Her Last Chance Cowboy

“Give me a minute.”

“A minute? I don’t have a minute. I’ve got a mean horse you bought who’s trying to bust out of the trailer. What I need is another hand.”

Though Tripp stood and kicked the office door closed with the toe of his boot, he could still hear Dutch griping through the glass as his cell connected.

“Hello?” the raspy voice on the phone said into Tripp’s ear.

“Slats, this is Walker over at Big Heart Ranch. I need a favor.”

“Guess I owe you a few, don’t I?” Slats Milburn returned.

“I need a discreet background check.”

“I’m always discreet.”

“Good to know.” He took a deep breath. “The name is Hannah Vincent.”

Tripp swiveled his chair in time to see Hannah and Dutch talking outside Grace’s stall. His trouble radar began to sound when Hannah tossed her sweater onto a wall peg and followed Dutch outside.

A moment later, a loud crash and bang of metal filled the stables, echoing over the noise of the riders and horses. Staff and children raced down the center aisle and poured into the sunlight to see what was going on.

“I gotta go. I’ll text you the details.” Tripp dropped the phone on his desk and wove past people crowded in the stable doorway.

Outside in the gravel parking area, Hannah Vincent lay on the ground with her posterior in a mud puddle while Dutch struggled to lead a rambunctious horse to the corral. Tripp stepped up to the horse, whose ears were snapped forward, his head up and the whites of his eyes bright as he whinnied in protest.

“What happened?” Tripp demanded.

Dutch grimaced. “Rowdy here kicked open the trailer same time I was opening the door. Horse exploded out of there. Door flew open and Miss Hannah went flying.”

Hannah blinked and sat up. She shoved her dark hair from her eyes and brushed red dirt from her hands. “Sorry, I wasn’t much help, Dutch.”

“Aw, not your fault.”

Tripp moved to Hannah’s side, belatedly remembering that the woman was pregnant. When he did, it was a punch to his gut. “What were you thinking?” The words came out sharper than he intended.

“I said I’m fine,” she answered.

Tripp and Dutch stood over Hannah, each offering a hand and helping her to her feet.

Dutch chuckled. “Never seen anyone go flying like that before.”

“Yeah. We’ll talk about that later,” Tripp growled. He moved near the excited horse and spoke in soothing tones before he moved closer and started scratching and petting around the withers. As the horse stilled, Tripp rubbed him between the eyes. “It’s going to be okay, buddy.”

Tripp handed the horse off to a wrangler and turned back to Hannah.

“Got a few scratches on your arm, Hannah,” Dutch said. The old cowboy grimaced, his eyes filled with concern. “That’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

She raised her arms and sure enough, gravel and dirt were embedded in scratches on the backside of her right forearm. Tripp cringed at the sight. She’d gotten hurt on his watch.

“I’m okay,” Hannah repeated firmly. She slapped at her backside and straightened her blouse.

“We’ll let Rue decide that,” Tripp said. “She’s the staff doctor. For now, we can clean it up and put on a little antiseptic ointment.” He gave a curt nod toward the stables.

“Your concern is overwhelming,” Hannah murmured drily as she followed him.

“Rinse your arm in the sink over there.” Tripp cocked his head to the right. “Then come into my office. I have a first aid kit.”

Minutes later, Hannah sat in Tripp’s office staring at the wall as she held her arm up.

“What’s that?” she asked.

He removed the cover from the antibiotic ointment and glanced up at the wall. She was staring at the poster for the 100-Day Mustang Challenge.

“Just what it says. One hundred days to gentle, halter break, saddle train, and build trust with a horse.”

“Do you get to keep the horse when you’re done?”

“Nope. End of the hundred days there’s big grand finale competition and the animals are auctioned off by the Bureau of Land Management.”

“So what’s the point?”

“It’s for a good cause. Re-homing mustangs, raising money to start the process all over again.”

“All good, but that’s it?” Hannah said.

“Braggin’ rights. To say you’ve done it.”

“And have you? Done it before?”

“No time.” He shrugged. “Been on my bucket list for a while.”

“What’s the prize money for something like that?” she asked.

“This year, fifty grand.”

Her eyes rounded. “That could buy a lot of buckets.”

“Lift your arm,” he said.

She complied, and he examined the abrasion. When he shifted his gaze sideways, he could see her long lashes resting on her flushed cheeks. Hannah’s full mouth was set in a tight line as he applied the ointment. Tripp worked to gentle his touch, reminding himself it didn’t matter how long her lashes were or how smooth her skin.

Except, the truth was, something about Hannah Vincent made him think about and feel things he hadn’t considered in a long time. He quickly gave himself a reality check. Hannah’s character was still under question. If the woman had secrets, Slats would find out exactly what they were.

Tripp’s gaze wandered to the sweet curve of Hannah’s neck. He glanced away, praying that Slats would be quick with his research.

And what if Hannah is as innocent as she appears? Tripp shot back at the errant thought, telling himself that the truth was, beautiful women didn’t look twice at scarred men. They went for the pretty guys like Travis.

He wrapped Hannah’s arm with gauze and taped the edges before stepping clear and putting plenty of space between them. “All done. Rue can check your arm when she and Clementine get back.”

Hannah raised her arm and assessed his work. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he said with a quick glance. Before he was able to look away, she met his gaze.

“Why do you keep looking at me like I’m a particularly annoying bug on your windshield?” she asked quietly.

“Didn’t notice that I was.” He sat down in his chair and put the ointment in the first aid kit, feigning nonchalance at her challenge.

“I’m not planning to sue you for a little scratch on my arm, so you can relax.”

He was silent, knowing that she was spoiling for a fight.

“You’ve got something on your mind,” Hannah continued. “You have since I arrived.” She eyed him up and down. “You don’t look like someone who plays games, so maybe you should just spit it out.”

Tripp leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He prided himself on being a man of few words, but the woman was a burr under his saddle and for the first time in a long time, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“I keep asking myself what was so important that you had to risk yourself and your daughter in a storm yesterday and how a smart woman like yourself ran out of gas.”

“I bought the car in Denver. Turns out the gas gauge sticks at times. Usually at the wrong times. Like Friday.”

He gave a slow, considering nod.

“As for the other...do you have family?” She didn’t wait for a response but plowed right ahead. “I found out forty-eight hours ago that I might. That was enough to put me on I-70 at noon on a Thursday headed to Oklahoma. Believe it or not, and I imagine you will choose not to, I was unaware that I was in the path of a tornado.”

Tripp didn’t know what to say to the outburst. But it didn’t matter because Hannah Vincent wasn’t done yet.

“It’s clear you’re determined to think the worst of me, Mr. Walker. It’s a good thing I don’t answer to you.”

“You will,” he murmured. “Come Monday.”

When her face paled, remorse poked him in the chest. Now he’d gone and done it. Acted like a mule.

Why was this particular woman so good at pushing buttons he didn’t even know he still had available to push? He stood and cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I’ve got work to do.” Tripp felt her gaze staring him down as he left the office, but he had to get out of there before he shoved both of his boots in his mouth and discovered a perfect fit.

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