Falling For Fortune. Nancy Robards Thompson

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      Her shoulders slumped, and she gazed at the waterfall in the distance.

      “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

      “No, it’s not that. I guess I really do miss the rodeo life more than I expected. The glitz and the crowds are just a small part of my job. The practices and the injuries and hauling my horses and my gear all across the country was the hardest and biggest part, but all that work was worth it when the horn would sound, and I’d take off racing for that first barrel. I guess I should be lucky that I still get to work with horses and ride whenever I feel like it.”

      “But you still miss the excitement?”

      “I really do. But I’m glad to be helping Gram, which, trust me, comes with its own share of excitement—as well as its confusion. I can’t believe she’d even consider entering a dance contest. She never did anything like that with Pop. I didn’t even know she liked to dance.”

      “Maybe she didn’t know that until she met Mr. Murdock. My mother didn’t know she’d come to love Texas barbecue until she came to Horseback Hollow for her first visit. Now, every time she flies back to England, she stuffs her luggage with jars of homemade rubs and sauces. A few months ago, she brought home a cooler filled with brisket and had our cook commission a company to install a smoker on the back lawn at our Chesterfield Estate.”

      Amber laughed, causing him to feel ten feet tall for bringing her out of her funk. “You’re right. I’m sure you didn’t realize how much you would love riding in that Western saddle.”

      “Oh no. You’re wrong. As much as I like cowboy movies, and as hard as I’ve tried to adjust, I just can’t seem to get used to this ghastly thing. I’m going into Lubbock later this week to custom order a proper English saddle. The pommel, the stirrups, everything just sits wrong on these American rigs.”

      “Really?” A mischievous glint flickered in her eyes. “Is that why you ride so slowly? Are you afraid you might lose your seating, fall out of that sturdy saddle and dirty those fancy white breeches?”

      The corner of her mouth tilted. She was a cocky little thing—and in need of a lesson.

      As Jensen strode to his horse, he wished he had one of his thoroughbreds back home for the challenge he was about to issue. “I’ll wager I can ride faster than you, despite this inferior equestrian equipment my brother-in-law provided me.”

      “What do I get if I win?” she asked, already mounting up.

      He thought for a moment, then grinned. “If I win, you fix me a proper English tea, complete with crumpets and clotted cream. If you win, I’ll take you to a real-life authentic Texas barbecue joint.” He adjusted the reins in his hands, knowing that the outcome of the bet was a win-win situation for him. Either way, he would get to spend more time with the lively and fun Amber Rogers.

      “Well, Sir Jensen, I hope you like ribs, because next Monday night they have an all-you-can-eat special at my favorite spot in Vicker’s Corners.” With that parting comment, she took off.

      He nudged Trail Blazer with his heels and leaned down over the gelding’s neck, pretending he was racing for the polo ball with his mallet. Not only had he been team captain the last two years at university, but after graduation, he’d gone on to play competitively for England at the international level, so he had no doubt he could give her a good run. But after all the casseroles he’d been politely tolerating the past couple of weeks, he had a strong craving for some lighter fare—like some English cucumber sandwiches.

      Still, in all honesty, some good ol’ Texas barbecue wouldn’t be bad, either. Especially in the company of a beautiful blonde cowgirl...

      “How far are we going?” Amber called behind her, her hair whipping about her graceful neck.

      “To that fork in the road where we met,” he yelled back, trying to watch the trail and not her hips moving fluidly in the saddle.

      When they finally reached the finish line, Amber was at least two lengths ahead of him. She pulled up first and slowed her horse to a walk as he did the same.

      He hadn’t enjoyed losing a race so much in his life.

      They were both out of breath, but her shirt was the only one that had come unbuttoned at the top. He couldn’t take his eyes off the way her breasts were heaving under the fitted plaid material.

      He lifted his gaze long enough to see her smile. Maybe making the wager was a bad idea. Now he owed her dinner, yet he didn’t know how he could sit across from her at a restaurant table and keep his thoughts strictly on the food.

      “So when is dinner?” she asked.

      “How about next Friday night? That way, we can avoid the New Year’s holiday, as well as the all-you-can-eat crowd.”

      “That works for me.”

      “I’ll pick you up at six.”

      “Sounds like a date,” she said. “But under the circumstances, maybe it would be best if I met you there.”

      He pondered her suggestion for a moment longer than he probably should have because she added, “Don’t you agree?”

      And in truth? Probably so. No need to set the paparazzi to thinking there was another British royal enamored with a Horseback Hollow local. “You’re right. Knowing the tabloids the way I do, they’d love to make something out of nothing.”

      “Well, they can’t blame you for eating dinner with a neighbor.”

      “That’s right.”

      “Oh, and please let Quinn know I’ll be bringing Amelia’s cutting horse over Friday.” Then she turned in the direction of her ranch.

      Jensen felt a bit like a heel when he and Trail Blazer headed in the opposite direction. He’d become adept at dealing with the tabloids. They printed blaring exaggerations about him all the time.

      But the truth of the matter was, he didn’t want Amber to get the wrong idea about them. He might be attracted to her, but that’s as far as it would go.

      So as they each headed home, the symbolism of them going their own ways at the fork in the road was both sad and true.

      * * *

      Bright and early Friday morning, on the second of January, Amber handpicked a filly she thought Amelia would like and brushed her until her coat shone. Then she loaded her in the trailer and drove her to the Drummond ranch.

      Along the way, she spotted two cars parked on the side of the road, neither of which she recognized. She slowed up, mostly because she was going to turn, but also because curiosity niggled at her.

      There seemed to be some whispering going on—a camera snatched out of one car and taken to another?

      Uh-oh. Jensen had mentioned the media had tried all kinds of tricks, wanting to snap photos of a pregnant Amelia. She turned into the drive, yet continued to check her rearview mirror.

      No cars...

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