The Cowboy's Secret (Cowboys After Dark: Book 3) (3 page)

Amelia stood, mesmerized, as the animal began to canter, it’s gait carrying it across the ground with a huge stride, but a moment later her heart stopped; the horse was heading straight for the fence.

Her eyes scanned the immediate area; there didn’t appear to be anyone in sight, and shifting her gaze back to the animal she saw the telltale prick of the ears as it galloped forward without hesitating.

Oh, Lord, he’s gonna jump the damn thing.

Before she had barely finished her thought the horse was in the air, knees tucked under its chin, clearing the fence easily, and when it landed it began to buck and play.

Whether it was thrilled to be out of the field, or thrilled to have jumped she didn’t know, nor did she care; instinct kicked in. Racing to her car she moved it forward to block the driveway, all the while watching the amazing animal continuing to play, and grabbing a halter from the backseat she started up the driveway.

The big grey had paused in its antics, but its tail was in the air, it’s head was high, and its nostrils were flared. The horse was snorting, clearly immensely proud of itself, and as she slowly approached it turned his head and stared at her.

Clint had just sent Stephanie Lewis on her way, her bottom soundly spanked for a relapse in her spending habits, and had been inside in his house making a snack at the kitchen counter when he’d witnessed the thoroughbred-warmblood cross launch itself in the air, clearing the four-foot fence like it was a pole on the ground. Stunned, he’d grabbed his phone to alert his crew, and as he’d raced outside he’d seen some smart, quick-thinking person drive their SUV to help block the exit to the road.

Jumping in his golf cart he’d zipped down the driveway, and noticed the person from the Jeep was a woman. She was walking towards the horse with a halter in her hand, and the horse was standing utterly still, watching her.

Damn, whoever she sure knows what she’s was doing,
he thought, slowing his pace.

Looking down to the barn he saw his two cowboys, Mitch and Zane, running towards him, and he raised his hand signaling them to stop, not wanting them to dash down the driveway and disrupt the calm the woman had created.

“Who is that?” Zane frowned as he approached

“I have no idea,” Clint replied, “but she’s one smart horse handler. You boys stay here, block the driveway from this end,” Clint instructed, picking up a halter and lead rope from the back of the golf cart. “I’m goin’ down in case she needs me.”

Over the years, Amelia had discovered a trilling sound that calmed most of the horses that heard it, and as she neared she put it to practice. To her relief and joy, the horse dropped its head and sighed loudly.

“Hey there, I don’t know if you’re a beautiful girl or a handsome fella, but you’re sure gorgeous.”

Fishing in her pocket she prayed she’d find some peppermints. She’d never met a horse who didn’t love them, and every time she left a restaurant she’d grab a few. Continuing to talk quietly as her fingers continued their hunt, she smiled when she felt it. She was drawing closer, and as she began to unwrap the plastic from the pink and white candy the horse’s curiosity grew.

“You’ve had treats out of pockets before, haven’t you? Yes, you have, and I have one for you too.”

Her voice was soft, and she added the trilling sound at the end of each sentence, keeping the animal’s attention.

“You are huge,” she smiled looking up at him.

Extending her flattened palm with the peppermint sitting innocently in the middle, she watched as the horse dropped its nose, sniffed, then gently lifted the candy with its lips.

As it happily crunched the hard candy, Amelia slowly placed the lead rope around its neck, stood for a moment, then slid on the halter.

“There you go,” she whispered, stroking its neck. “Now let’s see if we can find someone to take care of you.”

“I’m right here,” Clint announced.

He had moved silently down the driveway, and not wanting to interfere had stopped several yards away.

“My goodness, I didn’t see you there,” she said, surprised by his appearance.

“I know, you were so focused, it was impressive,” he smiled. “I’m Clint Hogan.”

“Hi, I’m Amelia Anderson, and who is this I’m holding?”

“Jiminy Cricket,” he grinned.

“Jiminy Cricket?” she laughed. “What a brilliant name. It sure fits. He jumped that fence like it was a cross-rail,” she declared. “Did you see it?”

“Sure did. My jaw dropped. I feel kinda embarrassed. He just came in and I knew he was a jumper. I should’ve found a better place to put him. Never occurred to me he’d jump clean out like that,” Clint confessed, taking the lead rope from her and walking the horse towards Mitch and Zane.

