Falling For Fortune. Nancy Robards Thompson

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      She shrugged. “I guess it was kind of like that, but with faster riding and less singing.”

      He smiled. “I actually have a film library and collect all the classic American Westerns and some documentaries. I’ve even watched some of the rodeos on television. But besides an appreciation for thoroughbred racing—especially the Kentucky Derby—I’m afraid my knowledge of other American horsing sports is somewhat limited.”

      The tension in Amber’s shoulders eased. So that’s why he was here. He really was a greenhorn, interested in the Wild West. And if he was still going to be in town this summer, when Cowboy Country USA opened for business, he’d probably be the first in line to buy a front-row seat.

      Well, she could deal with that kind of fan. And while his style of dress was better suited to a polite game of polo than to bronc busting, she’d give him a tour, just as she’d promised.

      She rubbed the bay gelding’s nose. “So what do you think of Trail Blazer? Though I realize you’re more into the English style of riding.”

      “He’s a fine horse. Quinn said your grandfather trained him.”

      “That’s right. Trail Blazer is one of the last colts out of Moonshine, my pop’s pride and joy. The other is Lady Sybil. She’s one of our more spirited fillies.”

      “Lady Sybil? As in the character from Downton Abbey?” He arched his brow.

      Amber’s cheeks warmed at the connection. The last thing she wanted was for Jensen to think she was some sort of British noble wannabe like a few of the other Horseback Hollow residents. But since he was such a Western movie buff, maybe he wouldn’t judge her too harshly. “Gram is a big fan of the show. Anyway, come on into the stable and you can meet her.”

      “Lady Sybil or your grandmother?”

      Amber laughed as Jensen followed, the bay gelding trailing behind him. “No, Gram went to Vicker’s Corners this morning to meet with her quilting club. And the rest of the hands are still off for the holidays. It’s just me, you and the horses.”

      As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to snatch them back. “What I meant was that nobody else is here to bother...I mean, we’re alone...Oh, heck. What I’m trying to say is that there’s no reason to keep me from showing you around. Why don’t we start in the barn?”

      She kept walking, not wanting to turn and face him since the blush in her cheeks had probably deepened to the exact shade of red in her plaid shirt. Fortunately, the cool confines of the stable and its familiar smell of straw and horses brought her back to her senses and provided a better state of mind.

      For the next thirty minutes, Amber showed him the broodmares and several new foals. “Almost all of the mares were bred and trained on our ranch. We ride and work with them, so we know their strengths and weaknesses. We’re also honest and fair. If we don’t have what a buyer is looking for, we can usually refer them to another breeder or trainer.”

      “I know horses and can see that you have some good quality stock here.”

      She thanked him, then led him out of the barn. While he waited near the outside corral, Amber saddled Lady Sybil, the spunky bay filly she was still training—and not planning to sell, although there’d been several substantial offers already.

      “I appreciate you taking the time to give me a tour,” Jensen said. “You must be especially busy with your staff on holiday.”

      “It’s not too bad. We planned ahead and took care of all the major chores before they left.”

      “If there’s something I can do to help,” he said, “just let me know. Quinn is staying close to the house this weekend, so I have some free time.”

      Jensen might be an accomplished rider, but she couldn’t see him helping out on the Broken R.

      “Thanks for the offer,” she said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

      He remounted Trail Blazer and together they set off to see the rest of the ranch.

      Throughout their morning ride, he asked polite but inquisitive questions about their operation. It was easy to see that he had an avid interest in the ranch, although several times, she’d caught him watching her in a way that had her zinging and pinging all over.

      She’d stolen a few glances his way, too. But that was to be expected. After all, the Brit was so foreign to her, it was no wonder she couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

      Right? That’s all it was. Jensen could have been from another planet—or even another century, like the one in which Jane Austen had lived. The early 1800s, if Amber remembered what she’d learned in her English Lit class.

      “You have a lovely piece of land,” he said. “And an impressive operation.”

      “Thank you. It’s been in the family for generations.”

      As they made their way back to the stables after their tour, it was just about noon. She wondered if she ought to ask him if he’d like a sandwich—or if she ought to send him on his way.

      Seemingly he was in no hurry to leave because he dismounted first and tied up his horse while she rode Lady Sybil into the paddock.

      So, now what?

      She bit down on her bottom lip as she slowed her mount, giving a lunch invitation some thought, when a rumble grew in the distance.

      Lady Sybil whinnied.

      “Easy, girl.” Amber tightened her grip on the reins and stroked the filly’s neck, but with the approaching engine’s roar, the horse grew more apprehensive.

      A loud green car churned up a cloud of dust as it tore down the long driveway toward the ranch house, fishtailing its way toward them.

      Lady Sybil whinnied again, tossing her head back and forth. Amber leaned low over the agitated animal’s neck to avoid getting thrown.

      Jensen jumped over the railing and ran to her side. Obviously, he didn’t realize that Amber was perfectly capable of handling the horse—or used to picking herself up after a fall—because he grabbed the horse’s bridle and murmured to Sybil in his soft English accent.

      The horse stilled, and Amber began to dismount. But the darned vehicle backfired and the mare bolted to the right, which threw Amber off balance.

      She stumbled toward Jensen, and he slipped an arm around her, steadying her just as effectively as he’d steadied the filly.

      Yet as his fingertips dug into her waist, sending a bolt of heat to her core, he unraveled just about everything else holding her together, and she darn near dropped the reins.

      Thank goodness he had a hold of them, too. And her.

      When he looked at her, assessing her with eyes the color of fine Texas bourbon, their faces just inches apart, her breath caught and her lips parted. But before Amber could either think or blink, Lady Sybil tossed her head once more, and she came to her senses, pulled away and took control of the horse, just as the roaring muscle car parked in front of the house.

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