mariah the vet, he thought as he did so. Mariah the champion equestrienne. Mariah the enigma.

  She was right where he’d figured she’d be, inside the stall with Dandy tied to an iron bar, an English saddle on his back. She glanced up at him, but it was a quick look, as if she didn’t trust herself to make eye contact.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” she echoed.

  He tried to come up with something to say, but all he could think about was how strange it was to have her in his barn. After months of being adversaries it was still hard to wrap his head around Mariah being a friend, not a foe.

  “I see you brought your saddle.”

  She nodded.

  “English, huh?”

  “No other way to ride.” She flipped up the flap of the saddle and buckled the girth.

  He almost smiled. “If you say so. Myself, I prefer a Western saddle.”

  She dropped the flap, eyeing the gelding critically. “Not me.”

  It was the most mundane conversation in the world, which made him all the more aware of the fact that this was Mariah Stewart in front of him. And she wore breeches and boots. Women in skintight pants and leather boots should be outlawed, he thought, especially women who looked like Mariah. She had the sleek curves of one of his racehorses and the fiery mane of loose hair to match, and he always, always noticed even when he told himself not to pay attention.

  “Here,” he said, thrusting the chart up in the air so she could see it. “All my horses’ charts.”

  She reached through the bars and took the papers from him. He watched as she flipped to the first sheet but only for a moment, her fingers flying to the next sheet and then the next. It was his first chance to observe Mariah the vet in action, and he had to admit, she sure looked like a professional, lips pursing as she paused from time to time. When she got to the radiographs—pdf copies on regular-sized paper—she turned them this way and that, at one point dipping toward the bright end of the barn so she could get a better look. He had no idea if it was the filly’s or Dandy’s that she studied so intently.

  “Dandy’s latest scan looks great.”

  He hadn’t realized how tense he was until that moment. “Good.”

  “Hairline fracture at the most. You can hardly see where it was in the most current film. I doubt it’d even show up in a vet check...as long as he’s sound.”

  “He’s sound, but I wouldn’t be comfortable selling him to someone who didn’t know his history.”

  She glanced up sharply. “No. Of course not.”

  “And the filly?”

  “Puzzling,” she said with a frown at the papers in her hand. “The only thing I can pinpoint are some narrow margins between the coffin bone and the navicular. Most horses have more padding between the two, but it still shouldn’t cause her any pain.” She looked up at him again. “But you never know. Just like people, some animals are more sensitive than others. I’d want to begin there.”

  “Great.”

  She handed him the papers back. “Meanwhile, I’ll focus on Dandy.”

  “If you need a bridle, there’s more than a few in the tack room at the end.”

  “Already grabbed one.” She bent and scooped something up. “I assume it’s okay to use this one?”

  She held up a snaffle bit. A relic of days gone by, back when his mother used to ride, although he noticed she’d cleaned it up some. His mom had been gone from the ranch for nearly a decade, but reminders of her still remained. She’d ridden English, too, but she’d trotted right out of his life the day he’d graduated high school. He sometimes wondered if she’d planned it that way—get him older, then leave.

  “The snaffle is fine. That’s all we ever work our horses in around here.”

  “Where can I ride?”

  “Out on the track if you like.” Memories of his mother were never pleasant.

  She slipped the bridle on Dandy, then opened the stall door, and what had looked like a shapely body before suddenly turned into va-boom. It was hard to keep his eyes up as she walked by. The woman could be the main act at a men’s club. Shazam. Just give her a whip and a rope to hang from and she’d be all set, especially with that long red hair of hers hanging down....

  “...safety.”

  He blinked. She stared. He realized she’d asked him a question.

  “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  She’d spotted him ogling her. He felt his face color for the first time in ages. She narrowed her eyes and suddenly they were back on familiar ground. Protagonist/antagonist, only this time for a whole other reason.

  “I asked if you had a helmet.”

  He nodded. “One of our tack trunks.”

  He had to hide his chagrin as he turned toward a large wooden box, lifting the chrome lid. Sure enough, an old white skullcap lay inside.

  “I don’t know if it’ll fit.” He handed it to her.

  She took the thing from him, eyeing the inside skeptically, probably for spiders, before somehow gathering all her hair atop her head and covering it with the helmet.

