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Though she hadn’t run a barrel pattern in years, the temptation was too much for Sam. “Do you mind?”
“Heck, no! Whiskey’s fast, though, so you better be ready to turn and burn!”
Sam laughed at the barrel-racing term as she guided the horse into position. Drawing a bead on the first barrel, Sam blanked everything else out. Beneath her, she felt the anticipation build in Whiskey. That he was a competitor was obvious in the quiver of muscle, the increased tension on the reins, the tossing of his head. Already seeing herself running the pattern, Sam squeezed her legs against the horse’s sides. He bolted forward and she had to keep a tight rein to keep him from getting away from her.
Wind ripped her cap off her head just before they reached the first barrel and sent it spinning behind them. Preparing for the turn, Sam shifted her weight, while sliding her hand down the rein and squeezing her right leg against the horse’s side.
Whiskey responded immediately, rating himself for the turn and digging into the freshly plowed earth with his rear hooves. He came out of the first turn and raced for the second. Subconsciously, Sam noted the smooth lead change, the bunching of finely honed muscles and the burst of power as he wrapped the second and headed for the third.
Grinning from the sheer pleasure of it all, she turned the last barrel and gave Whiskey his head as he raced for home. Bracing a hand against the saddle horn, she reined him to a dust-churning stop, then tossed back her head and laughed.
“Wow, Sam! You’re good!” Colby called out.
“Whiskey’s a good horse,” Sam replied, turning him toward the fence where Colby waited.
“He ought to be. I paid enough for him.”
Sam’s smile slowly wilted as she realized that Nash had joined his daughter at the fence. He stood with one foot propped on the lowest rail, his arms braced along the top one. He’d removed his jacket and tie while at the house and rolled his shirtsleeves halfway up his forearms, revealing tanned skin and a smattering of dark hair. The wind played with his razor-cut hairstyle, blowing a tuft of it across his forehead. The result was a combination of mouthwatering maleness and little-boy charm.
Maybe you could marry my daddy. He’s always telling me I need a mother.
Remembering Colby’s words, Sam swallowed hard as she met Nash’s gaze.
“You’ve obviously ridden barrels before,” he commented.
Gray eyes watched her, measuring her while he waited for a response. Self-consciously, Sam tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “I started when I was about Colby’s age and quit when—well, when I went away to college.”
“So what do you think of Whiskey?”
Uncomfortable meeting his gaze, Sam ducked her head and leaned forward to scratch the horse’s ears. “He’s a good horse. Well-trained, even-tempered, but a competitor. The bit might be part of the problem. He seems to fight it a little. A combination might suit him better.” She lifted her head. “But before I can offer an opinion on whether he’s well matched with Colby, I’ll need to see her ride.”
Colby twisted around on the fence, her hands pressed together prayerfully at her chest. “Can I, Daddy? Please? I promise I won’t fall off this time.”
Nash eyed her, scowling. “I’ve already told you, Colby. I don’t want you on that horse.”
“But Sam rode him and he didn’t act up. I promise I’ll be careful and besides, you’re right here if anything should happen. Please, Daddy? Pretty please?”
How anyone could deny those brimming baby blues, that angelic face, Sam didn’t know. The child was obviously a charmer, and knew all the right buttons to push to get what she wanted from her father. But Nash stood firm.
“I said no, Colby.”
Tears that had brimmed, now spilled over. “But, Daddy,” she cried. “We made a deal. You said if I agreed to move to Austin and leave all my friends in San Antonio, that I could have my very own horse. And now you won’t even let me ride him.”
Sam watched Nash’s shoulders sag in defeat. It seemed a little guilt heaped on his shoulders accomplished what Colby’s sugarcoated pleas couldn’t.
“Oh, all right,” he said grudgingly. “But no running.” He wagged a finger beneath her nose. “You break a slow lope and you’re on the ground, understand?”
Colby’s tears disappeared as quickly as they’d formed. “Yes, sir!” She scrambled down from the fence while Sam slid from Whiskey’s back.
Cupping her hands, Sam bent over to boost Colby up. After giving the horse a fond pat on the rump, Sam stepped back out of the way. “Let her rip, cowgirl.”
