A Cowboy's Angel. Pamela Britton

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СКАЧАТЬ my first bit of advice is to list your horses on this website I know about. It’s for off-the-track racehorses. A lot of trainers keep an eye on what’s being posted there.”

      “Just give me the URL.”

      “But before we do that, I’ll need to ride him first.”

      “And are you any good at riding?”

      She imagined the double entendre to his word. No way was he flirting with her again after what she’d just made clear.

      “I grew up on horseback.”

      “Oh, yeah? Were you one of those spoiled horse-show kids?”

      He wasn’t being mean, just curious. And, yes, she had definitely imagined the double entendre.

      She gave her attention back to the horse. “No. My family couldn’t afford riding lessons, so I hung out at the local riding stable. The resident horse expert took pity on me.” She tipped her chin up proudly. “It took a lot of hard work, but I learned to ride well enough that I qualified for a national scholarship. Rode for my college team until entering grad school. So, yes, I ride.”

      “I’m impressed.”

      Don’t fall for his soothing charm.

      “If I hadn’t learned how to ride, I doubt I would have ever gotten into vet school. We couldn’t have afforded it.”

      When she dared to look into his dark blue eyes again, she saw interest there, maybe even admiration.

      “Lucky for all the abused racehorses in the world that you did.”

      Except his horses didn’t look abused. Far from it. Dandy was the picture of good health.

      “It’s been a while, though,” she admitted. “Haven’t been on a horse in a few months.” She was at the mercy of whoever had a horse that needed exercising since she couldn’t afford one of her own, not that she needed one. She had her hands full.

      “Why not get back on right now?”

      She straightened in surprise. “Oh, I don’t know. Dandy’s injury...”

      “Doc cleared him for work weeks ago.”

      “Yeah, but I’d still like to look at his chart.”

      “You don’t have to work him. Just walk him around. He’ll be fine.”

      He was challenging her—she could see it in his eyes. Maybe all her talk of being wary adversaries had gotten under his skin. Or maybe he just wanted to see what she was capable of and what he was getting into, not that she blamed him.

      “What if he gets away from me in his excitement at being ridden again?” She shook her head. “I’d rather come back tomorrow.”

      Regroup. Get her head screwed on straight, because right now she had a hard time remembering what he did for a living and that as much as she’d like to succumb to his friendly blue eyes, he could never be her friend.

      “Okay, tomorrow it is, but did you want to see the last horse with an injury? It’s a filly. No one can figure out what’s wrong with her.”

      “Why don’t you get her chart, too?” Because she really just wanted to escape.

      He rocked back on his heels, examined her, a hand lifting toward his chin and stroking the razor stubble. “Okay, but she’s right over there.”

      He wasn’t going to stop, and it did seem silly to not at least have a look, especially since that was the whole point of her visit this morning. She followed his gaze, spotting a bay filly out in the pasture, an animal as beautiful as Dasher and Dandy.

      “What seems to be the problem?”

      “Intermittent lameness,” he said as they walked to the wooden gate. The thing opened with barely a sound, at least not to her ears, but the filly heard them. She lifted her head.

      “I thought at first it was a growth issue, but her joints all look fine. Had her scanned up one side and down the other. A shame, too, because she showed real promise.”

      Promise as a racehorse. And what better a reminder than the young horse they approached. Beautiful. Sleek. A racehorse. One potentially ruined by him.

      “And if I can make her sound again? What then?”

      Clearly, he knew the direction of her thoughts. Just as clearly, he didn’t want to answer her. “She’ll return to work.”

      “As a racehorse?”

      He shrugged.

      Well, of course. What did she expect? That he would have a sudden change of heart where racing horses was concerned? Hardly.

      The filly turned toward them, nostrils flaring as they approached. Something about their scent must have titillated her senses, because her tail suddenly lifted. Her neck arched. She bolted toward them. If Mariah hadn’t known better, the filly would have looked sound, but years of training had taught her to spot the telltale signs of lameness, and she saw it in the horse’s gait, especially when she broke into a trot, the filly coming to a halt a few feet away, ears pricked forward, eyes bright.

      “Hey there, pretty girl,” she heard Zach croon. “How you feelin’ today?”

      Voice so soft, eyes so kind, hand outstretched as he sought to soothe the fractious filly.

      The evil racehorse owner. The horrible horseman. The man responsible for so many lost lives—equine lives, but just as important to her as human lives.

      He cared.

      The man took a step closer, whispered soothing words, placed a palm against the horse’s neck.

      “It’s the right front,” he said softly.

      “I saw that.” She approached cautiously. “Has she gotten any better since you put her out to pasture?”

      He shook his head as he stroked the animal’s mane. “It comes and goes. Sometimes she seems almost sound. Other days—”

      Bad. Like today. “And they found nothing on X-rays or scans.” Not a question, more of a statement.

      “Nothing.”

      His disappointment had nothing to do with the loss of a valuable racehorse and everything to do with the health of his animal. She knew that, though how she knew it, she couldn’t say.

      “I’ll need to see her chart, too.”

      He nodded, still petting the horse.

      “And perform my own diagnostics.”

      He faced her again. “Anything you want.”

      Dear Lord, she didn’t want to like the man, but it was hard not to when he stared at her so hopefully.

      “I’ll СКАЧАТЬ