Winning the Cowboy's Heart

Regan eased Toffee to a halt and dismounted as Madison walked toward her, carrying a sheaf of papers in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

“He’s coming along,” Regan agreed, rubbing the gelding’s forehead. She’d spent a good forty-five minutes working him over both ground poles and a series of foot-high jumps, talking to him with her hands and her body and teaching him to yield to her cues.

“He likes the work,” Madison commented. “You used to show jump, didn’t you?”

“How’d you know?”

“After watching you ride a few times, I figured you had to have been in competition somewhere, so I Googled you.”

“I see.” Regan wasn’t sure that she liked being Googled.

“Do you have any plans to compete again?”

Regan smiled as she slipped the reins over Toffee’s head. He pushed her with his nose, nearly knocking her off balance. It was getting to be a habit. She put her hand on his nose and firmly pushed his head away before turning her attention back to Madison.

“Those days are long gone. I just want to ride for my own pleasure.” She started leading the horse toward the gate as she spoke, fighting to keep him from crowding her space. “Kind of a sanity saver, you know?” she said through gritted teeth, wishing Madison wasn’t there to witness the power struggle. When she was on Toffee’s back, there was no question as to who was in control. On the ground, he had both the height and the weight advantage, and he used them. He was very disrespectful.

“You might consider teaching a jumping class,” Madison said, eyeing the horse as she opened the gate for Regan, but saying nothing about the obvious. “People would be interested and I like to offer a variety of classes here at the arena.”

Regan gave a brief nod. She wouldn’t mind teaching a class, once she was settled into her real job. It would be a good way to meet people who didn’t have kids in school.

“All you have to do is book the times with me, charge the fees set on the arena rate chart and give the arena thirty percent of the proceeds.”

“Is that all?” Regan replied, thinking it sounded like highway robbery, since she’d seen the rate schedule.

“You’d have access to the jumps and all the other equipment, and I’d put you on the calendar of events, which goes out in the newspaper and over the radio.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You know,” Madison said as they reached the stall, “I’m putting on a training clinic next weekend. You’ve seen the advertisements, haven’t you? Del Gilbert and Will Bishop?”

It was impossible not to see them. They had appeared that morning and were plas-tered all over town—the grocery store, the post office, even the school.

“You, uh, might consider going.” Madison shoved the cell phone into her pocket and handed Regan yet another paper advertising the event. “I give a ten percent discount to people who board with me. All you have to do is bring this paper with you. There’s a discount code stamped on the bottom.”

“Thanks,” Regan said. “I had planned on going.” She’d never seen anyone start a horse from the ground up and she’d heard enough about Will’s abilities to be curious.

“It’s worth the fee,” Madison replied. Regan had a feeling she could have said she’d like to watch the tractor till the arena and Madison would have told her it was worth the fee.

“There’s something else. I was wondering how much longer you plan to board Toffee here. I’m getting calls from people who want a stall and I’m full up.”

“The fence was finished yesterday—just in time for the windstorm to bring a big branch down on top of it. I need to have the wire tightened again before I can bring him home.”

“Well, it shouldn’t take long to do that.” Madison spoke confidently, making Regan believe she’d never worked with contractors. “I’ll call Trev or Will about doing a brand inspection and make arrangements for one of them to haul Toffee to your house whenever they’re available.” Madison waved at a person who’d just walked in the stable door and then turned her attention back to Regan. “You don’t have a trailer, yet. Right?”

“Not yet. Do you think they’d mind hauling for me?”

Madison shook her head no.

“Great. I’ll pay them, of course. But I won’t be available on a weekday until after school hours.”

“When is that? Three o’clock?”

“Better make it four.” She knew Pete wouldn’t bend the rules for her and let her leave a little early.

“I’ll give you a call.”

“Thanks.”

Madison smiled a nice-to-do-business-with-you smile before walking down the aisle between the stalls, slipping clinic discount flyers under each of the nameplates.

Regan pulled her stall door open and Toffee all but walked over her in his hurry to get to his hay. She firmly smacked his chest with the flat of her hand. “No,” she told him. He stopped and let her take off the halter. As he walked away, Regan leaned against the edge of the door frame, admiring his lines and gleaming coat and wondering how on earth she was going to get him to respect her. She’d never handled a horse with no manners before and she knew she needed to do something about it.

With luck, the clinic would give her a place to start.

BY THE NEXT DAY it was obvious that, although Pete hadn’t fully given up on his squid-related prankster hunt, he was winding down. He stalked around the school scowling, almost a defeated man. But then, just after lunch, he received an ego boost of such massive proportions that it had to be shared with the staff in an emergency after-school meeting.

“This feels bad,” Tanya murmured behind Regan, as they entered the meeting room.

Pete did look remarkably smug, rocking on his heels at the podium and waiting for the staff to straggle in, most of them showing signs of irritation at having been pulled away from their after-school prep time. And most of them seemed to have an idea of what was coming.

Mr. Zeiger, the school superintendent, stepped to the front of the room. “I wanted to tell you, in person, that although Mr. Bernardi is doing better, he has decided to retire. The board met last night and rather than commence an employment search now, we’re going to continue with the current situation. Mr. Domingo will continue as acting principal until the end of the school year.”

Karlene raised her hand. “When will you advertise this job?”

“We’ll fly it in February and interview in March. The position officially begins in July. That’ll give the successful candidate a chance to tie up loose ends.” Zeiger gave Pete a small nod. “Unless, of course, he’s local.”

Pete’s chest swelled so much that Regan began to wonder how his buttons held. “Thank you, Mr. Zeiger.”

The superintendent smiled and then turned his attention back to the group. “On a more serious note, the Renshaw family is still dealing with some huge medical bills and they’re trying to avoid bankruptcy. Our schools are in good shape, financially, so the board has agreed that a percentage of the proceeds from our independent fall fund-raisers can be donated to this cause. Also, the high school’s FFA club is organizing an auction to be held in October, and there’ll be various bake sales and car washes, too. I know you’ll support these events as best you can.”

There was a general murmur of approval. Even Pete looked supportive.

“Who are the Renshaws?” Regan asked Tanya.

“They work for the district. Mr. Renshaw in the bus garage, and Mrs. Renshaw in the district office. Their daughter had to have a kidney transplant, and the insurance hasn’t covered everything.”

“I’ll want the individual faculties to vote and decide what percent of their fund-raisers, if any, to donate. And now I’ll turn things over to your principal.”

Pete took his place behind the podium as the superintendent stepped away. “That’ll be all for this afternoon,” he said, “but we’ll be having another short meeting tomorrow at

8:00 sharp, to discuss our own fund-raiser.” “Scary.” Regan said to Tanya, as they walked back to their classrooms. “He looked orgasmic.”

“He was orgasmic. He’s wanted this for a long time.”

“Maybe he’ll relax once he has the position.” Tanya rolled her blue eyes and Regan sighed. “I guess we’ll just muscle through this year and hope the board is smart enough not to make the appointment permanent.”

“We can hope, but never discount the good-old-boy network. I think Pete has a shot at this. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d already decided to shoehorn him in.”