Laughing, Colby guided the horse to the starting position again. Sam folded her arms beneath her breasts and watched. She could feel Nash’s gaze on her back and tried her best to ignore him. “Remember, Colby,” she called. “Easy fingers. Use your legs. And don’t let him get ahead of you.”
With a salute, Colby fixed her attention on the first barrel. Her expression turned intense as she prepared for the run. Sam felt her own heart thrumming against her ribs and she discreetly crossed two fingers against her forearm, out of Nash’s view. “Just stay in the saddle, Colby,” she whispered under her breath. “And I’ll take care of the rest.”
Sam watched Colby ride, making mental notes of the girl’s movements as she guided the horse through the pattern. She’s leaning forward too much on the barrels, Sam thought. She needs to lean back and tuck her bottom more. And, whoa, that pocket! Way too wide. She needs to tuck his nose more and shape him on the turns.
Colby rounded the last barrel and headed home, her white-blond hair flying out behind her. A smile split her face, revealing that missing front tooth. Sam found her own smile growing. “That was good, Colby. Really good.” She caught Whiskey’s reins and reached up to give the child a pat on the knee. “You’re a natural. No doubt about it.”
Colby lifted her head, her eyes shining brightly. “Did you hear that, Daddy? Sam says I’m a natural!”
“Yeah, I heard her.”
The voice came from directly behind her and Sam’s shoulders tensed as Nash moved up beside her. She smoothed a hand along the horse’s neck, trying her best to level her breathing. “The two are well matched,” she offered hesitantly. “An adjustment or two in tack will help, but Colby needs more instruction.”
Nash stuffed his hands into pockets and rocked back on his heels, his relief obvious. “Well, that pretty much solves it then, doesn’t it?”
Sam stole a glance at him. “What do you mean?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I’ve already told you that the only classes I could find for her are forty-five minutes away and I can’t commit to that much time away from work.”
“But, Daddy—”
Sam placed a hand on Colby’s knee to quiet her. “What if someone came here to teach her?” she asked. “Would you agree to lessons then?”
Nash frowned at Sam. “And how am I supposed to find someone willing to come all the way out here to teach her when I can’t even find a place within driving distance to take her?”
Sam glanced up at Colby, shooting her a wink as she squeezed the child’s knee in encouragement. “I might know someone who’d be willing to make the drive.” She turned her gaze on Nash. “If I can arrange it, would you give Whiskey and Colby another chance?”
Sam could tell that he wanted to say no, but she also knew that she’d trapped him, and he was as aware of that fact as she was. How could he refuse now, when she was practically serving up a teacher for his daughter on a silver platter?
“And who is going to want to take the time to drive out here for a private lesson with one student?” he asked dryly.
Sam met his gaze squarely. “I am.”
Two
"You are going to give barrel-racing lessons?”
Sam hunched her shoulders defensively. “I’m qualified,” she muttered and started around her sister.
Mandy flattened a hand against Sam’s chest, stopping her, then leveled a finger at Sam’s boots. Grumbling, Sam backed up a couple of steps, hooked a heel in the bootjack by the back door and levered off first one boot then the other.
Satisfied, Mandy stepped aside and went back to the sink where she was peeling potatoes for their dinner. “Yes, you’re qualified, but you also have a veterinary practice that keeps you running from one end of the county to the other. How on earth will you ever find time?”
Sam padded across the kitchen to the refrigerator. “I’ll make time. If I don’t, her daddy’ll have her horse put down.”
Mandy whirled, her eyes wide. “He wouldn’t!”
“That’s what he said.” Sam one-hipped the door closed and carried the jug of milk to the counter. “The horse threw her. Or so he says. Colby insists she just fell off.” Grabbing a glass, Sam filled it with milk, then reached for a brownie from the pan cooling on a rack.
Mandy slapped her hand away. “You’ll ruin your dinner.”
Sam had to smile. Though they were only separated by a year in age, at times Mandy acted more like a mother to Sam than a big sister, and even more so since Mandy had married. “Don’t worry. I promise I’ll clean my plate.” She snatched a brownie before Mandy could stop her and took a healthy bite, ignoring Mandy’s disapproving frown. “Anyway,” she continued around a mouthful of the gooey chocolate, “I have two months to prove to him that his daughter can handle the horse, or else the horse goes.”
“Who is this guy? Simon Legree?”
