Linda Goodnight - Sometimes When We Kiss

“I stayed on him way more than eight seconds. In a rodeo arena, I’d have won money. Would you have?”

“Guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we won’t,” she said with a hint of mocking sarcasm. “Breaking the horses is my job. I’m the trainer. And that paint happens to be a special case, more difficult than most, but I promised his owner he’d end up as gentle as a dog. I’ll keep that promise no matter how long it takes.”

“There are new techniques available. Have you tried any of them?”

She shifted, uncomfortable under the growing heat and annoying buzz of buffalo gnats as well as his assumption that her training techniques were lacking.

“What are you? A horse whisperer or something?”

His mouth kicked up and brought with it that insolent dimple. “Maybe.”

“Well, I happen to know what I’m doing. Granddad taught me to break horses from the time I could ride. His methods worked then and they work now. I don’t need some rodeo cowboy turned horse psychologist to tell me how a horse thinks and why he behaves the way he does. Breaking that paint is a matter of wearing him down.”

“Mind if I give him a try?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I do mind.” So what if he’d spent most of his life riding broncs, both saddle and bareback. He wasn’t a trainer. He was a rodeo performer. She could do this job better.

He shrugged. “Have it your way, but you’re paying me a salary whether I do anything or not.”

“Consider yourself unhired.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t look one bit contrite. “Your granddaddy hired me. He’s the only one who can fire me.”

Shannon rolled her eyes heavenward. “I need to have a talk with my grandfather.”

Jackson slouched against the paddock gate, unwrapped another Dum-Dum—a green one this time—and shot her his cockiest smile. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

Jackson tipped his hat back and watched her go, admiring the cute little jiggle of her perfect backside encased in tight jeans. The worn spot between the pockets where she’d spent hours in the saddle was especially appealing. Not that he’d tell sweet Shannon that. She’d likely punch him in the nose.

She’d changed in ten years. And he sure wasn’t complaining about that. At eighteen she’d been a girl, fresh as the outdoors and full of promise. The promise had been fulfilled. Today she was all woman, rounded in the right spots, and full of vinegar. He liked a little fire and sass in a woman. Shannon with her blue eyes and sun-blond hair barely reached his shirt pocket, but she could definitely hold her own. He looked forward to reminiscing in a more practical manner.

But first he’d have to get past that bad attitude she had toward him, a reaction that surprised him. He’d had no idea he’d left a burr under her saddle. Sure, they’d played around back then, had a good time, but it wasn’t as if they’d been in love. Love? He almost shivered in spite of the warm day. They’d only spent a summer together, and at nineteen he hadn’t known diddly about love. To tell the truth, he was nearly thirty and he still didn’t know anything about the troublesome emotion. Didn’t want to know either.

What he did know about was horses. And her grandfather had sense enough to know that if he was ever going to expand his training and breaking facility he needed a top-notch trainer. Shannon may not like change, but her ideas were as antiquated as a crank telephone. He, on the other hand, had spent years studying under the best so-called horse whisperers, gleaning their techniques, adding some of his own. And he was good, though only a few knew it—so far.

During his rodeo years he’d helped other cowboys with rank mounts, but he’d had no real chance to prove himself in a larger capacity. That was all about to change.

From the moment he’d discovered Aunt Bonnie’s financial troubles, he’d made up his mind to come back to Rattlesnake and help out. After all, she’d been there for him when he was four years old and his mother had jumped ship, leaving his bewildered father to raise a child alone. The kicker was Bonnie was his dad’s aunt, not his, but she’d rearranged her entire life to raise him. She’d tossed over her job and had even waited to marry until Jackson was a teenager and old enough to look out for himself. He owed her big time.

He didn’t have a lot of money, but regardless of what he had to do, nobody was foreclosing on his aunt’s small home.

This job would help. And it would also propel him toward his dream. Though he’d shared the vision with no one else in case he fell on his face like a fool, Jackson had a dream that had kept him going for a long time. Someday, he’d run his own symposia on horse training and people would come from all over the country to have Jackson Kane teach them his methods. He’d take the rankest horses in the land and turn them into docile pets, well-disciplined ranch animals or fine rodeo stock.

In the meantime, he’d find a way to save Aunt Bonnie’s home and make sure she was well taken care of in her old age. That was the least he could do.

The paint gelding Shannon had called Domino wandered back toward the arena, anxiously eyeing the cowboy but clearly hoping to make his way back inside the shady barn. Jackson gnawed at the sour-apple candy and held back a smile. Old Domino had a weakness. He wondered if Shannon had noticed.

Emitting a low whistle, he waited for the horse’s reaction. As he suspected, the paint stopped dead still, flicked his ears forward and winded the strange cowboy.

Patience. That’s what a trainer needed with a horse like Domino. So Jackson leaned against the iron gate, relaxed but watchful, waiting for the horse to come to him.

He didn’t have to wait long. The gelding, tail swishing at flies, ears twitching, lowered his head and plodded toward him.

Jackson extended a hand to stroke the warm, smooth neck and inhaled the rich, animal scent. His chest strained toward contentment.

Yep. This was where he needed to be. Right here where horses were already boarded and ready to train, a ranch with a good, solid reputation. And regardless of Shannon’s attitude or resistance, Jackson Kane was here to stay. At least for the time being.

Shannon knew better than to slam the door. Although she was a grown woman, Granddad would send her back outside and make her close the door like a lady. So even if she didn’t feel much like a lady right now, she paused inside the office door and took three cleansing breaths.

Her grandfather looked up. “What’s got you in a snit?”

So much for her efforts at self-control. “I’m not in a snit, but we do need to talk. Why didn’t you tell me you’d hired Jackson Kane to work for us?”

Her grandfather laid aside his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Since his heart attack, he’d aged, and though he was seventy, Shannon had always considered him a rock until now. She’d been three when her parents had died in a car wreck and her widowed grandfather had taken her to raise. He was all the family she’d ever known and the thought of losing him scared her half to death.

Now she worried about him constantly. Nagged him to eat better, to rest more, and not to worry over her and the ranch. But she knew he did anyway.

“Now that I’m a useless old goat,” he said, “you’ve got to have some help around here.”

“But why Jackson?”

“Why not? He’s a cowboy, a mighty fine horseman, and seems like an honest enough feller.”

“How can you possibly know all that about a man who’s practically a stranger?”

“Colt Garret.”

“Oh.” Granddad would trust Colt Garret with his life. If Colt vouched for Jackson, her grandfather wouldn’t blink an eye about handing him the keys to the ranch.