The Cowgirl's CEO

“Where’s your saddle go?”

She was in way too much of a hurry to swallow the pills to protest. “In the tack room,” she rasped, the bitter taste of the painkiller filling her mouth. “Back of the trailer,” she added after she’d gulped them down.

But she kept an eye on him as he picked up where she’d left off, expertly looping the billet strap around a metal ring so it wouldn’t drag on the ground. Next he hooked the buckle at the end of the girth onto the leather strap attached to the side of the saddle. When he lifted the saddle off Thumper’s back, pad and all, she finally looked away. She’d seen enough. He really did know something about horses.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

“You don’t need to walk him for too long,” she said. Thumper’s hooves clip-clopped against the pavement. “He hardly broke a sweat.”

“Do you want me to cover his back?”

She was certain Ty must have seen the surprise in her eyes. A cold back might mean muscle spasms. “If you don’t mind,” she said. “There’s a wool cooler in the trailer. Green.”

He nodded before setting off. Caro slumped down on the steps, resting her head against the aluminum door. If she sat for a few minutes, she’d feel better. That’s the way it always was.

I grew up on a ranch.

It’d been fine to think he was handsome when he wasn’t her type—busy, bossy corporate execs weren’t her thing—but now she knew otherwise. He might not know anything about rodeos, but that wasn’t because he came from the city. Obviously, he just didn’t follow the sport. Until now. Until her.

Why did that make her feel odder still? She’d seen the hint of interest in his green eyes that first night. Was that part of the reason he’d agreed to sponsor her? Had his interest in her started before he’d met her?

And maybe your headache’s made you crazy!

“Feeling better?” he asked a few minutes later.

Caro’s head snapped up. Damn. He’d sneaked up on her.

“Uh, yeah,” she said. “I think.” She tried to move, tentatively at first, then slowly stood.

He’d been in the midst of coiling the lead rope, but stopped, one eyebrow lifted.

“Getting there,” she amended.

“Good.” His gaze lingering on her lips, and she froze.

Oh, no. No. No. No. You are not interested in him merely because you’ve learned he’s a cowboy. Cowboys are clowns, remember? Cowboys are to be avoided at all costs.

Remember David?

“Um, thanks,” she said. “But I should get to work.”

“About that,” he said, his mouth tipping into a slight smile.

Oh my.

Ty Harrison with a smile turned the three-alarm bells clanging in her head into an air-raid siren.

“I was thinking while walking old Thumper here,” he said, patting the horse’s neck. “What if I make you dinner?”

She was so busy trying to recover from that smile she found herself saying, “Huh?”

“I have a rental car. I can go out and get some steaks. You have an oven in there, I noticed. Why don’t I broil some up?”

“You want to make me dinner.”

“Yeah,” he said. The smile dissolved like salt in vinegar. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Mr. Harrison, I—”

“Ty,” he corrected.

Didn’t he see? He couldn’t be “Ty.” He could never be, not to her.

“Mr. Harrison,” she said, hoping he’d get the point. “That’s really kind of you, but I’m busy—”

“You need to eat.”

“I know. And I’ll grab something. Just not right now.”

“Actually,” he said, “I’m not giving you a choice, not when I need you hale and hearty for the NFR.” He held out Thumper’s lead rope. “I’ll have dinner ready by seven.”

Chapter Five

To be honest, Ty half expected her trailer door to be locked when he got back. It was.

He smirked. Smart girl.

But he had her outwitted. Among his groceries was one lightweight, ultramodern, genuine hibachi. Hah. He also had briquettes, lighter fluid and barbecue tongs. As side dishes he’d bought potato salad and mixed greens. There were even late-season cobs of corn that he’d wrap in foil and grill. Everything he needed.

The sun had long since sunk beneath the horizon, but parking lights illuminated his cooking area at the back of the trailer. One of Caro’s neighbors—a broad-shouldered man—took one look at Ty’s groceries on the ground and said, “You need to borrow a table?”

“If you’ve got one handy,” Ty replied, the flames from the hibachi licking the air and painting the side of the trailer a Halloween orange.

“Got one right here.”

“Thanks.”

“You cooking for Caro?” he asked when he returned, hauling a small folding table.

“I think so. I told her I would, but she didn’t seem too enthusiastic.”

“Let me guess,” the man said, unfolding the table legs. “She told you not to bother.”

“Actually, she locked her trailer door. If I hadn’t bought the barbecue, I’d be stuck.”

“That’s Caro for you. Thinks she doesn’t need a man, or that we’re pretty useless.” He set the table upright. “Mike Krueger,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Ty Harrison.”