Though Sam was tempted to agree with her sister’s assessment of Nash Rivers, she had to be honest. “No, just an overprotective father. His name’s Nash Rivers. Ever heard of him?”
Mandy paused in her peeling as she stared out the window, running the name through her mind. She lifted a shoulder and went back to her peeling. “No, but then if he’s new to the area, I probably wouldn’t.”
Sam turned her back to the counter, leaned against it and took a sip of her milk. “They moved here about a year ago from San Antonio. Nash inherited his father’s ranch, but plans to divide up the land and sell it.”
Mandy nodded sympathetically. “That’s happening more and more often. People are having a hard time making a living at ranching.”
“Judging by the looks of the place, I’d say he didn’t even give it a try. It’s going to break the kid’s heart when she has to move.”
Mandy turned her head slowly to peer at Sam. “You sure seem to know a lot about these people.”
Sam snorted a laugh. “Thanks to Colby. The kid could talk the hair off a dog.” She shook her head, remembering. “She even suggested that I marry her daddy so that she could have a mother.”
Mandy chuckled, then sobered when Sam narrowed an eye at her. “Sony,” she murmured. “I just had this mental image of you changing diapers.”
“I can change diapers,” Sam replied indignantly. “I certainly changed enough of my nephew’s to prove that. But thankfully, Colby’s long out of the diaper stage.”
“How old is she?”
“Six, going on sixteen.”
Mandy chuckled, dropping the last potato into the pot. “Interesting assessment.”
Sam blew out a breath. “You wouldn’t believe this kid. She can carry on a conversation like an adult, yet throw a tantrum that would rival that of a two-year-old.”
“And you willingly volunteered to spend time with her?”
Sam frowned. “Yeah.” She turned, propping her forearms on the counter, and stared out the window, holding the glass between her hands. “She kind of reminds me a little bit of myself at that age. She’s a tomboy and crazy about her horse. You wouldn’t believe how she lit in to me when she heard her daddy order me to put him down.” Sam chuckled as the image built. “Took all my strength to hold her back. And she lost her mother before she even had a chance to get to know her, just like we did.” She stared a moment longer, than gave herself a firm shake. “Not that I intend to serve as a surrogate mother, mind you. I’m just going to help her improve her riding skills so her daddy will agree to let her keep her horse.”
Mandy watched Sam, her instincts going on red alert. “What about her dad? What’s he like?”
“Nash?” Sam snorted. “He’s a suit.”
At Mandy’s quizzical look, Sam pushed away from the counter to pace. “You know the type. Brooks Brothers suit, Italian silk tie, Rolex watch, Mercedes. And all business. I bet he even schedules trips to the rest room on his day planner.”
Mandy lifted a brow. She’d never known Sam to get this worked up over a man. “Is he handsome?”
“If you like pretty boys. Merideth would love him,” she added, using their younger sister’s taste in men as a reference point for Mandy.
“So he is handsome.”
An image formed in Sam’s mind of Nash standing at the fence, the wind lifting his carefully combed hair then dropping it carelessly down on his forehead. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing muscled forearms dusted with dark hair. Carved cheekbones, a stubborn jaw. Gray eyes leveled on her, eyes that seemed capable of stripping her down to her most vulnerable core.
A shiver chased along her spine.
“Yeah, I guess,” she replied vaguely, dumping the rest of her milk down the drain, her appetite suddenly gone. “I really didn’t pay that much attention.”
Three days later, Sam was in the barn at Rivers Ranch, saddling Whiskey in preparation for her first lesson with Colby, when she heard a car door slam in the yard. She lifted her head, turning slightly, and bit back an oath when Nash stepped inside the barn. Wearing a navy blazer and khaki pants, he looked as out of place as he had the first time she’d seen him.
“Where’s Colby?” he asked.
“In the house, changing clothes.”
He glanced at his watch, frowning. “So when do we start?”
“We?” Sam repeated, arching a brow his way as he strode down the alleyway toward her.
His frown deepened. “Yes, we. I intend to be present at every lesson.”
“Great,” Sam muttered under her breath. She stooped and caught the rear girt, buckling it into place.
He stopped and braced his hands on his hips. “We didn’t discuss the details of this arrangement, so I think we need to do so now. How much are you charging for these lessons?”
“Nothing. I’m doing this for Colby.”
