Pamela Britton - A Cowboy's Angel

She couldn’t retreat to the far end of the island fast enough. She nearly lost her appetite when he took a seat next to her.

“Do you like it?”

Had she taken a bite? Goodness, she hadn’t even noticed. “Yes. It’s great.”

And it was. Great cook. Good man. Gorgeous dimples. Crap.

She’d finished half her plate before she said another word, and then only to say, “Thanks for cooking.”

“My pleasure.”

Was there any way she could get up and move without seeming rude? Probably not. So she forced herself to stop eating and say, “I really think with a few months of therapy, Dasher could be sound enough to ride. Not to race, of course, but good enough to go on to a career as a show horse or something. I’d want to see the ultrasounds Dr. Miller took today, of course, just to make sure, but I don’t anticipate I’ll change my mind. A torn suspensory is a torn suspensory.”

“I’ll have them for you first thing in the morning.”

“It’s okay. Take your time. He’s going to need at least a month off. Then we’ll get to work.”

“You’re going to help me rehab him?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

She couldn’t take it anymore. She hopped up, scooping her plate up with her. “I’ll do your dishes for you.”

“Hell, no, you won’t.” He jumped up, too, grabbing her arm and turning her around midstep. “Let me take that.”

Instinctively, she pulled her arm back. He closed the distance and reached for her plate. Their midsections brushed. Her cheeks heated like a nuclear reactor. She tried to step away, but the counter kept her from moving.

“Thanks,” he said softly, taking the plate from her and setting it on the counter behind her.

Should she dart past him? Push him out of the way? What?

The man clearly read the dilemma in her eyes.

“Now what are you going to do?” he teased softly.

Chapter Four

If she’d still been holding the plate, she would have smashed it over his head, Zach thought, trying not to laugh.

“Let me go.”

Her whole body had tensed. Her eyes briefly darted to his lips. She couldn’t look at them for long.

Maybe it was all the times she’d caused him grief at the track. Maybe it was because she tried so hard to pretend there was nothing between them when it was clear as day that there was. Whatever the reason, he liked messing with her. Something about her gorgeous red hair and flashing brown eyes. Something that challenged him. No. Something that defied him. Her eyes seemed to silently accuse him of pushing her buttons on purpose...and he did.

“I thought you had a proposition for me,” he whispered.

He saw her gulp, as if she suspected he meant a different type of proposition but didn’t dare call him on it. “I do.”

Her hands had stopped pushing. They lay flat against him in a spot somewhere between his breastbone and his abdomen, and it was all he could do not to bring their lower sections together again. Then he felt it, the gentle flexing of her fingers, the tips of them pressing against his chest, sliding downward.

Agh.

He let go. But when he looked in her eyes, he knew. She’d known exactly the type of proposition he’d had in mind—and it’d infuriated her.

“My proposition was to treat all of your injured horses, not just Dasher.” She was shorter than him but somehow she managed to look down her nose. “I recognize they’re under the care of Dr. Miller, but I can help them in a way he can’t, free of charge.”

He’d gone from being amused to feeling like a putz in two seconds flat. “How do you know I have more than one injured horse?”

“Track gossip says you have three, and that one of them is still undiagnosed despite spending a small fortune in vet fees.”

Holy—he’d have to talk to his staff about blabbing to perfect strangers.

“One of them had a fractured sesamoid. There’s not much you can do about that.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Why don’t you let me decide that?”

“When?”

“The sooner we start, the better.”

He should tell her no. He didn’t need her poking around in even more of his business. Lord, for all he knew, this might be a ploy. A way for her to get into his business. To find something she and her friends at CEASE could use against him and maybe other horse breeders.

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but I can’t exactly afford to pay you for experimental vet care. With Dasher out of commission it’s going to make it hard for ends to meet as it is.”

“I told you, there’s no need to pay me.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “I’ll do it all for free.”

Wow. She must really want to get the dirt on him.

Yet as he stared into her eyes, he didn’t think that was true. She didn’t look at him with malice in her eyes. Sure, she might still be irked over his whole “proposition” comment, but that wasn’t what this was about. She stared up at him earnestly, and he could tell she waited with bated breath for him to answer.

Free vet care.

He’d spent a small fortune on Summer, the bay filly he’d been hoping to race and then breed. They’d found nothing wrong. Doc Miller had suggested he haul the horse up to UC Davis for a full-body scan, something he had neither the time nor the money to do, and it’d been heart-wrenching to admit they couldn’t do anything else for her. He’d still breed her when she was old enough, but if he could discover what was wrong...

“Be here tomorrow around ten. I’ll pop in after morning workouts and show you what we’ve got.”

She hadn’t expected him to agree. He saw her golden-brown eyes widen for a moment.

But then she relaxed. “Okay, then,” she said with a glance toward the food she’d brought. “I’ll just pick that up tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Dinner was great.”

She sidled toward the door.

He leaned back against the counter and asked a question that had been on his mind all afternoon. “Why?”

She paused. “Why, what?”

“Why are you doing this?”

She stood in his kitchen, her red hair so wild and untamed his fingers itched to grab a curl and tug it. The tips of it sparkled like the depths of a fire opal, the gold flecks matching the sparkle in her eyes.

“I want what’s best for your horses. All horses. So many ex-racehorses are tossed away, but if we could get yours better, send them on to second careers, it might help your bottom line and help me to prove there’s no need to kill a horse simply because it can’t race again. Plus, if something I do helps them, then it might help others, and maybe there’ll be one less horse sent to slaughter.”

Something in her eyes changed while she said the words. She no longer seemed nervous. She wasn’t peeking glances at his lips anymore, either. She faced him square on and he knew she’d remembered who he was then and, more important, what he did for a living. He doubted she’d ever let him get close to her again.

Too bad.

* * *

SHE HAD HERSELF firmly under control the next morning, or so she told herself. Still, her pulse raced as she pulled into the same parking spot as yesterday. It’d dawned another cool and crisp day, the kind of day that made horses frisky and the scent of fresh-cut grass hang in the air. The sun against the side of the white barn nearly blinded her. She took a deep breath as she emerged from her car, wondering where he was.

“In here,” she heard him call.

She headed toward the barn, and the moment she spotted him standing in the middle of the aisle, a friendly smile on his too-handsome face, she knew she’d been kidding herself.

Control. Bah.

“Welcome back,” he called.

His black brows lifted when he smiled, and the edges of his eyes crinkled, and it was such a damn friendly smile it made her teeth click and then jam together. Handsome, hunky, hazardous-to-her-health son of a gun.