“You don’t have paddocks with higher fences?”

“There’s a large corral near the barn that has some equipment in it. I can put him in there, but he’d have to go in the barn ’til it’s cleaned out,” Clint remarked, “but hate to do it, he needs space.”

“Don’t you have a round pen that would hold him?” she asked.

“Damn, that’s exactly what I’ll do,” he frowned. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

He handed the horse off to Zane with instructions to clean out the corral near the barn as quickly as possible, and to put Jiminy in the round pen until it was completed.

“Mighty obliged to you,” he smiled, turning back to her. “He could have run out into the road, anything could’ve happened to him. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure,” she smiled. “He’s beautiful, it was an honor to meet him.”

“Do you have a ranch around here?” he asked, thinking he would have remembered her if he’d seen her in town.

“As of about two weeks ago,” she sighed. “I just bought a place, getting ready to make it livable for both me and my horses.”

As Clint looked at her it occurred to him that she wasn’t just a skilled horse handler, she was a very attractive woman.

Easy there, you know what you promised yourself.

Hey, I haven’t shared so much as a cup of coffee with a woman in over two years. Give me a break. She’s a nice lady, a good horsewoman, what’s the harm?

What’s the harm? Seriously?

“Are you all right, Mr. Hogan?”

“What? Yes, fine, sorry,” he apologized, suddenly realizing he’d been wordlessly staring at her. “Please, call me Clint. Would you like to come up to the house for a coffee?”

“Thank you, I would,” she replied. “The truth is, I stopped because I was admiring your fencing, and I was hoping to ask you about your shelters. I’ve never put a horse facility together before and I could use some advice,”
and you’re kinda handsome. In fact, you’re really handsome. Do you have a Mrs. Hogan, or a wanna be Mrs. Hogan?

“I’d be happy to help if I can,” he smiled back. “Jump in, I was just makin’ some lunch. If you have the time…”

“That’s very kind of you, yes I do.”

You’re takin’ her into your house.

Yeah, I know.

Be careful, Clint.

Down near the barn, Jiminy had just been released in the round pen, and Zane and Mitch were headed to the corral when Zane heard the golf cart start up the driveway.

“Hey, Mitch, look at that.”

Staring up Mitch let out a low whistle.

“Is he takin’ her up to the house?” he asked.

“Seems like.” Zane nodded.

“Damn, I never thought I’d see that,” Mitch remarked. “Had to happen at some point, I guess.”

“Yep,” Zane repeated. “God didn’t make men to be alone, no matter how bad we want it sometimes. Maybe he’s figurin’ that out…finally.”

A
s Clint ushered her through the front door the first thing Amelia noticed was how well the house was furnished, and how neat and tidy everything was, but as he led her through the warm, masculine living room towards the kitchen, she saw no evidence of a woman’s touch, nor any photographs that suggested a special someone in his life.

“I was just makin’ a salad,” he remarked, “got some leftover lasagna in the oven.”

“That sounds terrific,” she smiled. “This is so kind of you.”

“You just did me a huge favor,” he replied,
and you don’t know it, but this is definitely weird for me.
“Have a seat, would you like some coffee?”

“Sure, thank you,” she replied, pulling out a stool from under the kitchen island. “I have to ask, Jiminy, he’s not exactly the typical horse you have here, or am I wrong?”

“You’re not wrong. We train and sell barrel racers and western pleasure horses here. Jiminy came in yesterday, one of those freak things.”

“Will he be staying?” she asked as he put the coffee in front of her.

“Yep, not sure how long though. A good friend of mine in New York State has twin daughters. One’s a barrel racer, the other one, Caitlin, wants to be a jumper rider. Apparently Jiminy was too much for her,” he explained.

“But they sent him here, to a western ranch? I’m not sure I understand.”

“The girls took off to college and Matt got tired of paying the barn and trainin’ bills, so he asked me if I’d take care of them while the girls are away. I’m sure he’ll end up wantin’ to sell Jiminy though. From what he said Caitlin’s eyes were bigger than her stomach with that one. He just doesn’t have the time to deal with it, so I was happy to help him out.”

“He’s got a huge stride and a scopey jump. He’s just gorgeous,” Amelia remarked. “Mind you I love greys. They’re a bit different.”

