A Cowboy's Angel

by Pamela Britton

The table and chairs were a relic from the ’60s. Metal legs scraped against a linoleum floor as Jillian pulled a chair out. “Spill.”

  She found herself shaking her head. “He’s nothing like I expected.”

  “Zach?”

  She crossed her arms in front of her. “He’s sweet.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Don’t ‘uh-oh’ me.”

  Her friend leaned back, her small chin dropping down low. “Look. I understand why you’re helping him. We all understand that. Those bastards have no idea how much stress they put on their horses and you’re in a position to help one or two of them.” She leaned in closer. “But to actually like the man responsible for doing that to a horse. Have you lost your mind?”

  “No,” Mariah said. “I mean, I know Zach races horses for a living, but he has this gelding named Dandy that injured its sesamoid. He could have put him back into training after it healed, but he didn’t. He retired him. I’m going to talk to Natalie about him. See if maybe he might work as a hunter-jumper prospect.”

  “Oh, man. You’re into him big-time.”

  “I want to help his horses.”

  “A week ago you wanted to shut guys like him down.”

  She couldn’t deny it. She wasn’t even going to try. “My meeting last night didn’t go very well.”

  “Did they toss you out?”

  “Not quite,” she admitted, getting up from the chair, surprised to note she was sore from her night of squatting down by a sick horse’s side. It came with the territory, though. “Afterward Zach reminded me that you can catch more flies with honey.”

  Jillian didn’t say anything. Mariah almost dreaded facing her again, and when she did, she wasn’t surprised at the look of dismay on her friend’s face. “I never would have thought you’d turn rogue.”

  “Jillian, I haven’t turned rogue.” But she sounded like she tried a little too hard to convince herself. “I just think he has a point, especially after the disastrous meeting I had last night. They refused to listen. They won’t ever listen if I keep being confrontational.” She plopped down on the chair again. “Zach is right. CEASE has staged protests and lockouts and enlisted the aid of the media, none of which has done a darn bit of good. So I decided to do as Zach suggests. I’m going to propose CEASE help form an animal-welfare alliance. A group of concerned individuals made up of CEASE participants and members of the racing community who could generate ideas on how best to help unwanted racehorses, you know?”

  Jillian eyed her skeptically.

  “Let me guess. One member of the racing community will be Zach?”

  “No, not just him. Others, too...hopefully. I’m going to work from the inside out. Get close to the people who matter.”

  “Including Zach.”

  She flung herself up and returned to the wardrobe. “Will you stop with that?”

  “I’m just sayin’.”

  She knew what she was saying, but it wasn’t true. She liked Zach. After last night and her reaction to the disappointment she’d spotted in his eyes, she could no longer deny it. That didn’t mean she was going to get close to him. No way. No how. Not unless he stopped racing horses.

  “I’m just going tonight to speak to Mr. Golden. This has nothing to do with Zach.”

  “If you say so.”

  And she was going to wear that dress, she thought, pulling the thing out of the closet, but it was only to throw the men on the board off guard.

  That was what she told herself.

  Because she would apologize to Zach, too. It was the least she could do.

  * * *

  SHE’D SENT HIM a text that she’d like to see him.

  Zach hadn’t expected that.

  He’d assumed she’d just show up at the Turf Club and he’d maybe bump into her. Truth was, race days were chaotic. Since he was an owner and a trainer, it meant sticking by his horse’s side until the last possible moment and then heading up to the owners’ box. A side trip to the Turf Club beforehand would make things more difficult.

  Still, when he got her text, he found himself thinking he actually had time to meet her until he abruptly told himself to knock it off. He’d see her tomorrow, at his farm.

  She hated racing.

  No, he silently amended, watching as one of his grooms wrapped his horse’s front legs, she hated what he did for a living. She didn’t hate him. She’d made that clear last night.

  But as he went about his race-day preparations, he found himself glancing at his cell phone. He hadn’t responded, probably wouldn’t have, either, except fifteen minutes before he was due to meet her he received a one-word text.

  Please?

  Damn it.

  He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. He should just leave her hanging.

  “Listen, Jose, I’m going to make a quick trip up to the Turf Club. I have to meet a...” He searched for the right word. “A potential client. I’ll be back in time to saddle.”

  “Okay, boss,” the man said, hardly sparing him a glance.

  His horse would be in good hands. His staff knew the drill. They’d never let him down. Frankly, Zach’s job was done as of race day. If he didn’t have his horse in top physical shape by now, it was too late. Race day was nothing more than a waiting game. Still, he had his little ritual. Arrive early. Feed the horses. Reroll bandages. Check tack. He liked to keep to his routine. So why was he rushing off to meet Mariah?

  Beat the hell out of him.

  Today bodies were packed into every crevice, forcing him to use a private entrance. A security guard barely looked his way as he headed through the owner/trainer gate that took him around the race-day crowd. They even had their own exclusive elevator.

