Her Perfect Cowboy

by Trish Milburn

  To be honest, he also found some of those same rewards working for Gavin.

  It wasn’t enough, however.

  The ranch office was located in the barn, beside the tack and storage rooms. As he neared, he could hear voices, Gavin’s and a woman’s.

  Conner’s steps faltered, and then stopped altogether. It couldn’t be her! He must be mistaken.

  The laughter, light and musical, struck a too familiar chord.

  His hands involuntarily clenched. Gavin wouldn’t blindside him like this. He’d assured Conner weeks ago that Dallas Sorrenson had declined their request to work on the book about Prince due to a schedule conflict. Her wedding, Conner had assumed.

  And yet there was no mistaking that laughter, which drifted again through the closed office door.

  He contemplated turning around, then thought better of it. Whatever Gavin required of him, he’d do. He owed his friend that much.

  Still, a warning would have been nice.

  With an arm that suddenly weighed a hundred pounds, he grasped the knob, pushed the door open and entered the office.

  Dallas turned immediately and greeted him with a huge smile. The kind of bright, sexy smile that had most men—Conner included—angling for the chance to get near her.

  Except she was married, or soon to be married. He couldn’t remember the date.

  And her husband, or husband-to-be, was Conner’s former coworker and pal. The same man who’d taken over Conner’s department. Supervised his employees. Expanded his office into Conner’s old space.

  The man whose life remained perfect while Conner’s had taken a nosedive.

  “It’s so good to see you again!” Dallas came toward him.

  He reached out his hand to shake hers. “Hey, Dallas.”

  She ignored his hand and wound her arms loosely around his neck for a friendly hug. Against his better judgment, Conner folded her in his embrace and drew her close. She smelled like spring flowers and felt like every man’s fantasy. Then again, she always had.

  Richard was one lucky guy to snare a woman like her.

  And, like a fool, Conner had made it easy for him.

  She drew slowly back and assessed him in that interested way old friends do after not seeing each other for a while. “How have you been?”

  Rather than state the obvious, that he was still looking for a job and just managing to survive, he answered, “Fine. How ’bout yourself?”

  “Great.”

  She looked as happy as she sounded. Flushed—no, glowing, her brown eyes sparkling with curiosity. She’d swept her brunette hair, shorter than when he’d seen her last month, off her face with a colorful band.

  Conner could be mistaken, but he thought she might have put on a little weight. It looked good, giving her curves in all the right places.

  Married life obviously agreed with her.

  “I thought you turned down the photography job.” He tried not to stare, dimly aware that he’d interrupted Gavin.

  His friend shot him an impatient look. “Like I was saying, Dallas’s calendar unexpectedly cleared. She called me last night and volunteered to take the pictures, if we still needed someone, which we do.”

  She broke out in that incredible smile again.

  Conner’s heart disregarded his brain’s directive and beat triple time.

  This had to stop. She was taken, and Conner didn’t trespass on another man’s territory, even when he disliked the guy.

  He needed to get a grip on himself, and fast. How could he expect to work with her otherwise?

  The coffee-table-style book, in the planning stages for months, would chronicle the life of Prince, beginning with his capture, to his success as a stud horse, as well as tell the story of the mustang sanctuary, from its inception to today. All profits from the sale of the book would go toward funding the sanctuary and raising awareness of the plight of wild mustangs.

  As an avid advocate of no-kill animal shelters, and a professional photographer, Dallas had been the Powells’ first choice. It was Conner, in fact, who’d introduced her to them back in the day, when he was on good terms with Richard. Since then, she’d become friends with the Powells, frequently volunteering at the sanctuary. She’d initially agreed to work on the book, but then there had been that conflict.

  No more, apparently.

  Conner would do whatever was required of him to help the Powells and Clay Duvall, whose rodeo arena currently housed the sanctuary. They weren’t just his good friends, he also supported their efforts to rehabilitate former wild mustangs and place them in good homes.

  He just wished he didn’t have to work with Dallas.

  “I thought maybe you two could head out to the sanctuary this morning,” Gavin continued, oblivious of the internal battle waging inside Conner. “Get started with some pictures, figure out what all needs doing and how you’re going to manage it.”

  Dallas beamed. “Wonderful idea!”

  “I have a class at five.” When Conner wasn’t overseeing the bucking and roping stock at the Duvall’s rodeo arena, he taught riding classes at Powell Ranch and lead trail rides.

  “I’ll cover for you.” Gavin started for the door.

  “O...kay.” Done deal. Conner was going with Dallas to the sanctuary. “We’ll take my truck.”

  She accompanied him out of the office and to the apartment, where he’d parked.

  “I thought you drove a Dodge,” she commented, upon seeing his older model Ford.

  “Used to.” He didn’t elaborate, preferring not to advertise that he’d traded in the Dodge, along with his convertible and motorcycle, for a secondhand truck without monthly payments.

