Dear Reader,

Most folks outside the Sierra Mountains where I was born, raised and now own a horse ranch, would think I’m a hard-nosed, crusty son of a gun. I’m sure Danielle Daguerre, who had to honor a contract her ex-husband signed with me to tame my rogue stallion, Altair, would agree.

In fact, I’m like Altair in many ways: rough around the edges and stubborn. I need Dany to fulfill the obligations of that contract—whether she wants to or not. My ranch, the Cross Bar U, sits up high in the Sierra Mountains, near where part of the California gold rush took place. I know Dany, an Eastern-bred woman, didn’t want to come out west to my ranch to work with that hardheaded stud of mine and get him ready for the Grand Prix circuit of show jumping.

She felt the stud and I were a complete loss and neither one of us could be tamed.

I knew Altair needed a softer touch—a woman’s touch. I knew Dany was the woman to tame that red-devil stallion. What I didn’t realize was she was going to tame me, too!

Sam Reese

Ranch Rogues

1. Betrayed by Love

Diana Palmer

2. Blue Sage

Anne Stuart

3. Chase the Clouds

Lindsay McKenna

4. Mustang Man

Lee Magner

5. Painted Sunsets

Rebecca Flanders

6. Carved in Stone

Kathleen Eagle

Hitched in Haste

7. A Marriage of Convenience

Doreen Owens Malek

8. Where Angels Fear

Ginna Gray

9. Inheritance

Joleen Daniels

10. The Hawk and the Honey

Dixie Browning

11. Wild Horse Canyon

Elizabeth August

12. Someone Waiting

Joan Hohl

Ranchin’ Dads

13. Rancher’s Wife

Anne Marie Winston

14. His and Hers

Pamela Bauer

15. The Best Things in Life

Rita Clay Estrada

16. All That Matters

Judith Duncan

17. One Man’s Folly

Cathy Gillen Thacker

18. Sagebrush and Sunshine

Margot Dalton

Denim & Diamonds

19. Moonbeams Aplenty

Mary Lynn Baxter

20. A Home on the Range

Judith Bowen

21. The Fairy Tale Girl

Ann Major

22. Snow Bird

Lass Small

23. The Countess and the Cowboy

Linda Randall Wisdom

24. Heart of Ice

Diana Palmer

Kids & Kin

25. Fools Rush In

Ginna Gray

26. Wellspring

Curtiss Ann Matlock

27. Live-In Mom

Laurie Paige

28. Kids, Critters and Cupid

Ruth Jean Dale

29. With No Regrets

Lisa Jackson

30. Family Affair

Cathy Gillen Thacker

Reunited Hearts

31. Yesterday’s Lies

Lisa Jackson

32. The Texas Way

Jan Freed

33. Wild Lady

Ann Major

34. Cody Daniels’ Return

Marilyn Pappano

35. All Things Considered

Debbie Macomber

36. Return to Yesterday

Annette Broadrick

Reckless Renegades

37. Ambushed

Patricia Rosemoor

38. West of the Sun

Lynn Erickson

39. Bittersweet

DeLoras Scott

40. A Deadly Breed

Caroline Burnes

41. Desperado

Helen Conrad

42. Heart of the Eagle

Lindsay McKenna

Once A Cowboy…

43. Rancho Diablo

Anne Stuart

44. Big Sky Country

Jackie Merritt

45. A Family to Cherish

Cathy Gillen Thacker

46. Texas Wildcat

Lindsay McKenna

47. Not Part of the Bargain

Susan Fox

48. Destiny’s Child

Ann Major

Chase the Clouds

Lindsay McKenna

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Nancy Csonka and Joan Schwartz, fellow horsewomen, who share my love of a good horse, the outdoors and our friendship

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

About the Author

Also by Lindsay McKenna

One

“Mrs. Daguerre, I can assure you I’m not used to having people fall short of their obligations to me. Especially ones where a legal contract is signed and services are promised.”

Danielle stiffened in her chair and stared across the small office that was located within the main stabling barn. She was tall for a horse trainer, almost five foot nine, but she felt diminutive against the man who stood in the doorway blocking the afternoon April sun that slanted across his broad shoulders. Easing out of the black leather desk chair, she folded her arms against her small breasts, feeling positively threatened by his detached coolness. His eyes, the shade of pewter gray, assessed her with mild interest.

“Mr. Reese,” she began, taking a firm tone that she would normally use with misbehaving horses, “my ex-husband signed that document over a year ago to ride your three-day-event thoroughbred, I didn’t.”

He gave her a thin, cutting smile, one corner of his generous mouth pulling upward. Removing the Stetson from his rich, dark hair, he let the hat dangle in his right hand. “Right now I don’t care who signed it. I’m sorry that your marriage was broken up, but an agreement is an agreement.”

“Your stallion, Altair, has a nasty name on the show circuit,” she reminded him stubbornly. As much as she hated to use her ex-husband’s name, she went on, “Jean’s notes tell me that he’s shy of water jumps, headstrong and impulsive and won’t listen to his rider.”

His cool, twisted smile remained as he studied her across the distance. “Yes, I’m afraid he’s a bit like me in some respects—hard to handle.”

Dany’s nostrils flared with a show of contempt. Pointing at the fact sheets compiled on the jumper, she said, “You can’t take a range horse and make him a Grand Prix jumper, Mr. Reese. It just can’t be done. Your stallion has been mishandled too long, and I don’t have the time or inclination to try and retrain him for you, contract or no contract.”

His gray eyes glittered with an unnamed emotion. “Altair was out of the finest thoroughbred stock money can buy, Mrs. Daguerre. The fact that his dam was stolen and then abandoned in the middle of the Nevada desert with Altair at her side has no bearing on his abilities. It’s true he was raised in the wild with a herd of mustangs. He was caught as a four-year-old by wranglers who busted him for use as a cow horse.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I saw him by accident when I was looking over a herd of charlois, and bought him immediately.”

