Tempted by a Cowboy

by Sarah M. Anderson

  So he did something. Something that bordered on being out of character for him. He did not ask her to dinner and he did not ask her if she’d like to soak in his hot tub with a view. “Would you like to see the Appaloosas?”

  The corner of her mouth moved up into what might have been a pleased smile on someone else. It was almost as if that had been the thing she’d hoped he’d say. It was weird how good that little half-smile of approval made him feel. “I would.”

  He walked her through the barn to the nearby pasture where his Appaloosas were grazing. “I’ve got four breeding mares,” he told her, pointing the spotted horses out to her. “We usually get two foals a year out of them. We have between six and nine on site at any given time.”

  “What do you do with them?”

  “Sell them. They’re good workhorses, but I sell a lot to Hollywood. I focus on the blanket-with-spots coloring, which is what producers want.” He pointed to the nearest mare. “See? Black in the front, white flank with spots in the back.”

  She gave him that look again, the one that said he was making a fool of himself. “I know what a blanket Appaloosa is, you know.”

  He grinned at her. She did not cut him any slack. Why did he like it so much? “Sorry. The women I normally hang out with don’t know much about horses.”

  “I’m not like other women.”

  He couldn’t help it. He leaned toward where she was, his voice dropping an octave. “A fact I’ve become more aware of every day.”

  She let him wait a whole minute before she acknowledged what he’d said. “Are you hitting on me?”

  “No.” Even though she wasn’t looking at him, he still saw the way her face twisted in disagreement, so he added, “By all agreed-upon Dude Law, this barely breaks the threshold for flirting.”

  She snorted in what he hoped was amusement. “Do you have an Appaloosa stallion?”

  “No. I use different stock to keep the genetics clean.”

  “Smart,” she said in the kind of voice that made it clear she hadn’t expected a smart answer.

  “I told you, I know a great deal about horses.” He pointed out the yearling. “That’s Snowflake. I’ve got a breeder who’s interested in him out in New York if his coat fills in right.”

  “Why do you breed them?”

  “I like them. They’ve got history. The story is that my great-grandfather, Phillipe Beaumont, drove a team of Percherons he’d brought over from France across the Great Plains after the Civil War and then traded one with the Nez Perce for one of their Appaloosas—he considered that a fair trade.”

  She looked at him again, those soft hazel eyes almost level with his. If this were any other woman in the world, he’d touch her. He was thinking about doing it anyway, but he didn’t want to push his luck.

  He’d basically promised that they were just here to look at the horses, so that’s all they were going to do. He’d given his word. He wanted the woman, but he wanted her to want him, too.

  And she just might, given the way she was looking at him, her full lips slightly parted and her head tilted to one side as if she really wouldn’t mind a kiss. “You keep Appaloosas because your great-grandfather bought one a hundred and fifty years ago?”

  “More like a hundred and thirty years. Of course, he only got the one Appaloosa, so my mares don’t go back that far. But the Percherons do.”

  Man, he could get lost in her eyes. He could only guess at what she was thinking right now.

  Because she didn’t seem to be thinking about horses. “You spend a lot of time out here with them?”

  “Always have. The farm is a more pleasant place to be than the Beaumont Mansion.”

  That was the understatement of the year. Growing up a Beaumont in the shadow of Hardwick’s chosen son, Chadwick, had been an experience in privileged neglect. No one had paid a bit of attention to Phillip. His mother had divorced his father when he was five, but Hardwick had retained full custody of the boys for reasons that, as far as Phillip could tell, could only be called spiteful.

  Hardwick had devoted all of his attention to Chadwick, grooming him to run the Beaumont Brewery. Phillip?

  No one had cared. When his mother had lost the lengthy custody battles, she acted as if Phillip had purposefully chosen Hardwick just to punish her. Then Hardwick had gotten married again—and again, and again—and always paid more attention to his new wife and his new children. Because there were always new wives and new children.

  Phillip had been all but invisible in his own home. He could come and go and do as he pleased and it just didn’t matter. The freedom was heady. What had grades mattered to him? They hadn’t. Teachers didn’t dare make him toe the line because of his father’s reputation. He’d discovered that, although no one cared a bit for him at home, people out in the world cared about his name a great deal—so much so that he could break every rule in the book and no one would stop him.

  By the time he’d gotten to college, he had his pick of women. He had a well-deserved reputation as a man who would satisfy. Women were complicated. They liked to feel sexy and desirable and wanted. Most of them wanted to feel swept away, but some liked to call the shots. He’d learned that early.

  Not much had changed since then. His reputation always preceded him. Women came to him, not the other way around. And his brother Chadwick only cared what he did when he thought Phillip had made a spectacle of the Beaumont name. Chadwick was the only person who ever tried to make Phillip toe the line, and Phillip made him pay for it.

  No one stopped Phillip Beaumont. Except possibly a horse trainer named Jo Spears.

  “That surprises me,” she said in her quiet tone. “You seem more like a big-city kind of man.”