His eyes widened then narrowed. “Colby isn’t a charity case. I paid her last teacher forty dollars an hour. I’ll pay you the same, plus an additional ten dollars for the trip out.”
“Keep your money. I don’t want it or need it. Like I said, I’m doing this for Colby.” She stooped and picked up Whiskey’s hoof. “Who’s your farrier?”
“Cletus Boggs. Now, about your fee—”
“Better call him. This rear shoe is loose. And tell Cletus to use shoes with rims for the front hooves. It’ll help give Whiskey more traction on the turns.”
“Fine. And I’m paying you, whether you like it or not.”
Sam dropped the hoof and picked up a currycomb, taking out her frustrations with Nash on the burrs matted in the horse’s tail. “Your money would be better spent on repairing Whiskey’s stall. There are some loose boards he could injure himself on. And you need a new load of shavings for the floor.”
“Is that an order or a suggestion?”
The challenge in his voice had Sam cocking her head to look at him. Seeing the hostility in his gray eyes, she tightened her fingers on the comb. “Take it however you want, but the horse deserves the best care you can give him.”
“Hi, Daddy!”
Sam and Nash both turned at the sound of Colby’s voice. Nash’s frown disappeared as Colby skipped down the alleyway toward them. “Hey, sunshine!” He held out his arms and she ran the last few steps and vaulted into them.
Planting a kiss on his cheek, she curled an arm around his neck and reared back to look at him. “Are you going to watch me ride?”
“Yep. Are you ready?”
Colby’s mouth puckered into a pout. “I’ve been ready for hours, but Sam made me go back to the house and put on jeans.”
Nash shot Sam a questioning glance. She lifted a shoulder as she dropped Whiskey’s tail, then tossed the currycomb back in the bucket. “She had on shorts. I was afraid the saddle would rub sores on her legs.”
Nash turned his gaze on his daughter. “Sam’s the boss. What she says goes.”
He couldn’t have said anything that would have surprised Sam more. From the moment he’d announced his intention of being present at the lessons, she’d prepared herself to have to fight him at every turn. Not trusting this unexpected display of support, she eyed him warily. “We’re burning daylight,” she mumbled. “Let’s get started.”
Nash swung Colby onto the saddle, then untied the reins and led the horse out into the arena. Sam followed, pulling her cap lower on her forehead to shade her eyes from the bright sunlight.
“Okay, Colby, let’s warm him up,” she instructed, anxious to get the lesson underway. “Circle the arena a couple of times at a walk, then have him trot. And I want to see you use your body to give him the change of command. Understand?”
Colby beamed at Sam as she took the reins from Nash. “Yes, ma’am.”
Sam positioned herself in the middle of the arena, placing herself as far from Nash as possible, while still being able to keep an eye on Colby. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him at the fence, shrugging out of his jacket. As he leaned to hook it on a fence post, the stretch of starched white cotton across his back revealed muscles that Sam would have preferred not to have noticed. But she did notice and, as hard as she tried, she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away. With his back still to her, he cocked a hip slightly, then lifted a hand and unbuttoned a cuff. He carefully folded the sleeve back two turns, then lifted the opposite hand and started on the other. As each turn revealed another three inches of bare skin, Sam’s mouth grew dryer and dryer until it was as parched as the ground beneath her feet.
Ignore him, she told herself, and turned away. Determined to do just that, she folded her arms beneath her breasts and focused on Colby. “Okay, move him up to a trot,” she called out.
Colby leaned forward, lifting the reins, and repeated the voice command. Sam nodded her approval, turning slowly in a tight circle as she monitored Colby’s movements around the arena...and nearly jumped out of her skin when she made a complete circle and Nash’s chest filled her field of vision, inches from her face and blocking her view of Colby. Unaware that he’d even moved, she cried, “What are you doing?”
He lowered his gaze to hers, one brow arched higher than the other, then glanced back over her head toward his daughter. “Watching.”
Sam huffed a breath and took a step back, stuffing her hands into her back pockets. “Watch somewhere else. You’re in my way.”
“It’s a big arena. I’d think there’s ample room for two adults to watch without any trouble.”
“Fine,” she snarled. “You can stay here. I’m moving.” She stalked off, headed for the far end of the arena...and could’ve sworn she heard Nash chuckle. The idea that he would laugh at her made her that much more angry. “Okay, Colby,” she said irritably, “lope.”