Dany tried to quell her frustration. “It’s a very touching story, Mr. Reese but—”

“You haven’t heard all of it,” he ground out softly.

Something in the tone of his voice warned her to remain motionless. “All right,” she capitulated, “tell me the rest of it. But it won’t change my mind.”

“The more facts you have, the better you’ll be able to weigh your decision,” he parried.

“I’m waiting.…”

“The wrangler who owned him tried to beat the spirit out of Altair. Consequently, he’s pretty scarred up from it, both physically and emotionally. I knew he was thoroughbred by his conformation. When the owner showed me the mare, her tattoo number was stamped on the inside of her upper lip. All I had to do was call the registry and confirm Altair’s breeding. He can’t be registered, but in Grand Prix, papers don’t mean a thing. Ability does.”

“I suppose it doesn’t mean a thing that he’s a range horse?”

Sam Reese gave her an odd smile. “You can come from the wrong side of the tracks and still make it. I’m sure you’re familiar with Nautilus, the palomino gelding they found at some riding stable?”

Dany nodded. “Yes, a rags-to-riches story of a Heinz-variety gelding who made it big in the Olympics as a jumper. That’s a one-in-a-million shot.”

“Altair’s unique.”

“He’s trouble with a capital ‘T,’ Mr. Reese.” She pulled up the file, frowning. “Jean didn’t make these notes for nothing. He has excellent ability to size up a Grand Prix candidate for the jumping circuit.”

“Then why did he agree to show Altair if he thought the stallion was such a loss?”

It was Dany’s turn to give him a withering smile. “Because Jean thought he could ride anything and make it win.”

“He has—so far. But,” he hesitated, tilting his head, watching her with a more gentle expression. “I’ve been following his career the last four years, and it seems to me he had one hell of a trainer behind the scenes working the kinks out of these animals before they ever showed.” He pointed at her. “You’re the real reason why he’s skyrocketed to fame and has winner after winner on his hands.”

She couldn’t stand still a moment longer, unable to bear remembering the last four miserable years of her life. “Please—”

He reached out, capturing her arm and turning her toward him. Dany was wildly aware of his masculine aura and she pulled her arm away. “I made a mistake by hiring three different male trainers to coach Altair. He needs a woman’s touch.”

She took a step away. “Doesn’t every male,” she noted with sarcasm. “I have no wish to get mangled by that sorrel stallion. I’ve heard rumors that Altair has injured all his trainers to some degree.”

“And in every instance it was their fault,” he growled. “He’s an intelligent horse who won’t be beaten or cajoled into doing something. He has to be reasoned with psychologically and respected.”

“I have no wish to end up with a broken neck or fractured skull because of that red devil!”

“You’re reacting to rumors, that’s all.”

Danielle’s eyes widened, their blueness becoming clouded with cobalt flecks. How could this—this “cowboy” from California suddenly walk in unannounced and demand that she fulfill this agreement made so long ago? The only business that she wanted to conduct today was to turn over control of the Virginia training and stable business to her new partner. Had it only been nine months since the divorce from Jean Baptiste Daguerre? Her heart wrenched in anger and pain over the shock of his sudden departure. Jean was the brilliant, flamboyant part of their duo, and she was only the trainer who stayed behind the scenes doing the groundwork and strenuous training of thoroughbreds for their blue-blooded owners of the East Coast. Jean had ridden nearly every one of the horses she had lovingly trained to the very heights of equine stardom. He would show them in stadium jumping, dressage and the dangerous, spectacular three-day cross-country eventing. The more dangerous, the more closely timed the event, the better his electric performance on the horse. Choking down a lump forming in her throat, she was unable to meet Sam Reese’s inquiring gaze. It was too bad Jean’s performance in their marriage had gotten such poor marks. She sighed. It was just as much her fault; she spent too much time training the young horses and too little time with Jean.

“My attorneys have made inquiries as to Mr. Daguerre’s whereabouts, and they’ve informed me he has left for a series of commitments in France. I have a Grand Prix hopeful standing in my barn, Mrs. Daguerre, and when your ex-husband saw Altair last year, he said he’d campaign him.” He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Fortunately, you haven’t left the States and your credentials are well respected in this country. I don’t care who fulfills the commitment.” His voice, husky and low, hardened. “But one of you will. I haven’t spent thousands of dollars on this stallion to see him wasted in the hands of some second-class amateur.”

Dany shook her head. “I’m a trainer, Mr. Reese, not a show rider. There’s a big difference.”

His face was darkly tanned, chiseled as if sculpted by the sun and wind. He looked as though he would be at ease with any element that nature could conjure up. There was a faint look of surprise in his challenging gaze. “You can double as both.”

Dany uncrossed her arms, holding them stiffly at her sides. She wasn’t going to honor any commitment signed by Jean! “I’m too tall, Mr. Reese! Most of your riders are five-five to five-seven. Even the male riders are usually around a hundred and forty pounds. I’m one forty and my weight will cause the horse to tire on a long and demanding cross-country course. And my height would interfere with the horse’s movement, especially if he’s sixteen hands or less. You can’t mix and match something like this, you know.”

He relaxed against the door jamb, oddly out of place in his western attire. “I wouldn’t change one inch or pound on you,” he murmured appreciatively, making a thorough appraisal of her body.

Dany colored fiercely, getting ready to unleash a blast of anger at the lazily smiling westerner. “How—”

“Now calm down,” he defended. “I meant it as a compliment. You eastern women all seem to be a little uptight. Anyway, Altair is seventeen hands high and can easily carry you. Even with your height, you have that grace and flexibility which can only contribute to some of the more intricate jumps that have to be scaled. So you see, there’s no problem there.”