  That’s what she said. What he heard was ‘party guy.’ And he couldn’t blame her. Beaumont Farms wasn’t exactly the social center of the world.

  “The big city has its advantages, it’s true. But sometimes it’s good to take a break from the hustle and bustle and slow down.”

  He’d always come out to the farm to get away from the tension that was his family. Here, there were rules. If he wanted to ride his pony, he had to brush that pony and clean the stall. If he wanted to drive the team with a wagon, he had to learn how to hook up the harness. And if he wanted to gentle the foals and get them used to being haltered, he had to be able to hold on to a rearing animal.

  When he’d been a kid, this had been the only place in his life where there were consequences for his actions. If he screwed up or only half-assed something, then he fell off the horse because the girth wasn’t tight enough or got kicked for startling a horse from behind.

  But it’d also been the place where he’d done things right and gotten rewarded for it. When he got his pony saddled all by himself, he’d gotten to go for a ride with his father. When he’d learned how to walk around horses without scaring them, he’d gotten to spend more time working with them. And when he learned how to ask a horse to do something the right way, he’d gotten to race and jump and have a hell of a good time.

  He’d gotten the attention of his father. Hardwick Beaumont had been a horseman through and through. It came with the Beaumont name and Hardwick had lived up to it. His horse obsessions had followed all the usual paths—expensive Thoroughbred horses in an attempt to win the Triple Crown, lavish show horses designed to win gold and the Percherons, of course.

  Phillip had been too big to be a jockey, so he couldn’t ride for the Crown. He’d been a good rider, but never great. But he could talk horses and help with the Percherons. When it’d been just the two of them out on the farm, his father had not only noticed him, but approved of him. He’d never won the Triple Crown, but his jockeys and trainers had won the Preakness three times and Churchill Downs twice.

  Horses had been the only thing that had set Phillip apart from Chadwick. Phillip was
good with horses. He understood the consequences—never understood it better than when Maggie May had died. Horses were valuable and, as the second son, it was his duty to keep that part of the Beaumont legacy alive.

  The only time he missed his father was when he was on the farm.

  “So, you work,” Jo repeated, calling him back to himself.

  She wasn’t looking at him, but he felt as if he had her full attention. “Yes.”

  “Do you clean tack?”

  The question would have been odd coming from any other woman. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised she’d asked it. “I have on occasion.”

  He could only see half her face, but he didn’t miss the quick smile. “Can you be in the paddock around eight tomorrow morning?” Then she angled her face in his direction. “Or is that too early for you?”

  Hell, yeah it was early. But he wasn’t going to let her know that. “I’ll bring the coffee.” Doubt—he recognized it now—flashed over her face. “You take yours black, right?”

  She held his gaze for another long moment. Finally, she said, “Yup,” and let it drop.

  “You want to drive the team back to the barn?”

  She brightened. “They’re beautiful animals. I’ve never worked with them before.”

  He felt himself relax. He could talk horses, after all. As long as they came back to the horses, she wouldn’t look at him as if she was disappointed in him. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Have you seen any of the foals?”

  Her eyes lit up. She really was striking. So very tough but underneath that... “Foals?” Then she sighed. “I need to get back to Sun.”

  “Maybe tomorrow afternoon?”

  She dropped her chin and looked up at him through thick lashes. “I guess that depends on how well you clean tack.”

  There was that challenge again, writ large in both words and actions. Everything about her was a bet—one that he wanted to take. “I guess it does.”

  He could prove himself in the morning cleaning tack. It didn’t matter why. He would show her that he knew his stuff and that he was good with his hands.

  And then? He’d get out his carriage, the one with the roomy padded seat and the bonnet that provided a modicum of privacy. It was a big farm. Plenty of shady lanes hidden behind old-growth trees where a couple could have a picnic in private.

  She was a challenge, all right. But he’d bet that he could win her over, even if he had to clean tack to do it.

  Six

  Phillip strolled up to the paddock at 7:58, two mugs in hand. “Good morning,” he called out. “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting for you,” she replied, setting the cutter saddle down on the blanket she’d laid out in the middle of the paddock. Betty was nibbling the untrampled grass near the gate, but she looked up as Phillip approached and went to meet him.

  Behind Jo, Sun whinnied. She turned in time to see him trot past his buckets. Checking for carrots? That was a good sign.

  “I’m on time and under budget.” His tone—light and teasing and promising good things—made her look up. Even though the dawning light of morning was just casting the farm in pinks and yellows, Phillip’s smile was warm and bright. He reached through the gate to rub Betty’s little head. “I even brought carrots.”

  Oh. He’d shaved today. The four-day growth he’d been working on was gone and suddenly he looked more like the man in the commercials—the one to whom women flocked.

  No flocking. She would not flock. This exercise in tack was not about spending time with Phillip Beaumont. This was about the fact that Phillip was Sun’s owner. She was just encouraging the relationship between the horse and the man.

  “Grab the saddle,” she said, nodding toward the Trilogy English jumping saddle she’d set on top of the fence. The cutter saddle was by far the more complicated of the two saddles. Cleaning it would take her hours. If Phillip knew what he was doing, the jumping saddle would take him forty-five minutes. An hour, tops. And if he didn’t know what he was doing...

