The Tycoon's Tots. Stella Bagwell

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       Chapter One

      Chloe Murdock galloped the chestnut around the track a second time, then slowed him to a trot. He wasn’t ready to quit their run, and Chloe had to strain against the reins to remind him who was boss.

      She’d just gotten the horse in check when she noticed the man standing at the top of the hill, a few yards away from the stable. He was looking in her direction, his hand shading his eyes, even though he was wearing a pair of dark glasses.

      It wasn’t unusual for a man to visit the ranch. Men often stopped by to inquire about buying a horse or bull. The Bar M had always been known for its good stock and that hadn’t changed even though her father, Tomas, had died and no longer ran the place.

      Yet even from this distance, Chloe got the impression that this man in his khaki slacks and expensive leather jacket was not here to buy or sell stock. At least not the four-legged kind she was familiar with.

      By the time she reached the top of the hill, the chestnut was still dancing with the urge to run. His sides were heaving and his flared nostrils blew streams of vapor into the crisp morning air. The man on the ground kept a careful distance from the woman and the fired up thoroughbred.

      “Hello,” she said to him. “I’m Chloe Murdock. Can I help you?”

      Not certain he could trust her or the horse, Wyatt remained several steps away.

      “I’m Wyatt Sanders. The woman up at the house told me I would find you down here.” Innate good manners had him pulling off his sunglasses and slipping them inside his shirt pocket.

      Chloe was a woman who’d never been that impressed with men, good-looking or otherwise, but she had to admit this one was quite striking. His hair was as black and shiny as a crow’s wing and slicked straight back from a wide forehead. His hooded gray eyes were a cool and startling contrast against his darkly tanned skin. Though his lips were compressed in a thin line at the moment, she got the impression of chiseled fullness. There was money and city polish written from the toes of his brown Italian loafers to the top of his expensive haircut.

      “If you’re looking for a racehorse, I’m not inclined to sell. A few months ago, I did let a five-year-old go in a claiming race, but the ten I have now are all young and,” she flashed him a charming smile, “fast.”

      Wyatt hadn’t been ready for the sight of this woman, nor the sexy tilt of her berry colored lips. He’d been expecting a cowgirl of course—what else would one find on a ranch?—but all the cowgirls he’d ever seen in Houston wore skin-tight blue jeans, overdone makeup and big hairdos.

      But this girl, or more rightly this slip of a woman, sitting astride the nervous thoroughbred was nothing like that. She was wearing jeans all right, but they were black and loose fitting with the hems tucked into a pair of brown western boots that had intricate stitching on the tall tops. An old gray rugby shirt served as her blouse. In spite of the cool air, the neck was unbuttoned and the sleeves were pushed up to her elbows to show a pair of slender but strongly muscled forearms. Her straight hair was the color of rich burgundy wine. White the crown was covered with a red baseball cap, the cape of it lying against her back shone like red silk in the morning sun.

      There was no makeup or artificial color to be found on her face, yet she looked anything but pale. The wind had blushed her cheeks and lips and her deep green eyes glittered like twin emeralds as she looked down at him from her lofty perch on the horse’s back.

      “Actually,” he said, “I’m…not looking to buy a racehorse.”

      Her winged brows arched at him. “Oh. Then you’re here about a bull. Well, you’ll have to see my sister, Rose.”

      “I’m not here about a bull, either. I’m here…” He paused as he realized all the things he’d planned on saying, all the questions his mind had dwelled on these past weeks, were fast slipping СКАЧАТЬ