Nobody Else But You

by Claire Marti

  Nobody Else But You

  Pacific Vista Ranch, Book 1

  Claire Marti

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Thank You!

  Also by Claire Marti

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2019 by Claire Marti

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  eBook 978-1-7333046-0-3

  Paperback 978-1-7333046-1-0

  Cover Design and Interior Format by The Killion Group, Inc.

  To Kay Bennett for the inspiration,

  the encouragement, and the Savasana.

  Acknowledgments

  Writing a book is definitely a team effort and I wouldn’t have been able to bring Samantha and Holt’s story to life without assistance. I learned about the world of horse breeding directly from Kasey Bennett, Farm Manager of Ocean Breeze Ranch, in Bonsall, California. I couldn’t have created Pacific Vista Ranch without Kasey’s input: on my ranch visit, she taught me more than I ever dreamed of knowing about running a successful breeding operation. I may have blushed a few times.

  * * *

  Stephen Kane helped me come up with the name Pacific Vista Ranch and his lovely partner Amy Dulan offered invaluable insight and assistance about horses. Melissa Hardie––thanks for helping me come up with Holt’s name while you put those pretty blonde streaks in my hair. Anna Bradley––I couldn’t have polished this story without your honest feedback and clever suggestions. Michele Arris––thank you for listening and offering your wise advice.

  * * *

  Katie Lane––thank you for your mentorship and wisdom––I feel so lucky we’ve connected. Joanna Kelly––thanks for your advice on Hollywood movie sets and for your support. Catharine Williams––your eagle eyed attention to detail and line edits were invaluable. To my brother Robert Petretti––your support as my big brother and your talent as an editor helped me make this book the best it could be. Thank you Jessica Reed-Cancel for sharing your ballet experience. And thank you Liana de la Rosa for helping me create the dreaded synopsis.

  * * *

  I want to thank my wonderful beta readers and critique partners. Kay Bennett, Lacy Pope, Joanna Kelly, Leslie Hachtel, April Fink, Megan Randall, and Megan Camp—you each help me more than you could imagine. I appreciate your time and opinions.

  * * *

  To my wonderful editor, Lindsey Faber, thank you for helping me polish this story so it shines as bright as a diamond.

  * * *

  Last but not least, to Todd for being the best husband in the world. I love you. And, finally to my furry kids: Lola, Beau and Josie, thanks for providing me unconditional love.

  1

  Samantha McNeill was in one of the upper rings of hell, or at least the inside of a wood-fired pizza oven. She wiped the sweat from the back of her neck, shifted her heavy braid over her shoulder, and stuffed her scratchy cowboy hat back onto her head. The Santa Ana winds were plaguing Rancho Santa Fe, California, and the dry, crackling air had transformed her state-of-the-art quarter horse breeding barn into a furnace.

  She tilted her head to the high wood-beamed ceiling and huffed out a breath. Pacific Vista Ranch’s prized stallion, Hercules, had duties to attend to and time was ticking. No time to contemplate the heat. She smoothed her sweaty palms over her well-worn denims and yelled, “We ready? Where’s the tease mare?”

  “Marco is bringing her. Is the doctor on her way?” Owen, her tall, lanky stallion manager, stood with Hercules in a separate stall space, just beyond the main breeding area.

  “I’m here, I’m here. Sorry I’m late.” Dr. Amanda McNeill, Sam’s big sister and the resident equine veterinarian, rushed directly to the horse breeding platform, and double-checked to make sure the height of the phantom mare was correctly set up. If the breeding mount wasn’t precisely adjusted for the stallion, he couldn’t perform and the entire afternoon would be a waste of time. “This miserable heat is stirring up all the animals over in rehab.”

  “Marco, hurry up. Where’s Christina? We need the tease mare pronto.” Sam gritted her teeth. Without the female’s influence in the afternoon romance, Hercules’s contribution could be jeopardized. Why couldn’t her ranch hand ever be on time?

  “In Hollywood, we call the Christinas of the world fluffers.” A deep voice drawled from behind her.

  Hollywood? She hated Hollywood. Who was in her barn and why was he comparing her mare to a woman hired to arouse a male porn star? Seriously?

  She counted to three and turned around to see who’d uttered the juvenile comment. Golden rays shimmered around a tall, rangy man standing in the open entrance of the enormous shed, creating the illusion of an angel fallen to earth. The uninvited stranger’s face remained shrouded in the shadows. Probably not an angel.

  “Hilarious. Never heard that one before. Yes, Christina is one of our resident fluffers. Ha ha.” Sam crossed her arms, her cotton shirt sticking to her shoulder blades. Was the temperature escalating?

  “Come on, it was pretty funny.” He chuckled. “I’m looking for Chris McNeill or Sam, the breeding manager? The guy at the east gate told me to make my way to the main building. Maybe I took a wrong turn?” He sauntered toward her on long denim-clad legs. “Or are you Sam?” He called out to Owen.

  Of course he assumed Owen was the breeding manager, because the breeding manager couldn’t be a female, right? She hadn’t liked Mr. Hollywood on sight, and now she disliked him even more. “You were right the first time,” she said. “You took a wrong turn, so why don’t you and your brilliant sense of humor just spin around, get back in your car, and don’t stop until you’ve returned to Los Angeles.”