She stood rooted to the spot, her body drawn into a stiff posture. She didn’t realize that it made her look elegantly classical in her black knee-high English riding boots, white long-sleeved blouse and canary yellow riding breeches. The blouse set off the rich, shining blackness of her hair and accented the natural ruddiness of her complexion. Her thin brows knitted in displeasure. “Your horse could be eighteen hands tall, and I still wouldn’t ride him!” she hurled back, her voice quivering with anger. “And you can keep your low opinion of easterners to yourself, Mr. Reese. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m handing over the reins of this place to my new partner, who’s due to arrive any minute now.” She walked determinedly up to him, angrily holding his amused gaze.

“I don’t think he’ll mind waiting,” he drawled, remaining between her and the door.

She planted her hands on her hips, glaring up at his ruggedly handsome face. If they had met under other circumstances, she would have found him devastatingly intriguing She had still not gotten over her anger at Jean’s impulsive departure, and her life had no place for a man. In fact, she found herself agitated at men in general since the divorce. She wanted to slap his rugged face for the open expression of enjoyment that she saw there.

“If you don’t move, I’ll—”

“You’re worse than a female mountain lion that’s been woke up too early in the morning and is starving for a fresh kill,” he drawled. “And before you cock that fist at me I think I’d better inform you that I’m your new partner, Mrs. Daguerre.”

Danielle’s lips parted, and she took a step back, staring up at him in shock. “What? But…the contract was signed by Mr. Jack Ferguson. I don’t understand. I thought he bought…”

Sam Reese straightened up and slipped his large hand around her upper arm, gently guiding her back to the desk chair and sat her down. “I own the Sierra Corporation,” he explained, resting his bulk on the edge of the desk, watching her closely.

Touching her brow in confusion, she gave him a guarded look of distrust. The man sitting before her was both powerful and rich to own a corporation the size of Sierra. Even though the selling price on half interest of the stable had been more than fair, she found that most of the money would immediately be sent to bill collectors on past due notices. That was another item that Jean had forgotten to mention: He hadn’t handled the finances very well, and she found out by accident that the magnitude of the mismanagement totaled near a hundred thousand dollars. It had been the last factor to split their foundering marriage. And it meant selling the controlling interest of her dream: Richland Stables. Something she had slaved and toiled for all her twenty-nine years of life. Richland sat nestled between the rolling, gentle hills of Virginia, two hundred acres of luxurious slopes that were ideal for training young jumpers. Sighing, Danielle forced her thoughts back to the present and to this man who seemed to shadow her like a hound straight from hell.

She buried her face in her hands for a moment, trying to collect her broken, fragmented thoughts. He must have taken her gesture as one of utter defeat.

“Look,” he murmured. “I apologize for dropping it on you like this. I can see you’re tired and you’ve had quite a rough month. My half brother Jack Ferguson signed the sales agreement on your stable. He sent photos of your facility to my ranch out in California six months ago because he knew I was looking for a base of operation back East for Altair. I bought it sight unseen.”

She felt the sting of tears prickling at the back of her eyes, and she shut them tightly, fighting back the deluge of emotion that threatened to engulf her. Why couldn’t he be flip or arrogant like Jean? That always brought out her anger, and she was able to withstand any barrage. But this man—he was throwing her completely off base. His work-roughened fingers slipped around her wrist, pulling her hand gently away from her face.

“Here,” he growled, “you might need this,” and placed a white handkerchief in her palm.

A new, more disturbing sensation coursed electrically through her. Danielle looked up, her lashes thickly matted with tears. His face seemed open and undisguised of intrigue or game playing. He was so diametrically opposite of Jean that it was crumbling her defenses more quickly than she could replace them. This perfect stranger was leaning across the desk, his features sympathetic, offering her solace. She blinked twice and then murmured, “Thank you.” She dabbed at her eyes, clenching the linen cloth tightly within her long, artistic fingers.

“Look, Danielle—may I call you that? Westerners hate formality.” He gave her a frank smile. “We’re mostly homesteader folk and would rather sit down over a whiskey and discuss our troubles. I’ll take you to lunch, and we can discuss this problem over some good food. Besides, you look a little shook up.”

She shivered inwardly as he spoke her name. It rolled off his tongue like a soft growl of that mountain lion he had mentioned. Her heart was aching, and at the moment, she was aware of only pain and loss.

“Come on,” he urged, pulling her to her feet. “You’re getting paler by the second. Don’t worry. Everything will turn out all right.”

* * *

Danielle sat quietly in the darkened restaurant, a glass of wine in front of her. She stared down at the salad, her appetite nonexistent.

“You know, if you don’t eat, you aren’t going to be any good for me,” Sam murmured, setting the fork down and wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin.

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“I have a proposal for you,” he began. “And one that I think might do you a lot of good.” He rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. “Fly back to my ranch that sits above Placerville and work Altair for me throughout the late spring. Then, if he comes along under your hand, I’ll put him on any show circuit you want. I can even have you both flown back East here for the Devon show. What do you say?”

She took a drink of the wine, trying to shore up her broken defenses. “Your ranch?” she echoed.

Sam sipped the whiskey, the shadows playing across his face reminding her of a medieval knight who had just stepped out of the past into the present and into her life.

“The Cross Bar-U sits in the High Sierra mountains eight thousand feet above Placerville and close to the Truckee River. It’s God’s unaltered handiwork up there. The Truckee is one of the most violent rivers in the West, and the mountains are some of the finest in the world. I have thousands of acres of rich grassland, steep hills and rolling meadows perfect for training Altair. It’s a vast, virgin country, Danielle. Far different than your tame hills here in Virginia.” He allowed himself a small smile, his voice vibrating with a low-key excitement. “You would have a suite of rooms at the main house.”