  “Oh.” Understanding registered on Dallas’s face. “I’m sorry about your job. Triad Energy Systems lost a good department head.”

  He opened the door for her. “Guess they kept the better man.”

  She met his gaze. “They kept the man with more seniority.”

  Not the kind of remark he’d expect from Richard’s better half.

  “You’ll excuse me if I don’t ask how he’s doing.”

  “Actually, I wouldn’t know.” An indefinable emotion flickered in her eyes. “As of two months ago, we’re no longer engaged.”

  It took several seconds for her words to register, longer for their implication to sink in.

  Dallas Sorrenson was not just single, she was available.

  * * *

  CONNER HAD ALWAYS BEEN easy to talk to, his boyish charm encouraging conversation. It wasn’t the only quality Dallas had liked about him.

  Did like about him.

  Talk flowed easily on the ten-minute drive from Powell Ranch to the mustang sanctuary at Duvall Rodeo Arena. Well, with two minor exceptions.

  When Dallas inquired after Conner’s job search, he gave her one of those nonanswers and promptly changed the subject. They also didn’t discuss what had happened between her and Richard, though the news of their breakup had clearly stunned him, requiring a full minute for him to regain his ability to speak.

  Not that Dallas blamed Conner for avoiding any discussion of her former fiancé. Richard had been retained and awarded a raise while Conner was let go. He wouldn’t be human if he didn’t harbor a grudge.

  “I always love coming here,” she said as they drove past the rodeo arena with its bucking chutes, bleachers and livestock holding pens. A group of men were practicing on their cutting horses, separating calves from a small herd and driving t
hem one by one into a pen. Correction, several men and two women, Dallas observed upon closer inspection.

  She wouldn’t mind getting pictures of the women. Maybe she’d ask Conner to stop briefly on their way out if the group was still practicing.

  “Not too much happening this time of day.” Conner aimed the truck onto a long, straight dirt road, at the end of which were the pastures where the mustangs were kept. “If you want some photos of calf roping or bull riding, there should be a decent turnout tonight. Guys practicing for tomorrow’s jackpot.”

  “Will you be working the jackpot?”

  “Yeah. I fill in for Clay during events and on weekends. When Gavin doesn’t need me.”

  Despite her curiosity, she didn’t pressure Conner for details. Did he enjoy living the cowboy life 24/7 instead of now and then? Prefer it over the manufacturing plant and the constant mental grind? What had happened to his girlfriend, the tall, willowy swimsuit model?

  “Sage mentioned you’re at the sanctuary almost as much as at Powell Ranch.”

  He cast her a sideways glance. “You talked to her about me?”

  “Only in passing. I was there last week. Taking pictures of the baby.” Dallas pressed a hand to her stomach as they went over a pothole.

  “How’s the documentary photography coming?”

  She was surprised he remembered, and flattered. “I’m continuing to pursue it. In between weddings and family reunions and conventions.”

  Being a commercial photographer was her livelihood but not her passion. She had hopes that the book on Prince and the mustang sanctuary would launch her artistic career. That and the volunteer photography she did for several local no-kill animal shelters.

  “Don’t forget baby pictures,” Conner added.

  “Right.” She smiled, glad the momentary awkwardness between the two of them had passed. Not only for the sake of the book, which would require them to spend considerable time together during the next few weeks, but also because of her fondness for him.

  He was fond of her, too, and attracted to her. Still. Dallas could tell. When they’d first met—she’d been retained by Triad Energy for a company brochure—there were instantaneous sparks. First, they’d gone on a group lunch together. Then a happy-hour gathering after work. Their next happy hour had included just the two of them. It had ended with a kiss that left her thinking of nothing else for days.

  By the end of her two-week project, she’d been completely smitten and convinced he had all the potential to be the one.

  During that same period of time, Richard had also made his interest in her known. Dallas liked him, but kept him at arm’s length, her attention focused entirely on Conner. After her stint at Triad was over, however, he’d stopped calling her so much, then not at all. He cited work and spending weekends at the office as the reason, and apologized. Dallas had believed him. She’d heard the employees talking about a potential large contract and that Conner would be in charge.

  After two weeks without a single peep from him, she gave up hope. Richard’s call and invitation to a movie wasn’t entirely unexpected, and she’d accepted. The rest, as the saying went, was history.

  She’d be lying if she didn’t admit Richard was a rebound romance. And that she’d occasionally wondered what might have been if Conner hadn’t become buried in work.

  Well, they were both unattached now.

  Dallas instantly dismissed the notion. She couldn’t think about seeing anyone right now, and not for a while. She and Richard had only recently split. And then there was the matter of—

  “Is this close enough?” Conner asked, interrupting her train of thought.

  “Perfect.”

  He’d pulled the truck alongside the larger of the three connecting pastures, not far from a gate. About a hundred yards off, four mustangs had raised their heads to stare at them. Not completely used to humans, they were content to stay put and watch. That would change as soon as Conner removed the bucket of grain he’d brought along.