  “Sam!” Amanda scolded. Her sister acted more like a surrogate mom, despite being only two years her senior. She called her out when she was rude, or ruder than usual. Sam scowled. What, had that been ruder than usual?

  “We don’t have time to waste, especially not for amateur comedians.” She pivoted back toward the breeding platform. She would fire Marco if he didn’t arrive with the fluffer––damn it, the tease mare––in the next ten seconds.

  “You’re Sam?” Doubt threaded through Mr. Hollywood’s husky voice, which now came from directly over her shoulder. “I thought Sam was a…”

  “A man?” Damn it, she didn’t need this. She had worked twice as hard to prove herself in the male-dominated industry, not to mention endured endless jokes about her dubious title.

  “Look, I’ve got business—” Mr. Hollywood began.

  She cut him off. “Listen. As you may be able to tell, we are in a horse-breeding barn. People from all over the country pay big bucks for our top stallion’s bloodline. We are right in the middle of helping our stallion make a deposit with the phantom mare so we c
an freeze it and send it off.” She enunciated each word slowly, as if she were trying to communicate with a toddler. “So I’d appreciate it if you’d just shut up and––”

  She turned toward him and her breath lodged in her throat as she caught her first full glimpse of him, and a shiver of awareness prickled the hairs on the back of her neck.

  Messy blond hair framed a high-cheek-boned, square-jawed, perfectly chiseled face. Piercing silvery blue eyes narrowed and his full lips pressed together when her words registered. A white scar slashed through his left eyebrow, saving him from looking too angelic. No wonder he was cocky. His face would cause any woman to forget her own name.

  Any woman except for her, of course. She was immune to pretty boys. Her accelerated pulse had nothing to do with his broad shoulders or his warm masculine scent.

  Of course it didn’t.

  She pulled her attention back to the center of the room. Her sister was biting her lip, fighting back a grin, obviously reading her reaction to the man, as sisters do. And maybe not just sisters. Owen kept his gaze focused on Hercules, but a reddish flush crept up his neck, a sign he was stifling laughter. Hercules tossed his ebony mane, pawed the dirt and seemed to roll his eyes.

  “Enough already. This is business.” Sam said when Marco sashayed in with Christina, the beautiful chestnut mare who always managed to get Hercules motivated for his job of sharing his superior genes.

  And Christina was not a fluffer.

  “Nice of you to finally join us.” She frowned at Marco and vowed to reprimand him later.

  Hercules chuffed and pawed the ground. Christina was one of his favorite ladies, but in reality Hercules liked them all. Unlike their former stallion Julius, who would turn up his velvety nose if a mare didn’t meet with his approval, Hercules wasn’t picky. He didn’t care if the brood mare’s haunches weren’t well-rounded or her mane wasn’t suitably silky––he was always raring to go.

  The stallion made her job easy––unlike her tardy ranch hand and the tall unwelcome stranger. What business could this guy have with her dad or her? No way was he here to buy or sell horses. She squared her shoulders and focused. She was one of the best breeding managers in the country and she wouldn’t be distracted by Mr. Hollywood’s presence in her barn.

  Sam hurried to the breeding platform and took her place opposite her sister, ignoring the irritating man behind her, at least for now. Awareness skittered down her spine––she could feel his hot gaze burning into her. She nodded to her sister and called to Owen.

  “Let’s do this.”

  After allowing Hercules a brief nuzzle, Christina exited stage left and Owen led Hercules to the phantom mare, which had the right anatomical parts of a real mare, without the legs, tail and head. Twenty seconds later, it was over. Hercules didn’t waste time. The stallion manager escorted a now relaxed Hercules back to his premium fancy stall, where all he needed was a cigarette and a nap.

  “I’ll bring everything back to the lab for you,” her sister said after Sam had collected the sample from the phantom mare.

  Sam walked over to the large sink against the near wall and washed her hands. “Thanks, Amanda, is everything okay down at the rehab facility or do you need some help?”

  “I’ve got it covered, but I’ll run back down now because I still have tons to do. Are you sure you’ve got everything handled here?” Her sister raised her brows.

  Sam had almost forgotten about idiot hot guy, but when she turned back, he remained rooted to the same spot. Damn it, he was as gorgeous as a fallen archangel. Too bad the effect was ruined when he opened his mouth and spoke.

  “I thought I’d seen everything, but that was something else. Your stud sure doesn’t seem to mind an audience, does he?” Mr. Hollywood chuckled.

  “Oh please, I’m sure you wouldn’t either.” Okay, so maybe she should have kept that thought to herself, but he rubbed her the wrong way.

  “Ma’am, if you could just tell me where I can find your father, I’ll be out of your way.” He aimed a crooked grin at her sister. Sam’s gut clenched––this guy was trouble. She always trusted her gut.

  “I’ll show you where to go—” Amanda stepped off the platform and approached Mr. Hollywood.

  Sam scowled and crossed her arms. “Who are you and what do you want with our father?”

