Cowboy for Keeps

Maybe he’d take Dos Rojo out, work the young gelding in the arena. He and the mustang, named for his distinctive red coloring, were still ironing out the kinks in their relationship, deciding who was in charge. So far, they were even, with Dos Rojo coming out ahead some days, Conner on others.

Driving past the main horse barn, he headed for his quarters, a four-hundred-square-foot efficiency apartment. Hard to believe a mere six months ago he’d owned a five-bedroom house and spent money as if it did indeed grow on trees.

No more, and not again in the foreseeable future, unless his luck drastically changed.

Luck, the lack of it, had to be the reason he couldn’t find a decent job. It certainly wasn’t his qualifications. According to the one-in-twenty prospective employers who’d bothered to contact him after receiving his résumé, he had qualifications coming out his ears. Usually more than the job required.

Little did they know Conner was already downplaying his education and experience in order to make himself more hirable.

Inside the apartment, he swapped the rest of his dress clothes for a well-worn work shirt and jeans. Threading his belt through the loops, he fastened the gold buckle. It was one of his most cherished possessions and proclaimed him Arizona State Champion in steer wrestling. He’d won the buckle in college, before abandoning his cowboy ways in order to earn double MBAs and make his mark in corporate America.

Which he did, for six years, only to fall victim to a massive layoff and departmental downsizing. In the five minutes it took Human Resources to inform Conner that his good pal and fellow manager would take over his position and absorb the few remaining members left on Conner’s team, his entire life had changed.

A knock sounding on the door provided a welcome distraction. Another minute and Conner might have started feeling sorry for himself.

Yeah, right. Who was he kidding?

“Door’s open,” he called, pulling on his boots and standing.

“You decent?” Gavin Powell, Conner’s lifelong friend and current boss, barged inside. His glance went straight to the sleeping area, where Conner stood in front of the haphazardly made bed. “Good, you’re ready.”

“You need something done?”

Instead of answering, Gavin sniffed around the kitchen counter.

“Hungry?”

“I missed lunch. How’d the interview g—”

“Don’t ask.” Conner strolled into the kitchen, adjusting his Stetson till it fit snugly on his head. “You live in a house full of people. Didn’t one of them fix you some food?”

“Sage and the baby are taking a nap, since someone kept us up last night, crying. Dad’s down with the flu. Between laundry and helping the girls with their homework, the afternoon got away from me. Do you have any idea how many papers parents are expected to read and sign? Three, just for Isa to go on a field trip.”

Last spring, Gavin and Sage had married, joining them and their two daughters, each from a previous relationship, into one big happy family. Now they had a two-month-old son, making their family even bigger and happier.

“Never mind,” he complained. “I’ll grab some crackers in the office. Which, by the way, is where I need you to be in an hour.”

“What’s up?”

“I finally hired a photographer. She’s meeting with us at four-thirty.”

“Us?” Conner quirked a brow.

“You heard right. I need someone to act as a guide. Who knows the story of Prince and is familiar enough with these mountains to lead a day ride. You’re the only one I can spare fitting that description.”

Conner didn’t argue. He owed Gavin for the roof over his head and the food on his table. Literally. If Gavin hadn’t rescued him a few months ago, when his severance pay ran out, he might now be living in his truck.

“What about Dos Rojo?” Conner asked. “I want to work him in the arena before the equestrian drill team arrives for their practice.”

“Then I guess you’d better get started.”

They parted ways on the porch. As Conner crossed the open area and headed toward the horse barn, the many changes occurring at the ranch during the last two years struck him anew. His own apartment was once a bunkhouse, back in the days when the Powells had owned and operated a thriving cattle business. The smaller of the two horse barns had been expanded to include stud quarters for Prince, the Powells’ pride and joy. And the cattle barn, now a mare motel, housed the many horses brought to the ranch to breed with Prince.

Like Conner, Thunder Ranch and the Powells had suffered a grave financial setback, a combination of the economic downturn, loss of their range and encroaching housing developments.

Unlike Conner, the Powells had bounced back, thanks in large part to Prince, a stallion Gavin had discovered roaming free in the nearby McDowell Mountain Preserve. More significant perhaps, the Powells had adapted, turning what remained of their cattle ranch into Scottsdale’s most successful public riding stable.

“Hey, boy.”

Dos Rojo eyed Conner warily as he approached the stall. The mustang needed an attitude adjustment if he expected to continue living the cushy life of a working ranch horse. Otherwise, he might end up back where he’d come from at the Bureau of Land Management’s facility in Show Low, his fate uncertain and, though Conner didn’t like thinking about it, possibly doomed.

Not entirely unlike his own fate.

He was determined that the horse remain at Powell Ranch, just as he was determined to find another job.

“Let’s go, boy.”

They spent forty minutes in the arena, Conner putting Dos Rojo through his paces on a lunge line. When they’d finished, he walked out the horse and gave his coat a good brushing before returning him to his stall. To his delight, Dos Rojo sniffed Conner’s hat and nudged his arm as he latched the stall door.

“I agree.” He patted the horse’s neck. “Good workout. Maybe next time we’ll try getting a saddle blanket on you.”

There were many things Conner had liked about his former job. The challenges he regularly faced and overcame, the sense of accomplishment, the respect and admiration of his peers and superiors, greeting every new day with purpose.

To be honest, he also found some of those same rewards working for Gavin.

It wasn’t enough, however.

The ranch office was located in the barn, beside the tack and storage rooms. As he neared, he could hear voices, Gavin’s and a woman’s.

Conner’s steps faltered, and then stopped altogether. It couldn’t be her! He must be mistaken.

The laughter, light and musical, struck a too familiar chord.

His hands involuntarily clenched. Gavin wouldn’t blindside him like this. He’d assured Conner weeks ago that Dallas Sorrenson had declined their request to work on the book about Prince due to a schedule conflict. Her wedding, Conner had assumed.

And yet there was no mistaking that laughter, which drifted again through the closed office door.

He contemplated turning around, then thought better of it. Whatever Gavin required of him, he’d do. He owed his friend that much.

Still, a warning would have been nice.

With an arm that suddenly weighed a hundred pounds, he grasped the knob, pushed the door open and entered the office.

Dallas turned immediately and greeted him with a huge smile. The kind of bright, sexy smile that had most men—Conner included—angling for the chance to get near her.

Except she was married, or soon to be married. He couldn’t remember the date.

And her husband, or husband-to-be, was Conner’s former coworker and pal. The same man who’d taken over Conner’s department. Supervised his employees. Expanded his office into Conner’s old space.