“How do you mean?” he frowned, as he finished making the salad.

“It’s hard to explain, I’m not even sure I know the answer myself. They’ve got more going on upstairs than the average bear; I’ll leave it at that,” she smiled. “Can I help you with anything?”

“No, I’m good,” he replied, moving to a cabinet and retrieving two plates. “I have to be honest, I’m not used to company so I wouldn’t know how to delegate in my kitchen.”

“Your house is so beautiful. May I ask how many bedrooms? Three, four?”

“Uh, two plus my master, and a study,” he replied, placing a scoop of the salad on both plates, then wanting to change the subject he asked, “What kind of horses do you have?”

“I rescue thoroughbreds off the track, and other horses I run across that I think I can help. I rehabilitate them, make them people happy, start them over fences, or if they’re better suited, under saddle for dressage. I sell them, but I’m fanatical about making sure the homes are right, and believe me I follow up. I know where all my horses have landed. I have a couple myself of course. My love is jumping.”

“You said you wanted some advice,” he remarked, pulling the lasagna out of the oven. “What kind of advice do you mean? It sounds like you’re pretty experienced.”

“Your shelters. Why are they at odd angles?”

“The sun. That angle provides the most shelter, and we get winds from the North,” he answered. “They can bring up dust. Do you eat a lot?”

“Not really, just a big spoonful would be great. That’s interesting. I’ll have to study my paddocks and figure that out.”

“I’d be happy to come and take a look if you want,” he offered.

You would? What exactly are you doing?

Bein’ neighborly.

Sure you are!

“That would be terrific,” she smiled. “Thank you. I’ve rented a cottage until my place is ready to live in, but it’s not far from the property. I was thinking about bringing my horses down regardless, but I’m not sure about having them here during the renovations. I just hate to think of them at home in stalls, getting out for an hour a day for a turnout. Makes me crazy.”

“Horses don’t belong in cages,” he grunted, “no animals do.”

Picking up both plates he carried them to the kitchen table; it was set against a picture window that overlooked the property below.

“This is such a great spot. You can see your paddocks so clearly,” she remarked as she followed him and sat down.

“Yep. I have a study but I spend most of my time at this table. I bring my calculator and work out here. Problem is I spend too much time gazin’ and not enough time workin’.”

“I can understand why,” she sighed. “How long have you been here?”

“About two years I guess,” he replied, shifting in his seat.

“This lasagna is delicious, did you make it yourself?” Amelia asked, wanting to change the subject, sensing her question had made him uncomfortable.

“There’s a restaurant that turns into a bar at night called Tom’s Tavern. It’s just about five minutes from here. I buy a pan of this and freeze portions of it. Lasts me while.”

“Really? Where is this place? I was looking for somewhere to have lunch on my way over here, though this is certainly much nicer than sitting in a place by myself. Thanks again.”

“Yeah, eatin’ alone, it can get to you,” he frowned, “anyway, when you go back on the main road take the first turnin’ before town. Tom’s is just about a mile down on the left. It’s the local waterin’ hole, but Tom’s a really good cook,” Clint replied. “Try his spicy french fries. He cuts the potatoes up real fat, covers ’em with cayenne pepper, and some other stuff that he won’t tell anyone about. Man they’re good.”

“Tom’s Tavern, I’ll remember that. Maybe I’ll stop in there tonight,” she said lightly,
and maybe if you’re so inclined, you might come and see if I’m there.

“How many horses have you got?” he asked.

“Right now I have five,” she answered, wondering if he’d changed the subject deliberately, “but I have three more waiting for me. I have to collect them in the next month or they’re toast,” she groaned. “What about you?”

“I’ve got anywhere from ten to fifteen. Just depends on the business.”

A telephone rang in the background, and excusing himself he rose from the table and moved into the living room to answer it.

Staring out at the ranch she scanned the area and saw a large barn, what looked like an expansive riding ring, and two round pens, one of which was inhabited by the big grey gelding who was having a wonderful time sniffing and rolling, then rolling some more.

“Half an hour won’t work. Give me an hour…okay forty-five minutes then.”

His voice was hushed, but his words had been clear, and as he sauntered back to the table she thought his face looked a little red.