Pamela Britton - Winning The Rancher's Heart

Someone beeped a horn. Janus stood up from his position at Sam’s feet and began to growl.

“Nein,” she softly told him. That was all she needed to say for the dog to rest his head again. That was the last thing she needed—for Janus to start attacking the door. “Stay inside,” she told her kids, although she doubted Sam heard her. Earphones didn’t quash the sound of music that emanated from the tiny white buds. Her daughter would be deaf by the time she was fourteen.

“Can I go see the pool?” T.J. asked, eyes filled with hope.

“No.”

His lower lip stuck out. “But Mom...”

“Just stay here. Sam.” He daughter continued to tap something out on her phone. “Sam!”

That got her attention, but she seemed completely put out that she had to remove one of the buds from her ear. She did everything but roll her eyes.

“Keep an eye on T.J.”

T.J. wiggled. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

The horn beeped again. Janus barked. Naomi turned to the room and said, “Stay.”

“Mom. I’m not a dog.”

“I know that. I meant all of you. Don’t leave.”

She slipped outside before T.J. could start complaining again. “Sorry,” she told her new boss, drawing up short at the sight of the all-terrain vehicle he’d arrived in. It looked like something the military would use—all camo paint and big black bumpers and a cab framed by a roll cage.

“Was that your dog I heard?”

She nodded, her face coloring a bit because it was only then that she realized she hadn’t told his sister exactly what kind of dog she’d be bringing with her.

“That did not sound like a small animal.”

Once again she found herself tipping her chin. “He’s a Belgian Malinois.”

He knew what that was, she could tell by the way his blue eyes narrowed. “You have a Malinois?”

She nodded, decided that she should just spit the rest of it out. “He’s an ex-military war dog.”

His lips pressed together before he said, “What are you doing with an MWD?”

“He was my husband’s.”

Trevor.

Her high school sweetheart. The man she’d known instantly that she would marry, even as young as she was. She tried not to let her emotions show, but she saw Jax’s gaze hone in on her own. It still hurt, although she’d hoped, goodness how she’d hoped, that it would have faded by now. At least a little bit. She prayed the move would help. Less of a reminder of what her life had been like before.

“You took possession of him after he died?”

She nodded. “Smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

He stared at her a long time. “Come on,” he said. “I’m sure you want to spend time unpacking when we’re done here.”

“It’s fine,” she said, forcing a smile as she slipped into the passenger seat. “How far away are the horses?”

“Not far,” he said. “I wanted the guest quarters to be within walking distance of my home.”

Jaxton Stone was rich. Not that she hadn’t already known that. Not that she cared, but she could tell he was more than just well-off.

She’d found out about Dark Horse Ranch through Trevor’s best friend, Ethan, who’d taken on the role of surrogate brother over the past year. Ethan’s brother-in-law Colt had told her Jaxton owned the company Colt’s brother, Chance, used to work for, and that they’d been in combat together once upon a time. And that Jaxton was the type of man who’d give his left kidney to someone. It was Ethan, Colt and Chance who’d convinced the reclusive Jaxton Stone to move to Via Del Caballo and build his therapeutic horse ranch for combat veterans. Naomi loved the idea so much she’d asked if he was hiring, and voilà, here she was. Except given their description of the man, and then after meeting his sister, she’d expected someone completely different. Guarded. Not this...stern taskmaster who didn’t seem to have the muscles to smile.

“I love your home.”

He put the vehicle in gear, the clutch lurching them forward so that she grabbed the roll cage to steady herself, the metal cold beneath her fingers. It was far cooler than she’d expected. She’d be chilled within a matter of minutes in her long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans.

“Thank you,” he said, shooting her a glance, looking like any rancher on any given day, on any other average ranch, in his black cowboy hat and jeans. The road followed the curve of the hillside, and she gasped at what stood on the other side. A massive equestrian complex, one made out of thick beams and with a steeped roof and tall windows across the front. It was all off in the distance, but close enough that she and the kids could walk, and all tucked away in a little valley behind his house.

“Wow.”

She hadn’t meant to say the word aloud, but it escaped before she could stop it.

“It turned out nicely, I think.”

He thought? The ranch was a showplace. Long, rectangular buildings were usually plain and ugly, but whoever had designed his house had also designed his barn. It had thick beams jutting out, not just across the front, but along the sides. Massive double doors—two stories high—were set into the front so they could be opened or closed, but they were cleverly designed so that it looked like the short end was all one big wall of windows. It wasn’t just a barn, she realized then. It was an arena.

Amazing.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen stables before. Ethan’s sister-in-law, Natalie, owned an equestrian facility twice the size. It was the sheer newness of it all that blew her mind, that and the knowledge that before his arrival, none of it had been in the center of the valley, one with a small lake in the distance and hills that had been browned by the June sun.

He drove forward again. “I’d like to have the party down here, in the arena, so people can mill around and see what we’ve built. I’ll invite some of the country’s leading experts on post-traumatic stress disorder. Anyone who needs a room can stay in the guest quarters.”

And he wanted to do this how soon? She gulped at the thought, but something told her Jaxton Stone didn’t know the meaning of the word failure.

“We’ll need to ensure we have plenty of food on hand, and maybe hire a caterer if you think it’ll be too much. You should probably get me a list of local media. I’m hoping they’ll take one look at Dark Horse Ranch and spread the word about what we hope to accomplish here. I want this facility to be the best therapeutic ranch on the West Coast. I want to change lives here. Help people. Make things better.”

She turned to look at him, stunned to realize this wasn’t just a passing fancy or some kind of tax write-off. She could hear the sincerity in his voice, earnestness mixed with hope and maybe even longing.

He cared.

“Let me show you the arena and the corrals and the horses we’ve purchased for the program first. That’s something Colt and Ethan are helping me out with. I don’t know a whole heck of a lot about horses, but I’m learning.”

For the first time he had become animated, showing her the state-of-the-art, climate-controlled arena—actually driving through the center so she could see the iron stall fronts to her right and the polished wooden beams—every inch the masterpiece that his home was. The kids would go nuts when they saw it.

“The horses have been carefully selected for the program.” He motioned toward a dark bay horse that peered at them curiously from the other side of a stall front. “And they’re turned out to graze in the evening, something that’s good for them.”

He showed her the turn-out pens next, driving behind the barn.

“The pastures are so green compared to the hills.”

“We’re on an aquifer. That’s where the water for my lake comes from. That’s what keeps everything green. Natural springs.” He pointed toward the horse pens. “The Reynolds family could have charged me a small fortune for this property, but they sold it to me cheap. Actually, their home’s just a few miles away from here as the crow flies. They still ride their horses out by the lake.”