A Cowboy's Angel

by Pamela Britton

  Whatever.

  She wasn’t some pampered princess turning a blind eye to what was going on, unlike the people in this room. She held her head high despite the cold shoulder launched in her direction.

  “Mr. Golden, if I could have a moment of your time.”

  Reluctantly, it seemed, the man turned his attention to her again.

  She took another deep breath. “I know I’ve been a thorn in your side and I’m sorry for that, but I want you to know that I’ve turned over a new leaf.”

  “Really?”

  She didn’t hesitate before saying, “Yes. Zach here has helped me see the wisdom of forming an animal-welfare league peopled by both racing insiders and animal-welfare specialists.” She glanced up at Zach, silently thanking him for the idea. “I am hoping, truly hoping, that we can put the past aside and look forward to a future of mutual respect.”

  She could have sworn Zach moved in closer, not a lot but enough that she felt his presence. It helped to bolster her bravado, especially when Edward didn’t say anything for a long moment. In fact, she wasn’t certain he would say anything at all. Mariah took another big swallow of her pride and said, “Thank you for listening. I wish you luck today.”

  She met Zach’s gaze, hoping he didn’t spot the disappointment she tried so hard to conceal. If he’d spotted it, that meant Edward could see it, too.

  She started to turn away but stopped when she heard Edward say, “Zach came up with the idea?”

  She turned back in time to hear Zach say, “I did, sir.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve become a member of her cult?” Edward asked Zach.

  “No, sir.” Zach shook his head. “I just think there’s got to be a way we can come together. And in exchange for your cooperation, Mariah has agreed to stop her protests.”

  What?

  She shot Zach a look of dismay.

  “She has?” Edward asked, almost as if he knew Zach was lying.

  “You have, haven’t you, Mariah?” Zach asked. “At least while we explore the idea of a mutually beneficial welfare league. And with racing season now officially open, I knew the idea would appeal to you.”

  She swallowed. Hard. When she faced Edward again, she hoped her smile seemed genuine. “No protests.”

  Edward eyed the two of them, and despite her ire at Zach, Mariah admitted Edward seemed a lot less hostile.

  “Would you be working with Mariah on this idea? Or do you expect all of us to do so?”

  “I’ll work with her, sir.”

  Edward pursed his lips and looked out at the track, and when he turned back to them, Mariah almost released a crow of delight.

  “Very well. I’ll expect an update at the next board meeting. I’ll put it on the agenda as new business.”

  She would have leaned down and hugged the man if the women at the table weren’t still glaring. She didn’t care. This time she knew her smile was genuine.

  “Thank you, Mr. Golden. Thank you so much.”

  Zach was smiling, too. “Thanks, Edward. See you next month.”

  A hand at the small of her back guided her away. He steered her outside the double doors, and Mariah was struck by an urge to jump into his arms. She’d done it. She was on next month’s agenda.

  “The race is about to start,” he said, pushing the elevator button. “And I know how much you want to avoid watching it.”

  “I do.”

  He turned back to the elevator car, keeping his distance, and for some reason that upset her.

  “Zach, I can’t thank you enough for meeting Mr. Golden with me.”

  “No problem.”

  The noise had diminished considerably outside of the room. She waited for him to face her.

  “I know you’ve gone out on a limb for me.”

  She heard him inhale sharply before saying, “I have.” He glanced down at her.

  “I recognize that, and I appreciate that you’re helping me.”

  She liked him. There was no sense in denying it. He might race horses for a living. He might be a contributor to the problem, albeit on a smaller scale than someone like Edward Golden. But at least he was open-minded enough to help and to accept her help.

  “Thank you,” she said, grabbing his hand and squeezing it again. “Thank you so much for everything.”

  She meant to rise on tiptoe to kiss his cheek again—even though she told herself not to do it—but just as she perched up on her toes, Zach glanced toward the elevator that had suddenly arrived so that instead of lips meeting cheek, lips met lips—or near enough.

  They both froze.

  She should have pulled back. She should have, but she didn’t and neither did he. Instead it was as if they’d been afflicted by a temporary paralysis. She inhaled. He exhaled. She caught the scent of him again, then the warm breath of him, the intimate feel of his body next to her own. She told herself to move, but then his lips began to gently explore, pressing, searching, giving her every opportunity to pull away, but she didn’t. Instead she closed her eyes and simply gave herself to the sensations bouncing through her even as a part of her screamed, You should not be kissing this man!

  He tilted his head and she felt his razor stubble brush her chin. Almost she groaned. Almost she opened her mouth. Almost she surrendered to him.

  Instead, he surrendered to her; his mouth opened beneath her own.

  His essence flooded her mouth. She moaned. She couldn’t stop herself, because he tasted every bit as delicious as she’d imagined and she wanted him to keep on kissing her. Heaven help her, in that instant she admitted she’d wanted him since the moment she’d spotted him standing by a horse, all hunky male with his wide shoulders and five o’clock shadow and so damn good-looking she’d stumbled in surprise.