  Why did she want him to be able to clean a saddle so badly? It was just tack. True, both saddles were high-end. She felt bad about using them, but there hadn’t been a lower-end option. She took some comfort in the fact that this wouldn’t be a hardship for someone with the Beaumont name.

  Phillip’s brows jumped up. “And?”

  “And open the gate, walk in slowly, and have a seat.” She motioned to the blanket on the ground.

  “What about the carrots?”

  “Hang on to them. We might need them later.”

  “Okay.” He grabbed the saddle and opened the gate.

  Sun stopped trotting, stood still and watched Phillip—at least, until the gate was latched. Then he went into a round of bucking that would have won him first prize at any rodeo.

  Phillip froze, just two steps inside the fence. Jo turned to watch Sun throw his fit. He’d been calming down for her quite nicely, but she couldn’t say this was a surprise. He didn’t like change and another person in the paddock was a big change. Even if it was the person with the carrots.

  “Should I leave?” Phillip asked. She had to admire the fact that he didn’t sound as though he was quaking in his boots. If he could keep calm, Sun would chill out faster.

  “Nope. Just walk toward me. Slowly.”

  She kept her eyes on Sun as Phillip made the long walk. Sun wasn’t bucking as high as he had during the first days and he certainly wasn’t working himself into a lather.

  Phillip made it to the blanket, handed her a thermal mug and set the saddle down at his feet. Betty sniffed the saddle while Jo sniffed the coffee. “Thanks.” Black, with no secret ingredients. Had he spiked his coffee again this morning? If so, he’d gone light. She didn’t catch a hint of whiskey about him.

  Instead, he smelled like...she leaned closer. Bay rum spice, warm and clean and tempting.

  When he said, “Now what?” she almost jumped out of her skin.

  Right. She had a job here, one that required her full attention. They couldn’t sit down while Sun was bucking. The risk that he might charge was too great. But she was going to stop standing in this paddock today, by God. She could feel it. “We wait. Welcome to standing.”

  So they stood. Betty wandered back over to where the grass was greener, completely unconcerned with either Sun’s antics or what the people were doing.

  How long could Phillip do this? Thus far, he had not struck her as a man of inaction. Which was admirable, but there was something to be said for just watching. She was thinking he’d only last about five minutes before he started to get twitchy. Seven at the most.

  After about ten minutes, Phillip asked, “How long is this going to take?”

  She tried not to smile. Not bad. “As long as it takes.”

  Another five minutes passed. “Maybe I should give him the carrots? Would that help?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?” Phillip was starting to sound exasperated. She wondered which one would crack first—the horse or the man.

  “Because,” she explained, “if you give him the carrots now, he’ll associate carrots with temper tantrums. Wait until he’s managed to be calm for at least ten minutes.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  They were silent for another five minutes as Sun continued to go through the motions.

  “We’re really just going to stand here?”

  She couldn’t help giving him a look. “Do you have a problem with silence?”

  “No,” he defended a little quicker than was necessary. Which was almost the same as a yes. “This just seems pointless.”

  This was not going how she’d thought it would. Yesterday, he’d seemed like a man who would understand what it took to retrain a horse. “Do you have something else you’d rather do than train yo
ur multi-million-dollar horse?”

  That made him look a little more sheepish, which had the unfortunate side effect of making him look positively adorable. “No.”

  Sun reared up, which drew their attention. “See? He’s a smart horse,” she told Phillip. “He’s picking up on your impatience. Just be, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She didn’t think he could do it. Hell, the only reason she could do it was because she’d been in traction for a few months, physically incapable of doing anything but be still and quiet and painfully aware of her surroundings.

  Months in traction, then almost another year out on her parents’ ranch just sitting around while her body healed, watching the world. God, she’d been so bored in the beginning. She’d hurt and couldn’t take any of the good painkillers and none of the nurses would bring her a beer. She’d tried watching television, but that had only made things worse.

  Then her granny, Lina Throws Spears, had come to sit with her. Sometimes, Lina had told her old Lakota stories about trickster coyotes and spiders, but most of the time she’d just sat, looking out the window at the parking lot.

  It’d almost driven Jo insane. Lina had always been weird, burning sage and drinking tea. But then Jo had started to actually see the world around her. People came with balloons and hopeful smiles for new babies. People left with tissues in their hands and tears in their eyes when someone died. They fought and sometimes met for quickies in the back of the parking lot. Some smoked. Some drank. Some talked on cell phones.

  They did things for reasons. And, if you paid attention, those reasons weren’t that hard to figure out.

  When she’d finally been discharged and went home, she hadn’t been good for much. So she sat on her parents’ porch and watched the ranch.

  It’d always been such a boring place—or so she’d thought. But then she’d actually sat still and paid attention.

  She’d noticed things that she’d never seen before, like the snake that lived under the porch and the starlings that lived in the barn. The barn cat napped in the sun until the sun moved and then he went mousing.