She found herself being pulled along by the fervor in his voice. She colored as he picked up one of her hands, pressing it between his own.

“Danielle, you’re one of the best trainers in the U.S. when it comes to polishing off an event horse.”

Her pulse accelerated unevenly, and she was acutely aware of the strong, callused fingers capturing her hand. His voice was a husky balm to her shredded heart, and his touch soothed her frantic, worried mind. Hesitantly, she withdrew her hand, tucking it in her lap, unable to meet his warm, inviting eyes that seemed to be dappled with silver flecks of excitement.

“My ex-husband was the rider, Mr.—”

“Call me Sam. And frankly, Danielle, I’ve had a thorough check made into both your backgrounds. Your ex-husband took chances with the horses under his tutelage. The sprained ligaments, the bowed tendons…no, you were the one who brought those animals along and gave them their distance to go that extra mile when it was asked of them. Look, I wouldn’t trust anyone else with Altair. He’s an athletic, daring stallion who can go all the way. But he’s a sensitively calibrated instrument also. He needs your touch. He can’t be mishandled at this stage by a whip or a club in some man’s hands. You’re the only one who can do it.”

She touched her hair in confusion, pushing a strand behind her ear that had escaped from the severe chignon she wore while training and riding. Her hair was nearly long enough to reach her slender waist and had to be tightly knotted at the nape of her neck so that she could get her protective hard hat on her head. “Sam—” Her voice quavered and she gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Please—so much is happening—I can’t think straight. Give me time.…”

“I can’t do that. Not under the circumstances. Look, you’ll love the Sierras. I believe the change of location and environment might do you a world of good. Might bring back that sparkle to your blue eyes and put a dash of color on those pale cheeks.” He stared at her intently for a moment. “It may make you smile again. You have a beautiful mouth.”

Danielle shivered at the husky inference in his tone. There was a veiled, hungry look in his gray eyes, and she stared wordlessly across the table at him, feeling her body respond of its own volition to the invitation. “I just can’t pack up and leave Richland! I have several coming five-year-olds here that need daily training and—”

“You have two capable assistants,” he countered. “Surely they can manage the three animals that are here.”

She sighed heavily. Since Jean had left, the bulk of their numerous clientele had left Richland. She wished that their clients had known that it was her ability that had made those horses winners. But she couldn’t ride—at least that’s what Jean had always impressed upon her—and clients didn’t want just a good trainer, they wanted a brilliant rider to make their horse a winner. And she was anything but a brilliant show rider.

“I’d be willing to invest fifty thousand in Richland for renovation purposes plus an advertising campaign that will bring you in some of the biggest clients in the world. You give me four months of your time and I’ll make sure Richland becomes a center for Grand Prix hopefuls on both sides of the Atlantic.”

She stared in shock at him. Fifty thousand…what she could do with that money! It would enable her to buy another hot-walker to cool out her charges after their demanding morning runs, another groom to help in the more mundane duties around the barn and—it was too good to turn down.

“Look,” she began unevenly, “the offer is wonderful, and to tell you the truth, it would help Richland.” She lifted her lashes, meeting his steady gaze, her heart beating painfully in her breast. “Sam, I’m not a show rider. Oh, sure, I can ride. But I’m not a Grand Prix rider. I have no experience…no—”

“Who told you that?” he demanded quietly. “You train world-class hunters and jumpers and you stand here and tell me with such incredible humbleness that you can’t ride them?” Disbelief flared in his gray eyes.

Dany chewed on her lower lip, evading his extraordinary eyes. She could lose herself in their pewter color. “I’d rather not discuss it.”

He sat back, a quizzical expression written on his features. The seconds strung tautly between them. He watched her silently for a moment. “You ever seen Altair?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Hell, I’ll change the deal. You fly back with me and take a look at him. If he doesn’t sell you on staying at the Cross Bar-U and riding him in shows, then I’ll let you come back East. Deal?” He held out his large hand toward her.

Danielle’s lips parted, and she stared down at his hand. She could come back to Virginia if she didn’t like the horse. “You’d release me from the contract if I’m not impressed with Altair?” she hedged carefully. “And still put the fifty thousand into the stable?”

Sam nodded his head. “That’s right, Danielle. Now, we got a deal?”

She slipped her hand into the warmth of his. “Deal,” she murmured.

Sam reluctantly released his hold and leaned back, smiling boyishly. “Welcome to the Sierras, Danielle. You’re going to love it there.”

Two

“Martha,” Sam thundered as he walked into the main foyer of the ranch house, “we’re home.”

Dany stole a look around at his so-called ranch house. It was a magnificent two-story castle, reminding her of the grand haciendas of the Spanish dons in California during the eighteenth century. The red tile floor gleamed dully beneath their feet, and the halls were made of dark rough wood, accentuating the definite masculinity of the interior. She followed Sam down the hall, and he led her into a sitting room. Everywhere she looked she noticed oil paintings of family members. It was obvious from the rich furnishings and age of the ranch that it had all been handed down for at least a century, coming finally to the man who now stood before her.

“She must be in the kitchen, Danielle. Sit down and rest. I’ll be right back.”

“I think I’ll stand, Sam. I need some exercise to shake off the tiredness.”

He nodded, putting down two of her suitcases. “We’ll remedy that very shortly. I hope you’re ready to see the best eventing hunter in the U.S.”

She had to smile at his unabashed enthusiasm. “Whenever you are,” she assured him. She wanted to add that it didn’t matter, having made up her mind to decline training Altair. Tomorrow morning she would leave for Virginia. As lovely and rugged as the drive to the ranch was, it contrasted startlingly with the gentleness inherent in Virginia woodland. Even though tall redwoods and spruce towered over the small, winding highway leading up to the Cross Bar-U and the fragrance of pine refreshed her senses, the snowcapped mountains looked like giant predators surrounding her. Where could she possibly ride a horse in those jagged peaks?

