Desiree Holt - Slapping Leather

The Texas summer sun beat down like a blast furnace, the faint breeze doing little except to stir the rich scents of horseflesh, earth and hay. Elizabeth Gillibrand had been working a new cutting horse in the corral and she was tired, dirty and sweaty. Her clothes stuck to her like a second skin, her jeans, the tank top and the work shirt she wore knotted over it. She took off her straw hat, fanned herself and jammed the hat back on her head. Right now the shower she’d been thinking of all day was looking mighty damn good.

“Hey, Liz.” Scotty Masters, her lead trainer, walked out of the nearest barn. “Another horse trailer’s coming down the road. Where do you want it?”

She turned from where she stood at the corral fence and watched the big pickup hauling the trailer approach with wings of dust pluming behind it. They hadn’t had rain for so long everything around was drier and hotter than hell. She looked back at Scotty and shrugged.

“We’ve only got one empty stall in the first barn right now,” she told him. “Let’s get her unloaded and see if she likes her new home.”

She knew without seeing it that the logo on the side of the truck was just one word. Stanton. That’s all it needed. In their small community everyone knew who the Stantons were. Money. Power. Politics. Whatever. And Dean and Loretta Stanton were indulging their daughter’s burning desire to be a competitive barrel racer.

The horse was brand new. It would be up to Liz and her staff to ready her for the first sessions with young Trish, then start the girl on the arduous trek to becoming one with a horse. The key to successful barrel racing. To winning.

By the time the truck had pulled into the wide gravel parking area, Scotty stood next to her holding a clipboard.

“This gives us a full house, Liz. Think we can handle it all?”

She gave him her usually tight business smile. “We can handle anything, Scotty, and don’t you forget it.”

The Lucky L Ranch had a reputation as the place to train cutting horses and barrel racers, a reputation the late owner John Loughlin had built with hard work and sweat. When Liz came to work for him five years earlier as head trainer, she’d never expected him to become the family she’d never had. Or to have him leave the entire facility to her when he dropped dead a few months ago of a heart attack. The loss still hurt, but she hadn’t had the luxury of grieving. Not with a business to run and vultures hovering all the time.

Her practiced smile became second nature as she fought resentment from the men who now worked for her, experienced hands and trainers who’d been here longer than she had. Who hadn’t been prepared for a female boss they still saw as an interloper even after all this time. She’d never thought of herself as particularly tough, but she’d had to grow leather for a skin this past year and it was about to get on her last nerve. Why were men such assholes, anyway?

“Looks like Stanton’s got a new driver.” Scotty nodded at the man climbing out of the truck.

Liz glanced at him and nearly did a double take. Oh my hot Texas lord .

Walking toward her, with the familiar loose-hipped gait of a man who spent a lot of time on horseback, was six-foot-four of broad, well-muscled hunk. The worn jeans and a chambray work shirt with the sleeves rolled up clung to him like a second skin. As he drew closer she saw that his tanned face had a square jaw and a straight nose. When he took off his sunglasses, the hottest blue eyes she’d ever seen seemed to pierce right through her.

He held out his hand. “Alex Wright.”

“Elizabeth Gillibrand. Liz.”

She was amazed she could get her name out. And what the hell was that all about? She never reacted to a man like that. Any man. In fact, it had been so long since she’d been with any man at all, she thought she might have forgotten what they were all about. Liz couldn’t remember the last time her hormones had even recognized how sexy a man could be.

Her situation at the ranch demanded she keep herself under tight control at all times. Give one little inch and the hands just waiting for her to fail would run all over her. She didn’t seem to be able to turn off that need for personal iron discipline in a social situation, something that was beginning to worry her.

Not to mention the personal history she had no intention of ever telling anyone about. It really was history and it should stay there.

So don’t make an idiot of yourself in front of this man .

She took Alex Wright’s hand, stunned at the sizzle of electricity that raced into her body. Then he smiled at her and everything but her panties melted. Holy shit. She yanked her hand back and wiped it on her jeans. She was suddenly aware of her grimy appearance, of the way her sweat-dampened top stuck to her breasts and emphasized her nipples. Damn.

“I guess you’re new over at the Stanton place,” she babbled.

He grinned and she actually felt heat race through her.

Stop, stop, stop .

“Actually Loretta Stanton’s my sister. I happened to be at the ranch and volunteered to make the delivery. Thought it would give me a chance to see the place I’d heard so much about. Especially since my niece will be training here.”

“Oh, um, yes. Well. Uh, would you like the nickel tour?”

“Sure. Just as soon as we get Jester unloaded.”

Jester. The horse. Yes. Tend to business, Liz .

“I’ll take care of it.” Scotty was right there at her elbow. “Let’s get the horse out of the trailer, and I’ll show Jester her new home.”

“Oh. Thanks, Scotty.”

Normally, she would have brushed him aside and taken over herself, but somehow her wits seemed to have left her and she couldn’t put two thoughts together. She stepped back while the two men let down the trailer ramp and Alex walked softly into the trailer to stand beside the horse, speaking to her soothingly. He and Scotty backed the quarter horse out slowly, then he snapped a lead onto her halter and Scotty led her into the barn.

“Come on,” Liz said, “I’ll show you the rest of the place first. By the time we finish, Jester will be settled nice and comfy.”

Liz walked Alex around the corral where one of the trainers trained a new cutting horse. In the furthest facility some of the other trainers worked with clients in the big air-conditioned indoor ring while observers watched from a high glass-enclosed gallery. She explained how they set up a training schedule and what they looked for in both horse and rider.

Then she led him through the middle barn where workers were busy grooming horses and measuring out feed. Finally, they were back in the front barn to the stall Liz had prepared for Jester. The beautiful quarter horse was munching contentedly on fresh hay.

“You have a great facility here,” Alex commented as they watched Jester.

“Thanks. I wish I could take credit for it, but that really goes to John Loughlin. He worked hard to build this.”

Alex’s face sobered. “We were all shocked when he passed away so suddenly. No one in the community was even aware he had a heart problem.”

“We weren’t either,” she said. “He was in the tack room when the attack hit. At least one of the trainers was with him.”

And what a shocking day that had been. Liz didn’t think she’d ever forget it. Even now it still gave her a sick feeling. That wonderful man, the most father she’d ever known, gone like the snap of a finger.

“He obviously had a lot of confidence in you,” Alex commented. “Leaving this place to you.”