  “It’ll do.”

  She looked nice with her hair tucked away. It accentuated the shape of her face.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  She’d caught him staring again.

  “That type of helmet always reminds me of a gumball.” He threw the excuse out, although he half hoped to tease a smile to her lips, though
why he bothered he had no idea. It was clear she didn’t want to be his “friend” any more than he wanted to be her ally—at least, that was what he told himself.

  “How long did you say it’s been since he’s been ridden?” she asked.

  “A while. You sure you’re still up for this? We could always have one of my guys get on him first—”

  “No need for that.”

  “Might be safer.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Actually, I’m more worried about a lawsuit from your heirs.”

  She shot him an expression surprisingly full of amusement. “I don’t have any heirs, and I would never be the type to sue someone if I fell off a horse, even a racehorse-owning someone.”

  Her response didn’t reassure him. “Maybe I should get on him first.”

  She pulled Dandy to a stop. “Don’t you trust me?”

  He smirked. “More like I don’t trust my horse.”

  “He’ll be fine.” She walked forward again. Dandy followed meekly in her wake.

  “Still, I insist I ride him first.”

  “In an English saddle?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  He thought he heard something like a laugh. “You sure you can hang on?”

  “Considering I spent my teenage years breezing horses at the racetrack in a saddle no bigger than a tea tray, yes.”

  She glanced at him with a small smile. Progress.

  “Good point.”

  “Plus, this way you can see how he moves.”

  They emerged from the barn, the both of them blinking against the late-morning sunshine. In front of them stretched a small racetrack. He’d grown up playing out on that track, had so many good memories connected to the strip of land that it was hard to stomach the idea of maybe one day losing the place.

  Don’t think that way, he told himself.

  She was here because she might be able to help him. If she could, he would owe her, he admitted, not at all sure how that would make him feel.

  She opened the gate to the track. He eyed Dandy. Okay, so it’d been a while since he’d been in anything other than a Western saddle.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t lunge him first,” he heard himself say.

  “Scared?”

  “No.” He trusted Dandy. The horse had always been easygoing. He was just being...prudent.

  “You want to use my helmet?”

  “No need.” If he fell and split his head open in front of her, he’d wish he were dead anyway. Still, he pushed his cowboy hat on tighter. “Just go ahead and hold his head while I climb on board.”

  She did as asked, while Zach eyed the flimsy little stirrups English riders used. He’d never understood the appeal of such teeny-tiny saddles. When he ponied his horses on the track, he always rode Western. Easier, and the saddles had a horn that he could use to dally a lead rope around if one of his colts got fractious. Still, he’d ridden a large part of his youth bareback; at least he’d have stirrups. He glanced at Dandy. The horse eyed him skeptically—not surprising, since he’d never ridden the animal. Funny how he could own a horse and never ride it.

  “Do you want me to get something for you to stand on?”

  What? Did she think he was so rusty he’d have a hard time mounting? He didn’t know whether to laugh or be offended.

  “I’ll just swing up.”

  He grabbed a hank of mane, angled his body in such a way as to achieve maximum velocity, then heaved himself up.

  It was hard to say who was more surprised, Dandy or himself—Dandy because Zach had just George-of-the-Jungled into the side of him, not atop him as he had planned, or Zach because instead of landing atop the horse, he’d landed flat on his back on the ground beside him, cowboy hat tipping down and covering his eyes.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he heard Mariah murmur to Dandy, trying to soothe him. Hooves danced near his head, then boots, then hooves, Mariah placing herself between him and the upset animal. “Easy there.”

  Clearly she knew a thing or two about horses, because by the time he sat up, she had things well in hand.

  “That was brilliant,” he admitted.

  He got to his feet. She moved to the side of the horse.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting on.”

  “Don’t do th—”

  In the next instant, she’d expertly mounted, the look on her face a cross between bemusement and sympathy.

  “If you want, I’ll give you a mounting lesson later.” But she took the sting out of her words with a smile, the first real one she’d given him in—well, the first one he’d ever had from her. And from nowhere came the thought he’d fall on his face a million times to see that smile.

  That troubled him. It troubled him a lot.