Martha came flying around the corner, her skirt rustling, a wooden spoon in one hand and a ball of bread dough in the other. She was a short plump woman, reminiscent of a pigeon. She stared across the room at Dany. “Oh, lordy!” she exclaimed, her applelike cheeks glowing pink from the heat of the kitchen. “Where’s Sam! Oh, you must be Mrs. Daguerre. I didn’t expect you for another hour!” She frowned, turning on her heel. “Sam! Where are you? I swear, you’re worse than a little boy. Spring’n surprises on me like this. Wait till I—”

Dany put her hand over her mouth to suppress a smile as Sam wandered back into the room. Martha couldn’t be more than five feet tall, and Sam towered over her like a redwood in comparison. The housekeeper waved her wooden spoon threateningly up at him. “Sam Reese, if you were twenty-five years younger, I’d take you across my knee, boy! The very idea of coming an hour early!” she scolded.

Sam took off his hat, grinning contentedly, a twinkle in his eyes as he glanced over at Dany. “This is Martha. She’s been with our family all of her life. She more or less runs the household, and me,” he added drolly. “I think the last time I got hit with her wooden spoon was when I was ten years old.”

Martha belligerently placed her hand on her hip. “And it isn’t like you didn’t have it coming, Sam Reese.”

Dany laughed heartily, wiping the tears from her eyes, watching the two of them stand there self-consciously. “I had no idea Sam was such a rambunctious youngster.”

Martha glared back up at her full-grown charge. “He still is. He still is. Listen, Sam, you take Mrs.—”

“Please, call me Dany,” she offered.

Sam raised one eyebrow speculatively. “Dany? Nice nickname,” he complimented her huskily.

“Most of my friends know me as Dany,” she explained. “Or, you can call me Danielle, Martha. Whichever is easiest. I’ll answer to just about anything.”

Martha dipped her head. “Just don’t answer late for dinner, Dany. I only ring that bell once!”

“Believe me,” she assured the feisty housekeeper, barely able to contain a smile, “I won’t. I don’t want to get whacked with a spoon.”

Martha blushed furiously. “Oh, I’d never do that!” She waved it up in Sam’s general direction. “He knows I’m just like an old hunting dog with no teeth left. All bark and no bite.”

“Most of the time,” Sam kidded. He held out his hand toward Dany. “Martha will make sure the boys bring in your gear. Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

When Sam Reese said a suite of rooms, he meant exactly that. The ranch house was large, but because of the homey atmosphere and earthiness of colors throughout it, it seemed smaller and more intimate to her. Sam opened a door on the second floor, urging her in. She stood inside the room, her eyes widening in appreciation. He halted at her shoulder, watching her expression with a look of pleasure in his eyes.

“Well, do you think this will do? Over here you have a full bath including a whirlpool.” He looked down at her. “That’s for times when you bite the dust and you’re sore.”

She laughed. “Are you trying to tell me that Altair is accustomed to throwing his riders?”

“He’s a handful,” he remarked cryptically. “And the next room, which incidentally joins my suite, is a living room.” He opened another door. There was a set of large windows with the beige drapes pulled back to allow a cascade of sunshine to spill into the pale green room. Dany stood there, admiring it silently.

“It’s lovely, Sam.” She tilted her head, catching his pleased expression. “And flowers!” A delicate blue vase in the center of the pecan table seemed to overflow with blossoms. She walked over to the table, caressing one of the petals.

“Those come from the property here. With the snow leaving and the temperature starting to rise, they’re popping up all over the place. Martha picked them especially for you. She said ladies from the East would appreciate flowers.”

Leaning over them, she cupped them within her hands and inhaled their fragrance. She closed her eyes, murmuring, “I never expected such a warm welcome.”

“Part of the Western tradition,” he assured her. “You’re like one of the family now, you know. Martha will treat you like a daughter and dote on you, if you let her.” He hesitated at the other door leading to his suite. “Listen, you rest for a while, and later, when you come down, I’ll take you out to see Altair.”

Dany straightened up, her eyes giving away the excitement she felt. “I would like to rest. But I’m dying to see Altair.…”

“He can wait two more hours. Now get changed into something more comfortable and take a nap.”

“Is that an order?”

“No, just a strong suggestion.”

Dany tossed her head, laughing. “It’s good advice. I’ll see you later, Sam.”

He dipped his head and opened the door. “Look, if you need anything, just come on in. I’m going to be slaving over some paperwork that’s built up over the last week.”

* * *

Dany unpacked one suitcase, leaving the others sitting where the ranch hands had placed them. She hung up her black silk robe and tucked her toiletry articles in the bathroom. Changing into a pair of russet-colored jodhpurs and a yellow blouse, she loosened her ebony hair, allowing it to flow freely across her shoulders. The queen-size bed looked inviting, and against her better judgment, she lay down on it, intent on resting about twenty minutes before viewing the stallion.

New sounds, sounds of cattle lowing plaintively and of horses whickering in friendly fashion, lulled her into a restful state. She had not meant to sleep, but the sun was warm against her back as she curled up on the huge expanse of the bed, and weeks of emotional exhaustion were placed into limbo.

* * *

Danielle moaned, hearing herself cry out. “No!” she screamed. The voice, her voice, reverberated into her restless, sleeping state, and she choked off another cry. In the dream, she saw herself transformed into a horse who was being whipped cruelly by the handler. The horse struggled, trying to escape the biting flick of the whip that Jean had in his hand. Pain seared her heart and she moaned. Jean was yelling, driving her back into a corner. She was trying to escape the whip and the pain.

