Bittersweet. Laura Browning

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      Chris fumed the whole way along the aisle. What was it about Anna that seemed to get under his skin? He had done little but think about her ever since last Sunday. Having her crowd his thoughts was not something he enjoyed. He preferred the women in his life to be in the background until he decided otherwise. Look what had happened with Sydney when he gave her too much freedom to do as she pleased. He couldn’t afford to lose control like that with Anna.

      What was he thinking? Anna Barlow was not a woman in his life. She was an annoying thorn in his side, and no bigger than a damn horsefly. Maybe he could swat her away and be done with it.

      “You can quit scowling, Chris,” Wynter remarked in an amused tone. “We’re almost to the ring.”

      They might be almost to the ring, but his thoughts were still stuck on Anna. Why had he asked about Becca? What Anna Barlow did with her kid was no business of his. He had never had anything to do with children or babies, and for all he knew, he didn’t even like them. His mind flashed to those big blue-gray eyes staring at him out of her chubby face that first night when he’d held her, and he smiled. She was cute.

      Wynter stopped and studied him as if he were a bug on a pin. “What is it with you and Anna Barlow, Chris?”

      That snapped him back to the present. He shook his head.

      “Nothing. She doesn’t mean anything to me. I’ve just met her, Wyn.”

      Wynter tilted her head and raised her auburn brows at him. “Whatever you say.”

      Chris’s gaze skittered away as he concentrated on the mare Nelson had under saddle in the ring. She was a steel gray with a mane and tail still pitch black. Coloring like that made a big impact in the show ring, even more if she stayed dark for a while instead of fading like many grays.

      “Flashy,” he commented as the young horse bent through the back and came onto the bit. Her strides lengthened and floated now at the trot.

      “She’s for sale,” Wynter offered with a grin and propped an arm on the top rail.

      “Why?” Chris leaned against the fence. He had difficulty imagining why anyone would want to sell a horse with what appeared to be unlimited potential.

      Wynter shrugged. “She belongs to a client. We can’t take any more horses on right now, and the owner says she doesn’t have the time to work with her or campaign her, so she asked a friend of Thomas’s to help sell her.”

      “Who’s the owner?”

      “She’s from Virginia somewhere,” Wynter replied with a wave of her hand. “I don’t recall the name, but Thomas knows. Ask him.”

      “How long have you had her here?”

      “A couple of months. She was a bit rusty when she arrived, as if she’d had a lay off, but she’s a quick learner and talented. Her mind’s right to make it big. Plenty of fire, but doesn’t seem to get rattled–at least so far.”

      Chris wasn’t in the market for another horse to campaign, but there was something about this mare he liked. He’d like to get a feel of her to see if she worked with the same smoothness she appeared to with Nelson aboard. He was confident she would. He and Nelson Anderson had competed against each other long enough for Chris to know their styles were similar.

      “Can I try her?” He tracked the mare’s progress around the ring.

      Wynter grinned. “Why do you think I called you to come over, rich boy?”

      Chris returned the grin, recalling the insult she used to sling at him with a laugh before she married Nelson Anderson, one of the wealthiest men in the country. Wynter had mucked stalls at Pheasant Run until their trainer, Thomas Sinclair, discovered what a talented rider she was.

      “Nelson,” Wynter called. “Rich Boy wants to try her.”

      Nelson’s smile flashed beneath the brim of his hard hat and he trotted the mare over on a loose rein.

      Chris liked the horse even more once he was on her back. Her canter was powerful and supple, even better than her trot. He sensed the coiled energy in her and called to Nelson and Wynter as he went past, “How is she over fences?”

      “Green,” Nelson called. “We’ve been schooling at about three-six right now.”

      Chris turned the mare toward a vertical and sat deep in the saddle. The horse wiggled approaching the fence, but kept her ears forward before jumping big and bold. Chris nodded to himself and headed for an oxer on the far side of the СКАЧАТЬ