  Chapter Six

  The gelding handled like a dream, Mariah thought a half hour later, another smile coming to her face as she caught sight of Zach.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  It was hard to look him in the eye and not laugh. The expression on his face when he’d hit the ground... Priceless. She had to work to keep her lips straight all over again. Still, they twitched without her permission.

  “More humiliated than anything else,” he admitted, lifting his cowboy hat and swiping his hair back. His expression could only be called sheepish and...something else. Something she couldn’t quite identify. “Looks like he’s behaving for you.”

  An obvious change of subject. She jumped off Dandy to cover her consternation. Was he surprised that she could actually ride? He seemed a bit perplexed.

  “He was, but I’d still like to see him move. Do you mind hopping on? And by that I don’t mean hopping on.”

  She saw him look away, no doubt hiding his embarrassment. He really was being a good sport—hadn’t gotten angry, wasn’t blustering at her or acting all macho-masculine to make up for falling at her feet. Well, Dandy’s feet.

  “Sure.” He came up to the horse, seeming to hold out his hand to soothe the animal without thought. Dandy didn’t move as he climbed aboard as easily as she had. In a matter of seconds he was off and Mariah could tell he could really ride despite his failed attempt at mounting. Within seconds he was trotting. She watched the horse move around her in circles, pleased by what she saw. Actually, pleasantly surprised.

  “Okay, bring him in.”

  “You could tell that quickly?” he asked when he came to a stop in front of her.

  “Yup. I could actually tell by the way he walked. He really swings his shoulder. I suspected he would carry himself nicely and he does.”

  The veins had popped out on Dandy’s neck. He’d been worked into a sweat. Still, the animal had a pleasant expression on his face. He was curious about his surroundings but not afraid, and relaxed despite being ridden for the first time in months. “I’ll want to work with him for a couple of weeks, but I think he has potential.”

  Zach’s smile was so huge it was all Mariah could do to hold his gaze. Wow.

  “Good to hear,” he said, patting Dandy again before jumping down. Just as she’d noticed the first day she’d spoken to him, he had a gentle touch. Point in his favor. Actually, he’d gained a lot of points in her book. He’d treated her with respect despite his disdain. He cared for his horses, too. She could tell with every touch.

  You like him.

  Yes. As much as it was possible to like a man who raced horses for a living.

  “So what will you do if he trains up well?” he asked.

  “Well, I’ll want to ride him for a few weeks and then call a friend of mine, but I can do that in between overseeing Dasher’s therapy. She owns a jumping stable and she’s always on the lookout for horses like Dandy.”

  He touched Dandy’s short mane, fid
dled with it. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  He braced himself before he faced her. She watched as his shoulders became more square, as his mouth tipped into a flat line before he seemed to gather his thoughts.

  “Why are you going to so much trouble to help me?”

  “Ah,” she heard herself say.

  “Surely you have better things to do than to help me out. What’s in it for you?”

  The moment of truth. “What makes you think I want anything?”

  He eyed her skeptically. She took a deep breath.

  “Okay, fine. I do want something in return.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I want to attend the next owners’ meeting.” She hadn’t meant to blurt the words, but once she said them, she was glad they were out. Too bad he didn’t like them.

  “I don’t think—”

  “I know you’re on the board at Golden Downs, that you took over your father’s seat and that they meet in a couple of days. I was thinking I could go with you.” He was going to say no, she could tell. “I’ll still work on Dasher and Summer and still ride Dandy for you even if you say no, but if I could talk to the men on the board, convince them to work with me on the best way to dispose of their unwanted racehorses, of everyone’s unwanted horses... If we could just get a program in place...”

  “I don’t think so.”

  It took an effort not to let her disappointment show. She’d known it was a long shot, but she’d been hoping.

  “Could you maybe think about it?”

  He nodded, but she could tell he’d probably only think about it for a day and then still tell her no.

  Darn it.

  She turned to Dandy to hide her disappointment, patted him. Why were these racehorse owners so set in their ways? Couldn’t they see there was a problem? Dandy was a classic example of a perfectly wonderful animal going to waste. If she hadn’t come along, Zach would have sent him down the road, probably to an auction, and then who knew what might have happened to him?

  “We’ll get you hooked up with the right person,” she told the horse softly.