Kissed by a Cowboy. Pamela Britton

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СКАЧАТЬ her that wished that for once in her life she could meet someone and tell them the truth. It wasn’t a sixth sense. She picked up images from the minds of animals. Her friend Mariah said she talked to them, but it wasn’t really that. She could see what was going on in their minds, but she could never tell people that, not when she first met them. They’d call her crazy, but for some reason she wanted to tell Wes, and she wanted him to believe her.

       It’s because you think he’s cute.

      “What’s in it for me?”

      She hadn’t meant the question to come out so cool, but something about the man set her teeth on edge. It was as if she fought an invisible force field, one she wanted to break through.

       He doesn’t believe you and that hurts.

      It shouldn’t have hurt. It never hurt. So why now?

      “I don’t know. What do you have in mind?”

       You.

      She almost blanched. “Money.”

      Beneath his black cowboy hat his brow lifted. “You mean like pay you for your services?”

      “Something like that.”

      “How much are your rates?”

      “I’m expensive, but I have another idea.”

      The brim of his cowboy hat tipped a bit. If she wasn’t mistaken, his gaze had just intensified, green eyes flashing with...what? Interest?

      “Like what?”

      Good Lord, he’d taken her words wrong. He was thinking something personal. “I’ll help you in exchange for a sizable donation to CEASE.”

      If she’d told him she wanted to use the money to fly to the moon, he couldn’t have looked any more surprised.

      “You’re kidding.”

      “Nope. See, we want to hold a big fund-raiser, but we’re a little short on cash. If you want my help, you’ll have to help CEASE.”

      She heard him huff something out under his breath. He wouldn’t accept, couldn’t accept. She had a feeling the whole “you have a good eye” thing was just an excuse to get to know her better. Chances were, as a farm manager, he had a good eye, too. He didn’t need her. Not really, but she could tell her offer had put him off. He might not breed horses, but she knew he didn’t like the group she hung out with; ergo, he wouldn’t like her...or so she’d thought. The dratted man actually appeared to be considering her offer.

      Why had she ever opened her mouth about that horse?

      Wes Landon could be dangerous to her health. Good-looking. Sexy smile. Horse lover. She’d never be able to resist his charms, and if she didn’t, she’d pay the price once he discovered the truth about her “sixth sense.” She always did.

      “Let me get this straight.” He leaned in closer to her. “You want me, a farm manager whose mother breeds racehorses, to donate money to CEASE, the people who picket the racetrack where my mom runs her horses.”

      “Yup.”

       Don’t say yes. Don’t say yes. Don’t say yes.

      But he didn’t look as perturbed as she’d expected. “Deal.”

      God help her.

Chapter Three

      The next day she was still irritated as hell that she’d agreed to help. Granted, it was for a good cause, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be a pain in the rear. She’d had to spend all day yesterday visiting the horses in the sale catalog. Natalie had joined her, and Jillian had mulled over each horse, trying to decide if it would work best for Natalie or Wes.

      Fortunately, she hunted for two very different animals. Reining horses performed a pattern in an arena, trotting, loping and running, followed by working with a cow. Cutting was all about the cow, so it was easy to separate the two types of horses. By the end of Wednesday she’d picked out a horse for Wes, but instead of being excited to see him, he stared at the animal as if she’d lost her mind.

      “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said Thursday morning.

      The thing about his opinion of the horse was that it didn’t disturb her nearly as much as the man himself. There were times when you met a man and he just...did something to your insides. Wes was one of those men for Jillian. Frankly, he was probably “one of those men” for a lot of women. She’d seen women do double takes as she’d followed Wes over to the stables. She didn’t blame them. He might have been wearing nothing more than jeans and a dark green button-down, but the cotton shirt did something to his eyes. They were so green you could spot them from ten paces away.

      “Okay, I know he’s not much to look at, but it’s what’s inside that counts,” she said, referring to the horse they were examining.

      “Is he even big enough to carry my weight?”

      Jillian nodded her head emphatically. The horse looked as plain as a copper penny, she admitted. He stood in the far corner, head toward them, the smell of pine shavings in the air. His red coat marked him as a sorrel, and about the only thing interesting about his features was the blaze on his face. Typical of horses that traced back to the legendary Gunner, the white covered nearly half his head—the top half. Horse people called it bald-faced. Jillian called it a good sign—a sign he had a lot of his sire’s blood in him.

      “He’s by Colonels Smoking Gun, Wes, one of reining’s all-time leading sires.”

      “I know who he is.”

      “I think he’s going to be just like him.”

      “But I don’t want a reining horse.”

      “I know, I know. But he’s cutting bred on the bottom. He’s got Dual Rey in his lines. And he likes cows, and he has his father’s desire to win.”

      He glanced at her sharply. “Let me guess. Another one of your ‘feelings’?”

      “Yes.”

      He eyed the gelding again. “He looks like a mule.”

      “He does not!”

      Wes stepped back from the stall and crossed his arms. The horse inside barely lifted his head. The gelding looked tired, Jillian noticed. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and asked the question she didn’t want to ask.

       You okay?

      She received an image of long spurs and sweat-soaked sides. Of an evil-looking spade bit and a dusty arena. His owner had ridden the socks off him last night.

       Poor baby.

      The horse lifted its head, nodding as if in silent agreement.

      “What are you doing?”

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