Whiskey responded immediately, charging forward. “Slow him down,” Sam yelled. “This is a lope, not a race.”
Colby dutifully obeyed, giving the reins a sharp tug, and Whiskey settled into a slow lope. Sam nodded her approval as she hitched a boot on a rail behind her. She tucked her fingers into her front pockets and settled her shoulders against the fence. Nash stood where she’d left him, his hands braced on his hips, his dress shirt a shocking white compared to the faded barn behind him. A little too white, Sam decided. A slow, devious smile chipped at one corner of her mouth.
“Take him to the middle, Colby,” she ordered, “and give me a fast stop.”
Dust churned as Colby swung Whiskey around, then rose into a cloud when the horse slid to a stop on his haunches inches from where Nash stood.
Choking on dust and fanning the air in front of his face, Nash sputtered, “Dam it, Colby! Didn’t you see me standing here?”
Colby’s chin quivered. “I was just doing what Sam told me to do. You did say that she was the boss.”
Nash turned to glare at Sam, and though she tried her best not to smile, she failed miserably. Serves him right, she told herself, for being so dam stubborn.
Brushing at the dust on his shirtfront, Nash shifted his gaze back to Colby. “Well, next time, look where you’re going.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
He heaved a deep breath, then lifted a hand to pat her knee. “That’s okay, sweetheart. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”
Enjoying herself immensely, Sam shouted, “That was a good stop, Colby. Now let’s see some figure eights. Trot him once through the pattern so you can show him what you want him to do, then lope. Remember to keep his nose tucked to the center and use your legs to keep him shaped.”
Sam smothered a laugh as she watched Nash jump out of the way, then hustle to the side of the arena as Colby followed Sam’s directions.
After a series of seven or more figure eights, Sam instructed Colby to walk Whiskey a couple of laps to cool him off while she set up the barrels. Crossing to the third barrel she tipped it over and rolled it into place. The barrel was old and rusted from years of exposure. As she righted it, she caught a glimpse of Nash watching her, frowning... and another idea occurred to her. “How about you set the first one,” she called to him.
Still frowning, Nash gave the barrel closest to him a nudge with his shoe and sent it toppling over. Leaning over, he gave it a shove, rolling it into position, then caught the top rim and levered it upright. Opening his hands, he stared down at the rust and dirt that covered them. He twisted left and right, searching for something to wipe them on.
“What’s the matter, Nash?” Sam mocked. “Haven’t you ever gotten your hands dirty before?”
He turned to scowl at her, then plucked a white handkerchief from his hip pocket and wiped furiously at his hands. Sam tossed back her head and laughed as she headed for the remaining barrel. Whistling happily, she turned it over, gave it a push with her boot and sent it rolling.
Nash watched her, his eyes narrowing. Damn woman! She was trying to make a fool of him, he was sure. “Well, two can play at this game,” he muttered under his breath. While Sam was still perched like a pelican, ready to give the barrel another shove, Nash stole up behind her, hooked a foot around the boot that was planted on the ground and gave a sharp tug. Sam yelped, beating wildly at the air in an attempt to regain her balance, but ended up facedown on the ground. She came up spitting dirt, her hands doubled into fists at her sides as she whirled to face Nash.
He smiled sweetly. “What’s the matter, Sam? Haven’t you ever gotten your hands dirty before?”
“You overgrown juvenile delinquent!” she muttered through clenched teeth.
“Me?” he asked innocently, touching the pad of a finger to his chest. “Isn’t that a little like the pot calling the kettle black?” He stepped closer and thumbed a speck of dirt from her face, then left his hand there to cup her cheek. His lips quirked in a teasing smile. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re mad.”
Sam felt the blood drain from her face as the pad of each finger, the swell of flesh at the base of his thumb burned into her cheek. Though she expected the familiar panic to set in, she was aware of nothing but the gentleness of his fingers, their underlying strength, and the clear gray eyes that smiled down at her. Heat burned through her and lit a fiery path all the way to her lower abdomen where it settled into a burning pool of fire. The sensation was a rare one for Sam and so unexpected she didn’t know what to do with it. Falling back on her anger, she hauled off and took a swing at him.
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