“Dany?” a new voice called. The husky, warm voice sliced again into the anguish of the nightmare. She whimpered, feeling the caress of a man’s hand against her arm, moving up across her shoulder in a caring fashion. “Dany, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

She gasped, blinking open her eyes. Sam Reese sat on the edge of the bed leaning across, his hand resting on her shoulder. Tearstains glistened against her cheeks, and he reached over, touching her skin with his fingers, making an awkward attempt to remove the wetness.

“You’re all right, lady,” he soothed. “You were crying out and I heard you next door. Just take it easy. Everything is going to be fine.”

The rough caress of his fingers against her face sent a new, aching sensation through her tense body. The musky scent of his masculine body invaded her nostrils, and her heart pounded without restraint. She was captured by the tenderness of his expression, his eyes broadcasting genuine concern. Dany shivered, confused by his care and affection. She pushed his hand away, struggling to sit up and get away from his powerful male body.

“I’m all right,” she gulped, rubbing her face. Her hair fell in blue black sheets about her pale features.

Sam nodded, watching her in silence for long moments. He caressed the crown of her head, his hand barely skimming the surface of her hair. “I was right,” he murmured softly, “you have lovely hair, Dany. You ought to wear it down more often. Makes you look like a princess.” A bashful smile pulled one corner of his mouth, and he hesitantly drew his hand away, resting it against his thigh.

It took a few moments to retrieve her senses. The sun was no longer shining and darkness had claimed the day. She was excruciatingly aware of Sam Reese as he sat quietly beside her, making no further attempt to touch her. Finally, she raised her head, meeting his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized in a thick voice.

“What for? We all have bad dreams every once in a while. I’ve put you through a great deal in just a few days time, Dany, and it’s caught up with you.”

She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t you,” she whispered. “Oh, I’ll admit it’s been hectic and surprising, but that wasn’t it.” She gave a broken, helpless shrug. “Just the past coming back to haunt me again. As usual.”

He pursed his lips, nodding sagely. “You know there’s one sure cure for the past.”

“What’s that?”

“Get involved in the present. Let the past go. It’s dead and gone. You did what you had to do and gave it your best shot.” He forced a weak smile. “Take my word for it, I’ve been there, too.”

Dany chewed on her lower lip, glancing at him. His face was so strong, and yet, an innate gentleness burned in the depth of his slate gray eyes. There was inbred harshness in the lines of his thirty-five-year-old face. The lines which gave his face character had obviously been earned. The furrowed, broad forehead had seen worry, and the creases that fanned from the corner of each eye and the lines around his mouth spoke of laughter, laughter that she wished she could share with him. She gasped at the sudden, unexpected thought, and he must have mistaken her reaction.

“Getting divorced isn’t the end of the world,” he said. “I had my turn at it, too. Tried to put a thoroughbred in a plow horse’s harness, and it just didn’t work.”

Dany smiled tentatively at the expression, watching his eyes cloud with unspoken memories. “I like the way you westerners talk, Sam. You seem to put everything into such simple perspective.”

It was his turn to share a smile, and he clasped her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Simple but effective,” he agreed, sliding off the bed and standing. “Why don’t you take a bath and gradually get yourself back together? Dinner won’t be for another hour.”

“But what about Altair?”

Sam looked out the window and walked over to the drapes, drawing them closed. “Tomorrow morning is the earliest you’re doing anything. If you’d like, I’ll have Martha send up a tray and you can eat here.”

“That sounds wonderful, Sam. I hope I didn’t ruin any plans you had for dinner.…”

“No. I always eat alone anyway. Besides, your comfort comes first.”

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness. What time can we go see Altair tomorrow?”

“Whenever you get up. He’s in the stud barn that sits across from the bunkhouse. Chances are, you’ll sleep in tomorrow.”

“I’ve got news for you. Trainers are up around four-thirty with the dawn. If I sleep past six, I’ll be surprised.”

He nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you be for now. Good night, Dany.”

She heard the tenor in his voice, and it made her want to ask him to stay. The loneliness was evident in the look he gave her, and yet, he wasn’t going to force his will upon her. How vastly different from Jean!

After a delicious meal of beef rump roast, potatoes and peas that Martha brought up, Dany took a long, fragrant bath and then slipped back into bed for the night. This time there were no bad dreams. Only an aching remembrance of Sam’s hand on her cheek wiping her tears away.

Three

She awoke exactly at four-thirty. Dawn was barely breaking its hold on the night as Dany tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen. To her surprise, the coffee had already been made. She poured herself a cup, putting cream and sugar in it, and then walked quietly out the back door. A thin blanket of fog hovered a few feet off the ground throughout the valley. The ranch sat on the southern end of the valley, surrounded on all sides by a thick forest of pines. The restless snort of horses waiting for their feeding hour was a welcome sound. Pulling her coat around her more tightly, Dany grasped the handle of the mug and meandered in the direction of the paddocks and the stable.

Her hair swung with the natural rhythm of her body, the shorter tendrils framing her face from the dampness of the early morning humidity created by the ground fog. She turned the corner of the bunkhouse, catching sight of Sam leaning up against the fence. Dany stopped, her breath catching in her breast as she drank in his unmoving form. The brim of the hat was drawn down across his eyes, the denim jacket molded against the broad expanse of his shoulders and back. One leg was cocked lazily on the last rung of the fence, and he held a steaming mug of coffee in both hands as he seemed to be watching something in the distance. Her gaze traveled the meadow that disappeared out into the white blanket.

There, not much more than a mile away, she could barely make out an outline of a horse standing alertly. She watched as Sam put his fingers to his mouth. A shrill whistle broke the morning stillness. She heard the answering call; the unmistakable bugling scream of a stallion. Sam set the coffee mug on the post and climbed into the paddock, walking toward the horse who appeared magically out of the fog.

