Her Rodeo Man

The two were a study in contrast. While the pony hobbled painfully, favoring its front left foot, the woman moved with elegance and grace, her long black hair misbehaving in the mild breeze. She stopped frequently to check on the pony and, when she did, rested her hand affectionately on its sleek neck.

Something about her struck a familiar, but elusive, chord with him. Who was she? A memory teased at the fringes of his mind but remained out of reach.

As he watched, the knots of tension residing in his shoulders relaxed. That was until she changed direction and headed toward him. Then, he immediately perked up, and his senses went on high alert.

“Hi,” she said as she approached. “Can I help you?”

She was even prettier up close. Large dark eyes analyzed him with unapologetic interest from a model-perfect oval face. Her full mouth stretched into a warm smile impossible not to return. The red T-shirt tucked into a pair of well-worn jeans emphasized her long legs and slim waist.

“I’m meeting someone.” He didn’t add that he was now ten minutes late or that the someone was, in fact, his father.

“Oh. Okay.” She took him in with a glance that said it all. Visitors to the Easy Money didn’t usually wear suits and ties.

“Mercer Beckett,” Ryder said.

“He’s in the office, I think.”

“That’s what he told me.”

At the gate, she paused and tilted her head, her gaze shifting from mild interest to open curiosity. “Can I show you the way?”

“Thanks. I already know it.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“You...could say that. But it’s been a while.”

“Well, welcome back.”

That smile again, familiar but not, and most appealing. It was almost enough to make Ryder break his promise to himself to steer clear of work romances. He’d learned that lesson the hard way and had paid the price with his now defunct career.

Not that he’d be working with this woman exactly. But she was probably a customer of the Becketts, one who boarded her pony at the arena. Close enough.

“You should fire your farrier and find another one.” Ryder nodded at the pony. “He or she isn’t worth a lick.”

The woman’s brows arched in surprise and emphasized their elegant shape. “I beg your pardon?”

He indicated the pony’s right front hoof. “She has a contracted heel. From incorrect shoeing.”

“No offense intended, but you don’t exactly strike me as an expert.”

“I’m not. But I do have some experience.” Living, breathing, eating and sleeping horses for the first half of his life. “You pull that shoe off, and you’ll see an immediate improvement.”

“Could be laminitis,” she countered. “That’s common in ponies.”

“It’s not laminitis.”

“You sound sure.”

“Remove the shoe, and you’ll see.” When she hesitated, he added, “What could it hurt?”

“I’ll ask one of the hands.” She slid the latch and opened the gate.

“I can do it for you. Remove the shoe.”

“In those clothes?”

“What’s a little dirt?”

She laughed, a low, sexy sound he quite liked. “We’ll see.”

Was he crazy? Flirting with a potential customer. A woman who could be married with three kids, for all he knew.

She started through the gate, leading the pony. The horses behind her also wanted out and began shoving their way into the narrow opening. A bottleneck formed, with the more aggressive of the horses squealing and nipping at their neighbors.

“Back now.” The woman waved a hand, which had almost no effect.

Ryder stepped forward. If the horses succeeded in getting loose, the Easy Money hands would be in for a merry chase.

“I’ll help.”

Before she could object, he positioned himself between her and the brood mares, blocking their escape. Once she and the pony were on the other side, he swung the gate shut.

“Thank you,” she said when he turned around.

“Good thing I happened by. You’d have had a stampede to contend with.”

“My hero.” Her teasing tone matched the twinkle in her eyes.

“Let me remove that too-small shoe, and I’ll really be your hero.”

“What about your meeting with Mercer?”

“It can wait.”

A small exaggeration. Ryder’s father had little patience with people who kept him waiting. Even so, Ryder didn’t change his mind.

They began a slow, painful procession toward the barn. If possible, Ryder would have carried the pony. Fortunately, before long, they reached an empty stall.

“I’ll get a rasp and a pair of hoof clippers.”

“I’ll show you where they’re kept.”

“Not necessary.”

The curiosity was back in her eyes. “I suppose you know where the tack room is, too.”

“Center aisle.”