  “I’m sorry, my name’s Holt Ericsson. I’m sure he’ll fill you in, but I need to speak with him directly. He’s expecting me, so if you’ll just point me in the right direction…” Despite his polite tone of voice, she could swear he was smirking at her. What was this guy’s deal?

  Shaking her head, Amanda smiled at him. “You just take the road about a quarter-mile farther and you can’t miss it. Our dad’s office is in the house. You can park in front. Are you sure we can’t answer any questions for you?”

  “No thanks. I appreciate the enlightening scene—I’ll never forget Christina.” He grinned at Amanda, pivoted on his worn cowboy boots, and strolled out of the barn. And, no, Sam wasn’t checking out his butt, she was simply making sure he was gone.

  “Is that steam pumping out of your ears, little sister?” Amanda said. “I know it’s hotter than Hades in here and the season’s in full swing, but you were pretty hard on him.”

  “Didn’t he bug you too? I’m sorry, but I don’t like this one bit. A Hollywood guy looking for Dad can only cause trouble.” But maybe she had been a teeny bit over the top.

  “Who knows? If you’re really concerned, why don’t you go up to the house and see?” Amanda squeezed her shoulder. “You have to admit he is awfully easy on the eyes.”

  “Easy on the eyes. Please.” Sam snorted. “You’re right though. After I clean up everything here, I’ll go up and make sure Mr. Hollywood doesn’t get lost on the way off our property.”

  2

  Holt Ericsson accelerated up the hill because he had a feeling he wouldn’t get much time with Mr. McNeill if his fiery-tempered daughter interrupted them. Come on, his joke had been funny—but maybe they’d heard that one hundreds of times before. He had grown up around horses outside of Denver, but he’d never been on a quarter horse breeding ranch. Who knew stallions needed a little encouragement? He’d received a full education in less than five minutes. Fluffer horses. He chuckled.

  Maybe he should have conducted a little more research on the key players before cruising down from L.A. He’d never heard of a female breeding manager and with a name like Sam, who could blame him for assuming she was a he? Although Sam McNeill smelled like sunshine and her snug jeans showcased the most perfect butt he’d ever seen, he had an assignment. No time for prickly pint-sized redheads.

  When he curved around the winding road, he hit the brakes to admire the sunlight glancing off the terracotta tiled roof and enormous sparkling windows of the cream-colored, Mediterranean-style estate. No way could anyone miss this house. It resembled a sprawling Bel Air mansion or Malibu manor, accented by beds of white and pale pink roses, clusters of red and purple bougainvillea, and giant orange birds of paradise. Did people get lost when they lived in houses this huge? He’d grown up in a modest ranch-style house outside of Denver and had never become accustomed to the ostentatious estates up in Los Angeles.

  Holt continued up the driveway and parked his white Ford truck next to a gleaming Land Rover, which made his five-year-old pickup look ready for the scrap yard. He got out of his truck and headed to the front door, which was twenty feet high with a large black wrought iron door handle and a huge brass lion doorknocker. He lifted it and let it drop to announce his arrival.

  A few moments later, the front door opened and instead of a stereotypical British-accented butler in a tuxedo he’d been half-expecting, a striking redhead in a floaty sundress stood in the open entrance. He did a double take because there was something familiar about her.

  “Hello?” Her musical voice lilted up in question and her full ruby lips curved in a welcoming smile. “Can I help you?” She tilted her head to the side.

/>   “I’m Holt Ericsson and I’m here to see Chris McNeill. Am I in the right place? Because I already made one wrong turn. Your vet was kind enough to direct me up here.”

  “Oh, you must’ve stopped at the breeding barn. People make that mistake all the time. Come on in, I’ll take you to my dad’s office. It’s in the other wing.” She stepped back and gestured with one slender arm for him to enter.

  “Your dad?” Another sister? How many were there?

  “Yes, I’m Dylan McNeill. You met Amanda, my older sister, and probably ran into Sam too.”

  He swallowed a rude comment about Sam. “Yes, I walked in on some, umm, horse business.”

  “Oh no, you didn’t walk in during the middle of a breeding session, did you?” Laughter tinkled in her voice.

  He fell into step alongside her and they crossed an enormous biscuit-colored hallway with vast ceilings and rich hardwood floors. Open doorways revealed glimpses of colorful paintings, large furniture, and azure sky peering in through floor-to-ceiling windows. Impressive.

  “That’s exactly what I did. And your sister Sam wasn’t too happy about it.”

  Dylan laughed. “That’s my twin sister. She’s very serious about her job and runs the operation with an iron fist. Sam can be blunt when she’s working, but you shouldn’t take it personally.”

  Her words registered and his jaw dropped open. “You’re twins?” It was like The Dark Half by Stephen King––the evil twin had devoured the good twin in the womb.

  She smiled. “We’re identical twins.”

  “No way.” No way in hell could this sweet, polite woman be the twin of the sassy terror in the barn.

  “Yes way.” She nodded and her dark eyes sparkled with humor. “Seriously, we are identical. Our features are exactly alike, even if our personalities aren’t. We used to trick people all the time when we were kids.”