  The elevator door began to close.

  He jerked back to press the button. The doors slid open once more.

  Dark blue eyes peered into her own. “I have to go.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Sorry about what? For kissing her? Touching her? Leaving her still wanting more?

  She was so frazzled she didn’t even know he’d guided her into the elevator car. When he released her, she realized where she was as she all but stumbled back.

  And then he was gone. The doors closed and Mariah sank against the rail of the elevator car.

  “Oh, crap.”

  Chapter Ten

  His horse finished second, and despite telling herself she didn’t care, she was happy for him. How messed up was that? She hated racing.

  So what the heck are you doing kissing a racehorse owner?

  Falling under the spell of a good-looking man with a kind heart, she admitted, and it wasn’t good. Not at all.

  She’d have avoided him if she could have, but after studying Dasher’s chart, she determined he was ready for therapy. Her promise to help Dasher, combined with the fact that she’d vowed to do what she could for Dandy, meant putting on her big-girl panties and facing Zach again.

  So less than three days later she found herself turning into the Triple J Ranch. She eyed the whitewashed fences, the irrigated pasture and the barn and sighed. What she wouldn’t give to practice medicine out of such a place.

  Her thoughts helped to distract her, but only until the moment she shut off her car. The peacefulness of the place should have soothed her, too. Somewhere in the distance a rooster crowed. Near her car a bird sang a complicated mix of notes. She listened to warbles while she took deep breaths. He’d told her to meet him at five and it was a few minutes before that, so she had time to get it together.

  Okay, she told herself sternly. You like the guy and he races horses for a living. So you either, A, get over his vocation or, B, make sure you don’t kiss him aga
in.

  She pulled on the door handle. Option B it was, then.

  She heard him before she saw him. The rhythmic shhh-shhh-shhh of a broom being swept across the aisle alerted her to his presence. He didn’t see her, so she had a moment to observe him in his work clothes—the red short-sleeved polo shirt that emphasized the width of his biceps, well-worn jeans and a red baseball cap today. All she could see of his face was his chin, the ever-present razor stubble hugging the curve of his jaw.

  She flushed. It was as if a beam of white-hot light suddenly bathed her. She remembered what that stubble had felt like against her face. She recalled the taste of him. Their bodies had touched and just the memory of it made her tingle all over again.

  Plan B, huh?

  “Good morning,” she called in as casual a voice as she could, but the damn words came out a near gurgle.

  His head lifted, his dark blue eyes appearing paler with the sunlight coming from behind her. He nodded, but he didn’t smile. “You made it.”

  She’d texted him. Too chicken to call. She’d added her congratulations on his horse placing at the meet, too. He hadn’t commented back.

  “I did.” She moved farther into the barn.

  “What horse do you want to work with first?”

  “Dasher.”

  “No problem.” He moved to the front of a stall, rested his broom there. “I turned him out in pasture today, as instructed. You said you wanted to see the filly, too, yes?”

  She’d reviewed all his horses’ charts, and by far the filly he called Summer had her most perplexed. No reason at all why she’d be lame. “I do.”

  He waited for her to catch up, and the closer she got to him, the more tense she became. Ridiculous, really. There was no reason to be scared of him, yet that was exactly how she felt. Scared and, yes, damn it, aware. Aware of the scent of him. Aware of the size of him. Aware of what that mouth of his could do to her.

  “Thanks for coming over today.”

  As if she were a string pulled in two different directions, she felt her whole body snap. What did he mean by that? “Were you worried I wouldn’t?”

  He walked a few steps. “After what happened Friday, I wasn’t sure.”

  The kiss.

  Leave it to Zach to grab the bull by the horns.

  “Yeah, about what happened in front of the Turf Club.” She drew her shoulders back, determined not to shy away from the question. “I didn’t mean to do that, you know. Well, I did. I meant to kiss you. Just not where I kissed you.”

  “I know.”

  Of course he knew. She’d just wanted to spell it out. “I hope you didn’t get the wrong impression.”

  They emerged from the barn, and though she’d been inside for just a moment, she squinted against the sudden brightness.

  “I didn’t think anything of it.”

  She looked up at him sharply.

  “I knew you were just testing the waters. So was I. No big deal.”

  No big deal?

  “Any thoughts on what might be wrong with Summer?”

  That was it? No more discussion? No “I thought the kiss was nice and I’d like to do it again”?

  “I actually have no idea,” she admitted, completely confused about the whirlpool of emotion swirling inside her. “I couldn’t see anything on her X-rays or her ultrasound. I thought I’d see how she was today.”

  “Lame. Way more than the other day.”

  So he isn’t interested. You should be happy about that.

  “That’s actually good news.” Get your head on straight. “I mean, it’s bad news that she’s hurting but good that she’s extra sensitive today. I should run back and get my hoof testers. According to her chart, she tested positive before with those. Let’s see if the pain is still in her toes or if it’s migrated.”