  Dallas hopped out of the truck, grabbing and then discarding her sweater. It was early October, and, typical for southern Arizona, the seasons were only now starting to change from summer to fall. The mildly nippy early-morning air had warmed as the sun rose. By afternoon, they would be running the air-conditioning in their vehicles.

  Standing with the door open, Dallas rifled through her equipment bag, grabbing her digital camera and two lenses, one a zoom on the slim chance the horses proved able to resist the lure of a treat. Depending on the shot, she occasionally used a 35mm camera. A good photographer always allowed for choices.

  She met up with Conner at the gate.

  “Wait here,” he instructed. “These ponies are fresh off the Navajo Reservation and pretty unpredictable. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  Dallas started to tell him she wasn’t a novice where horses were concerned and could handle herself, then reconsidered. Things were different now, and she’d be wise to practice caution. So she did as instructed and waited beside the gate, readying her camera.

  Conner shook the bucket. That got the attention of the horses, and they meandered toward him. Dallas raised her camera and studied the scene through the viewfinder.

  These mostly untamed horses were perfect for the book, in looks and disposition. Despite their shaggy coats, long manes and tails, and compact muscled bodies, they were extraordinary, and they knew it.

  Not just any horse, they carried the blood of their Spanish ancestors, brought over on ships crossing the Atlantic Ocean nearly five hundred years ago. It showed in the proud, regal way they held their heads, the intelligence reflecting in their eyes and the graceful movements of their bodies.

  Dallas was transfixed—by the horses and also by Conner.

  He might possess two MBAs and be as smart as a rocket scientist, but he belonged to this land every bit as much as these mustangs. How many systems analysts handled a rope as if it was an extension of their arm? Had an uncanny ability to predict a horse’s next move? Wore their jeans, Western shirt and cowboy hat with the comfort and ease of a suit?

  Conner did.

  Except Dallas liked him infinitely better in jeans.

  She snapped several pictures of him while he waited for the mustangs to approach, certain he had no idea he was the focal point of all her shots.

  A mild breeze tousled the lock of unruly blond hair that swept across his tanned forehead. His hazel eyes narrowed with interest as he studied the approaching horses. A shade shy of six feet, he had the build of an athlete despite spending the last six years in an office, and he carried himself with confidence, completely ignorant of his effect on the opposite sex.

  For every hundred or so pictures Dallas took, she might use one for the book. To that end, she snapped away.

  “I want to get a few shots of the baby.” Without waiting for Conner to reply, she climbed the fence and straddled the top rail, careful to maintain her balance.

  The filly, no more than six months old, cooperated nicely, turning her sweet face toward the camera. When Dallas went to climb down the fence, the material of her slacks caught on a piece of wire. She momentarily wobbled and let out a startled yelp.

  “Don’t move!” In a flash, Conner was at her side, assisting her down.

  The horses fidgeted, not entirely happy with this new intruder on their side of the fence.

  When both of Dallas’s feet were firmly planted on the ground, she looked up and went instantly stil
l. Conner’s nearness, not to mention his strong hands resting protectively on her waist, brought a rush of heat to her cheeks.

  “Th-thanks. I’m all right.”

  “You sure?”

  No, she wasn’t. Sure or all right.

  “I’m fine. Really,” she insisted, silently scolding herself. She wasn’t some silly buckle bunny or schoolgirl, and her reaction to Conner was entirely over the top.

  He turned from her in that unhurried manner of his. “I was thinking, maybe we could grab a cup of coffee at the Corner Diner when you’re done here. Strictly work,” he clarified, when she didn’t respond. “To go over what you need to do and how we’ll accomplish it.”

  “Of course. Strictly work.” She shoved her disappointment aside. Conner was right; they needed to maintain a professional relationship. For many reasons. “Except, if you don’t mind, I’d like something a little more substantial. I wasn’t feeling like eating earlier, and now I’m starving.”

  Twenty minutes later, they made their way toward Conner’s truck. The ride to Mustang Village, where the diner was located, didn’t take long. The uniquely designed, equestrian-friendly community had been constructed on land formerly owned by the Powell family.

  Where cattle once roamed, commercial buildings, a retail center, apartments, condos and houses sat. The slow flowing river remained, but the lush vegetation growing on its banks had been replaced by a fence and keep-out signs. Horses still carried their riders across the valley—on bridle paths networking the area, not the open range.

  Powell Ranch, four generations strong, looked down on Mustang Village from its place on the mountainside, a witness to the wheels of progress.

  “You grew up in this area,” Dallas commented as they pulled into the diner’s parking lot. “Does it seem strange to you, seeing all the changes?”

  “Sometimes.” He grinned affably. “When I was twelve, Gavin’s dad started letting me go with them on cattle roundups. The corrals were over there.” He pointed to the park a block down the street. “The loading station just beyond them. We’d drive those cows from all over the valley right past this very spot.”