Dany shivered as she watched the man and the stallion come together. Sam walked unconcernedly as the giant red stallion strained forward like a huge unstoppable freight train that had no brakes. She stifled a cry of warning, watching the sorrel suddenly veer off to the right and playfully scramble in a circle about the man. It had to be Altair! She released her held breath, awed by the sight of the magnificent thoroughbred. Altair reared, pawing his front legs through the air, and then came down only a few feet from Sam, snorting vehemently. It was as if the two males were squaring off at one another, each king of his own special domain. Danielle stood transfixed by the beauty and rugged handsomeness of the spectacle. Sam spoke in a quiet, firm tone to the stallion, holding out his hand. Altair’s small ears twitched, and he turned his intelligent eyes upon the man, snorting again. Pawing restlessly, the stallion flicked his thick flaxen tail, and bent his head to take the treat.

She walked toward them as Altair nibbled the offering from Sam’s hand. By the time she got to the fence, they had both seen her. Sam put his arm across the stallion’s neck and led him over to the fence.

“Good morning. I see you caught us at our favorite game.”

“For a moment I thought he was going to run you over,” she admitted.

“He’s been known to do that to people he didn’t like. Come here, Altair. I want to introduce your new rider and trainer.” He pulled the horse by the mane, and the stallion docilely complied.

Dany flinched inwardly at the word “rider.” She did not share Sam’s belief that she could be one. Her eyes widened in appreciation, noting the thoroughbred’s impeccable conformation. Altair nuzzled her arm, his nostrils flaring as he caught her scent. She watched him carefully; she never really trusted any stallion. They were male animals ruled by an instinctive sexual drive and not capable of thinking, only reacting.

Sam stood back, admiring both of them, his hands on his hips. “He certainly seems to take to you. Of course, he’d be stupid not to.”

Dany smiled distantly, keenly assessing the stallion’s personality, watching his ears and the look in his large brown eyes. “He’s far from stupid, Sam. And I can see he allows very few people to tell him what to do.”

Sam laughed, joining her at the fence. “No one tells Altair a thing. They have to ask.” And then he frowned, picking up his coffee mug and taking a sip from it. “Which is where I’ve run into a lot of trouble with his riders lately. They treat him like an unthinking animal with only four legs and the power of a runaway truck. They don’t realize he’s thinking in his own terms and his forte is correctly judging complicated jumps. He’s a dynamic hunter who will challenge everything except a water obstacle.”

Dany ran her fingers down the stallion’s sleek, silky neck, enjoying the play of muscles beneath his skin. She noted with a sinking feeling that long thin scars marred his beautiful copper coat. “My God, who did this to him?” she whispered, running her fingers along one scar that ran the length of his left shoulder. Her heart turned over in compassion as she noted several more scars around his mouth and across the top of his nose.

Sam came around, affectionately scratching Altair’s ears. “Remember me telling you that the wrangler who captured him tried to break his spirit?” he asked huskily.

Dany looked up, aware of the simmering anger hidden in his voice and reflected in his eyes. “This is outright cruelty!” she protested, her voice strangled with emotion. Gently, she reached up, caressing Altair’s scarred muzzle. The stallion moved away from her hand, the white of his eye showing as he took another step backward. She shook her head. “I don’t blame him for jerking away,” she said tightly. “What did they do, use wire to try and keep his head and nose down?”

“Yes. It didn’t work, but it made him head shy with everyone except me.” Sam gave her a smile of encouragement. “And I think he’ll eventually let you touch his mouth without going crazy. I can see he’s already responding to you in a way he’s never done before with anyone else.”

“Typical male.”

“Yes, and thank God you’re the one to help him over some of his worst faults,” Sam said fervently. “Altair may not appreciate your beauty, but I do.” He grinned and playfully put his arm across the stallion’s neck and leaned against him.

“How do you get the bit into his mouth if he’s head shy?”

Sam pursed his mouth, casting a troubled glance in her direction. “Very carefully. We use the snaffle only when he shows in the dressage portion of the show.”

Dany gave him an incredulous look. “What on earth do you use, then?” It was beyond comprehension in her mind to ride an eventing horse without a bit in his mouth! Riding over a thousand pounds of horseflesh at twenty-five to thirty miles an hour over a grueling, dangerous course without the control of a bit was impossible to comprehend. No wonder Altair has injured his previous riders, she thought, experiencing a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“We use an aluminum hackamore, Dany.”

She searched her memory for the use of the training device. Hackamores were invented for the horse that wouldn’t carry a bit in its mouth. The rawhide or aluminum loop fit around the muzzle and when it was pulled on, it exerted pressure against sensitive nerve endings that lay on either cheek of the horse’s jaw. She gave Sam a distrustful look. “Is that why the riders have been injured?”

“No. Do you think I’d ask you to ride and train him if he wasn’t manageable?” he demanded.

She bristled. “At this moment, I think anything is possible! You bind me with a contract that was signed by my ex-husband and practically blackmail me to fly me out here to retrain this horse.” She was aware of the effort he was making to control his temper as his gray eyes darkened like ominous thunderclouds.

“I’m not in the habit of risking people’s lives, particularly a woman who I think can salvage my stallion and bring him into his own. I need you alive, not dead, Dany. Sure, he can be dangerous because of his past. But he’s responsive. Altair is not deliberately cruel or vicious. God knows, he ought to be, for what he’s suffered. But look at him. Does he look unsafe?”

As if listening to the heated conversation between them, Altair walked between them, head down, standing quietly while they glared across his back at one another. Dany put her hands on her hips in defiance.

“I won’t ride him unless he’s got a bit in his mouth, that’s final.”