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ll pull her out of pasture.”

  “Perfect.”

  She turned away and hurried back to her car, the whole way recounting all the reasons why she should be grateful he’d dismissed their kiss but unaccountably out of sorts just the same.

  She was back in moments, the stunning filly he’d led from pasture standing quietly on the racetrack where she’d ridden Dandy the other day, the filly’s front foot held off the ground, the toe resting atop the sandy soil, but just the toe. She couldn’t put any weight on it.

  Because he’d raced her too young. No, not raced. He’d begun her training too young. Mariah should have been incensed that he’d damaged such a beautiful animal, yet all she felt was an urgent need to help, not just because the animal was in pain but also because she wanted to aid the enemy. Zach. The man who’d put the filly in this position in the first place.

  What was wrong with her?

  “How long was she in training?”

  “Two weeks.”

  Two weeks? That was it?

  “We thought stone bruise at first,” he said, “but clearly that’s not it. It comes and goes.”

  She’d read that in her notes and seen that firsthand because she was far more lame today than the other day, just as he’d said. Very strange. “All right, let me see her move.”

  The filly didn’t want to step forward. Mariah didn’t blame her. Clearly, whatever was bothering her hurt her a great deal. So much so that Mariah almost immediately asked Zach to stop.

  “When was the last time she had her feet trimmed?” she asked.

  “A few weeks ago.”

  So that wasn’t it. Some horses got sore when they had their hooves cut back, but Summer’s hooves should have hardened up by now.

  “Let’s see what happens when I poke around.”

  She went up to the mare, slowly introducing the hoof testers, which resembled old-fashioned ice picks, the kind that were used to pick up blocks of ice. The filly hardly spared them a glance.

  “She seems kind,” she said, walking up to the filly’s side and gently running her hand down the leg.

  “She’s the product of three generations of meticulous breeding.”

  “I can see that.”

  She’d noticed the other day that she had nice feet, wide, and not in the least chalky, which could often lead to hoof problems. Mariah slowly put the hoof testers in place, the angle of the prongs allowing her to squeeze the outside wall of the hoof and the bottom of the foot at the same time. She got no reaction at the heel, but the toe—

  “Whoa,” Zach cried when the filly just about jumped off the ground.

  “That’s a positive.” Mariah had straightened and jumped out of the way just in time. “Again. No need to poke around anymore. Instead I’d like to have another look at those X-rays. Do you still have a copy in your office? Or should I get mine out of the car?”

  “No, I still have mine.”

  “Go ahead and put her away, then. I need to pull the machine I brought over to use on Dasher’s leg out of my trunk anyway.”

  Zach barely glanced at her. He didn’t comment, either. The man had eyes only for his injured horse, the worry and concern on his face evident. A week ago she would have claimed that worry had to do with dollar signs. She knew better now. The man was a horse person. He loved animals. She could see that in his every touch.

  When he came back into the barn, he tried to hide his concerns, even going so far as to point at the machine she’d brought over and say, “Is that for me?” He managed to smile. “Some kind of device to torture me with?”

  “No. It’s a Cool Jet.” She smiled back.

  You could really like him.

  The thought came completely out of nowhere. Wham. Suddenly it was there, and once it had lodged itself in her brain, there was no sense in denying it. Had he been any other man, had he done anything else for a living, she would have been completely smitten wit
h him.

  “So does that mean you’ll kill me with a jet of water?”

  He was joking, and she appreciated his attempt at humor because for some reason she couldn’t look him in the eyes. “I think I’ve lost the urge to kill you.”

  She finally looked up.

  “Good to know.” He smiled.

  It was one of those moments when everything seemed to grow quiet and the distance between them seemed to shrink and all she could think about was that kiss, that darn kiss.

  “The machine uses pressure and cold water to reduce swelling. Very cutting-edge. Very useful.” She stared down at the machine, at anything but him. “It uses a gel-filled hock boot. You just strap it on like a blood-pressure cuff. Completely painless and easy to use.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I’ll want to do this for a week.”

  “No problem.”

  She couldn’t breathe.

  “We’ll start today. Later. After I look at Summer’s X-rays.”

  “Later,” he echoed softly, almost under his breath.

  “Lead the way,” she prompted.

  Please let them do something, anything, other than stare at each other. But when he turned away, her gaze immediately dropped, and she noticed how good he looked in his red shirt and jeans.

  Darn it.

  He led her across the parking lot. Up ahead the single-story building that served as his office loomed. It appeared as if it might have been a farmhand’s residence at one time. The thought was confirmed when they climbed a few steps up to a small porch, and Zach opened a door and revealed a small front room. The place was split in two by a wall. The back half, the office, had desks and other office equipment that she glimpsed through the open door. The front part, the reception area, was clearly a place to entertain guests, complete with a round table and enough photos of racehorses on the wall to give her nightmares for months.

  “The spoils of war,” he said, following her gaze, but he smiled. He disappeared into the office, then returned with the pdf copies of the scans.