  He could hear the murmur of voices before the elevator door opened. The private elevator car stopped and Zach could see the double doors to the Turf Club were wide open. The maître d’ stationed at the entrance nodded a greeting as Zach passed by and he wondered how he’d ever find Mariah in the crush of bodies.

  He didn’t have far to look.

  Honestly, he would have spotted the mass of gorgeous red curls two hundred yards away—she’d left her hair long and loose and it shone like a molten waterfall—but it was the crowd of men around her that caught his eye, or rather their laughter. All right, it was the backless dress she wore, too. He’d always been a sucker for a sculpted back, and Mariah’s had twin ridges on either side of the spine, her skin as flawless as her face.

  Whatever she’d said to the group of horse owners, most of whom he knew only by sight, not name, it’d made them all laugh again. One of them, a second-generation owner not much older than him, placed a hand on her shoulder.

  Zach moved forward so quickly he nearly ran over a waiter carrying a tray of champagne.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  By the time he came up behind her, Mariah had adroitly shifted away from the man touching her, which immediately lowered Zach’s tension level.

  And why is that? asked a voice.

  He knew why. He just didn’t want to admit to knowing why.

  “...and then the owner said to Jillian, ‘Well, how do I know you’re telling me the truth?’ And my friend says, ‘Well, Houdini also told me he doesn’t like the brown-haired woman you bring to the barn at night. She makes too much noise. He wants you to know he likes the blonde woman much better,’ and then my friend Jillian points to the man’s wife, who’s standing at her husband’s side with a look of horror on her face.”

  The men surrounding Mariah stared at her, their eyes widening.

  “You mean,” said the young owner, a man Zach remembered was Brett Vandicott, “the man’s horse outed him to his wife?”

  “Yup,” Mariah said. “Right in front of said wife.”

  “Incredible,” sai
d an owner old enough to be Mariah’s father but who stared at her in frank interest nonetheless. “Are you sure your friend Jillian didn’t hear a rumor?”

  “Positive. She had no clue who the man was before she’d met him. She’s the real deal.”

  Mariah glanced around as if she was looking for someone.

  Him?

  She must have caught him standing there out of the corner of her eye, because she turned and he could have sworn her eyes lit up, but only for a millisecond because then she smiled. “You made it.”

  If the back of her was stunning, the front of her took his breath away. She wore makeup, and while she didn’t need it, whatever she’d done to her eyes made them huge. It turned the brown nearly green and completely mesmerized not just him but everyone around her. With her hair down, the halter neck of that dress exposing alabaster shoulders, and her eyes luminous and large, she looked, in a word, stunning.

  “Per your request.”

  “I’m glad.” She sent an apologetic smile to the group at large. “Got to go, gentlemen.”

  “Wait. You can’t go running off with her now.” Brett’s smile was the epitome of an open invitation, one that projected how much he’d like her phone number. “We’re just getting to know her.”

  By we, he actually meant he, something that set Zach’s teeth sliding into one another even though it didn’t matter to him one iota if she hooked up with the man.

  Or so he told himself.

  “Actually,” Zach said, “you’ve met Mariah before. You probably just don’t recognize her without her protest signs.”

  Silence. A couple of the men glanced between Brett and Mariah. One of them, the old man, asked, “Protest signs?”

  “Yeah.” Zach placed an arm around Mariah’s bare shoulders. “Didn’t you know? Mariah here is our resident animal-rights activist. The one who likes to stop traffic with her creative posters like Save a Racehorse—Shoot Its Owner.”

  Beneath his hand, her warm shoulders tensed. The men around all stared at him in disbelief until one of them pointed and said, “You’re the one that founded CEASE?”

  One glance at Mariah’s face and Zach knew she was livid, absolutely red-faced livid, but damn it all, she’d insulted him last night, had all but admitted to despising racehorse owners—oh, wait, everyone but him—and now here she was making nice to a group of those same owners.

  “The one and only,” Zach answered for her.

  She shot him a look that was as disappointed as he’d felt yesterday. “But tonight I’m not here about that.” She smiled at the five men around her. “Tonight I’m here as a goodwill ambassador. I’m turning over a new leaf. Taking another approach. Joining the party, so to speak.”

  It was the right thing to say, because the men smiled back. Of course, she was so dang gorgeous, what else were they gonna do?

  “Nice meeting you gentlemen.” Mariah flashed Zach a smile as fake as the teeth in the old man’s mouth. “Ready?”

  He turned away with his own fake smile.

  She’d stopped by one of the brass railings, the room so crowded he could smell the sweet scent of her perfume or body lotion or whatever it was she wore, but when she turned to face him, he knew he’d pushed her too far.

  “And to think—I actually asked you here to apologize.”

  The words were hard to hear over the sound of clinking glasses and the murmur of voices. Through hidden speakers the piped-in voice of Pete Smith, the track’s announcer, came through. He informed everyone that the horses were coming out of the infield tunnel and suddenly the room became a flurry of activity as people headed toward their tables.

  “I was just giving them a heads-up. You know, in case they were thinking you might actually be interested in what they do for a living.”

  Okay, so now that they were away from the group of men, he felt a little bit bad.