“Fine. You find a way to do it, and we’ll both be happy. He’s extremely responsive to the hackamore, though.”

She shook her head. “Sam Reese, either you’re the most eccentric man I’ve ever met with an even more eccentric horse or—”

“We’re both unique,” he interrupted. His gaze lingered on her. “And so are you. You’re one of a kind, lady. Just the gal to help Altair to become the best Grand Prix jumper in the world.”

She didn’t know how to react to his backhanded compliments, and was continually uncomfortable beneath his warming, caressing gaze. “Tell me what else he has problems with,” she muttered. “The fly in the ointment, no doubt.”

“He doesn’t like water. He’ll damn near do anything to avoid it. Including dumping his rider into an oxer or earth bank.”

Dany looked over at him. “Did your riders quit, or were they killed?”

Sam managed a sour grin. “None killed. One got hurt pretty seriously, and he was out of action for two months. It was after Tony’s fall that I decided I wasn’t going to risk anyone’s life until I could get Richland Stables to honor its commitment.”

Dany frowned, allowing Altair to nuzzle her hair with his velvety nose. “Are you going to let me help you, big boy?” she asked the stallion, giving him a playful pat on the forehead. Altair backed away, snorting. A mare from another pasture whickered a greeting, and the sorrel thoroughbred raised his magnificent head, standing like a marble statue. He bugled out an answering call, the sound raucous and harsh to their ears. Sam smiled and slipped between the railings.

“That’s his way of making sweet talk to them.”

“He’s a nice-looking horse, Sam. So I can’t blame the mares for wanting to entice him over to their paddocks,” she grudgingly admitted.

He took her arm and led her down toward the stable. “We’ve got his yearling crop in here. I bred him to five of my best broodmares. Let’s see what you think of the results.” Dany reviewed the thoroughbred yearlings and stood in the passage between the large, roomy boxstalls with Sam. “That’s simply amazing,” she admitted. “There’s a uniformity in conformation I’ve rarely seen. Each one looks like a stamp of Altair.”

“Exactly. He’s prepotent as hell. I bred him to five different bloodlines to see how his genes would affect the mare’s breeding line. In every case, his stamp came out,” Sam said, sounding somewhat incredulous. “The legs on every yearling are absolutely straight. They’re bred to withstand the strain of jumping.”

Dany smiled. “And you can hardly wait for them to mature enough to put them on the circuit, right?”

He walked her out of the barn, and they ambled at a slow pace toward the house. The sun was barely edging the tip of the Sierras, sending streamers of light through the fog as the thickened mist began to evaporate. The cobalt blue sky turned a shade paler as the sun ascended across the peaks, promising another cool spring day. She was aware of his body only inches from her own, and once again, her skin prickled with a pleasurable tingle as his arm occasionally brushed against her.

Halting at the back porch, he pushed the hat off his forehead, watching her closely. “Well, what do you think? Is he reason enough to stay on?”

She avoided his gray eyes. Instead, she turned her back to him, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. “Please don’t think my decision has anything to do with Altair’s conformation or potential, Sam.” She girded herself inwardly, closing her eyes tightly for a moment. “But I can’t stay. This is too strange an environment for me to stay here. I’m used to the Eastern circuit, and I’m familiar with the people and the land.”

“You’re the only woman capable of bringing Altair around,” he growled.

Dany gritted her teeth. The man was stubborn! Irritation stirred to life within her, and she compressed her lips and turned, meeting his fiery gaze. Part of her resolve disappeared immediately. Sam Reese was no longer pleasant-looking in any sense of the word. He was towering over her, his eyes an angry silver hue. She took a step back, feeling the masculine aura of strength so sharply that it made her dizzy.

“It’s not the training aspect that bothers me,” she managed, her voice strident.

“Then what the hell is it?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it, her sapphire eyes glittering with golden fire. Why did she want to escape? Was she running from Sam? Or her fear of having to ride in shows? She sensed her body’s own hungry needs that had lain dormant for over nine months. She didn’t want a careless affair with him. He was able to manipulate her as no other man ever had, and it frightened her thoroughly. “I’m turning your offer down, it’s as simple as that.”

Sam smiled savagely. “Nothing’s as simple as that, Mrs. Daguerre. Remember, there’s been a contract signed, and I’ll hold you to it if I have to.”

Her nostrils flared with contempt. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“What are you running from?” he asked, his voice suddenly lined with impatience. He reached out, grabbing her arm and drawing her near. “Sorry,” he breathed thickly, “but you’re too good a trainer and I need you for that horse out there. I don’t care what you’re running from, but you aren’t leaving this commitment. You’ll fulfill the obligations.”

Dany muffled a curse, jerking her arm away from his branding fingers of fire on her skin. “You—you bastard,” she hissed. “All right,” she blurted out in reckless abandon, “I’ll stay! But keep away from me while I’m training that horse. Do you hear me? I don’t want a thing to do with you!”

She rubbed her bruised arm, taking two more steps away from him. God, how she hated that composed, implacable look on his stony face. How had she led herself to think it was as simple as flying out to his ranch? His tenderness and care from the night before had thrown her off guard. Well, his true personality was now surfacing. He was just as arrogant and imperious as that stallion of his. Her lips curled away from her teeth. “I despise you for thinking you can run my life for me, Mr. Reese. You’re so used to molding everything to the way you want it. It’s obvious you come from generations of men who are used to getting their way. Well, you may get your way for a while, but as soon as I’m done with Altair, I’m leaving. And I don’t care if I have to run away in the dead of night to do it!”

Sam smiled lazily, beginning to relax. He pulled the brim of the cowboy hat down across his eyes. “If you leave, you’ll find yourself in high country full of cougar, bear and bobcat. And at this time of year, they’re coming out of a hard winter and they’re hungry. So forget that idea.”

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