  “You didn’t have to make me sound like a crazy person,” she all but growled.

  “I thought you were here to schmooze the board of directors.”

  When he glanced down at her, he was just in time to see her peek out the row of windows to her right. Outside, beneath a cloudless blue sky, the horses had begun to parade onto the track. She turned away quickly.

  “I’m here to make the best of things,” she said. “When I got here early, I thought why not try and make friends with a couple of the other horse owners. You know, maybe they’d let me re-home some of their horses, too.”

  “Brett wanted you in his home, all right, or more accurately, in his bed.”

  She looked as if he’d slapped her. “I would never trade sex for favors.”

  No. Of course not. He knew that firsthand. What was more, it’d been a good idea to get to know some of the other owners. Damn it. What was wrong with him? Sure, he’d started off wanting to get under her skin, but now he didn’t know what he wanted.

  “I know,” he admitted.

  She glared.

  “And I appreciate you wanting to apologize.”

  She lifted a brow.

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  Finally, she softened her gaze. She tipped her chin up, though, as if daring him to continue.

  “I shouldn’t have outed you like that,” he conceded.

  “Apology accepted.”

  He inhaled, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. Maybe it was that dress. He’d felt funny since the moment he’d spotted her there. It was almost as if he couldn’t catch his breath.

  “It’s just that Brett Vandicott is the biggest jerk that ever walked the earth. He’d pretend to listen to what you have to say just to get you into his bed.”

  “I can handle myself around men like him.”

  She probably could. “Just the same, you’re better off focusing your efforts on me and the board.”

  Me and the board?

  Why had he lumped himself in with everyone else? He really had very little power. It was Edward Golden she needed to impress.

  She didn’t seem to notice his words, though. She was too busy watching a nearby TV screen and judging by the look on her face, she’d caught sight of the horses out on the track, her eyes quickly darting away. He saw despair in that gaze before she looked away.

  “You’re right. I should try and speak with him as soon as possible.” She met his gaze again. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry to you first. You’ve been kind to me, Zach. And you’re a good man. I wanted you to know that. Wanted you to know that I know that.”

  And then she moved forward, tipping up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Wish me luck.”

  She turned to leave, and before he could stop himself, he heard himself say, “Wait.”

  She abruptly faced him again and he spotted it then, the fear, the anxiety, the glimmer of—what was it, hope? Yes, he admitted. Hope that he might do something nice all over again—like confront Edward Golden with her.

  Damn.

  “If you want, I could go with you.”

  What is wrong with you?

  He liked her. He liked her passion. He liked how committed she was to the animals she loved. He loved them, too. He just needed to prove to her how much.

  “Zach, you don’t have to.”

  “I know, but there’s less chance he’ll be rude if I’m by your side.”

  She grabbed his hand, just briefly, and Zach knew he was sunk when his gut fluttered almost as if he were about to get on a frightening amusement park ride.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “No problem.”

  But she was a problem. A huge problem. He’d only begun to realize just how big.

  Chapter Nine

  She’d kissed him! And touched him! Had she lost her mind?

  It was he
r nerves, she told herself. She wasn’t thinking straight. She should have never asked him up to the Turf Club. Except...except...she was glad he was here.

  “We better hurry,” he said. “The race is about to start.”

  The race. The horrible horse race. Zach raced horses. She shouldn’t want him by her side. But when he stopped near a table belonging to Edward Golden, she was so very grateful that he’d volunteered to go with her.

  “Edward,” Zach said.

  Edward looked up with a smile, the grin freezing on his face when he spotted who it was and, more important, who stood beside him. “Zach.” He inclined his head in greeting, ignoring her.

  “Why, hello, Mr. Golden,” she said with a warm smile. “Good to see you again.”

  The man appeared not to have heard her.

  “You remember Mariah from the meeting, don’t you?”

  The man did, he just didn’t want to admit it. He glanced at the track, ostensibly to follow the progress of his colt, Mariah guessed, but probably more as a way to gather his words and compose himself before turning to face her again. She knew he didn’t like her. That should have filled her with satisfaction. Oddly, it didn’t.

  She took a deep breath, used every ounce of her willpower to paste a contrite expression on her face and tried to project friendliness when she said, “Of course he remembers me.”

  When he met her gaze, Mariah had a hard time maintaining the facade. Wow. He didn’t just dislike her. He loathed her.

  She realized in that instant that she would never, ever, not in a million years, convince the man to suspend racing two-year-olds. She’d have a better shot at getting him to race cows.

  “I’ll bet I’m on a very short list of the top ten people he most despises,” she admitted. “And I don’t blame him after the way I’ve behaved.”

  Okay. It was a lie. She wouldn’t take back anything she’d done to forward her purpose. Not a single thing, but she must have hid it well, because Edward’s gaze grew a little less hostile. Not so the women at his table. When Mariah included them in her smile, she received the equivalent of cat claws, one of the women going so far as to turn her back. The other woman grabbed the arm of the man next to her—it must have been her husband—and pointed at something out on the track. They both looked away.