Peggy Moreland - The Restless Virgin

“I can change diapers,” Sam replied indignantly. “I certainly changed enough of my nephew’s to prove that. But thankfully, Colby’s long out of the diaper stage.”

“How old is she?”

“Six, going on sixteen.”

Mandy chuckled, dropping the last potato into the pot. “Interesting assessment.”

Sam blew out a breath. “You wouldn’t believe this kid. She can carry on a conversation like an adult, yet throw a tantrum that would rival that of a two-year-old.”

“And you willingly volunteered to spend time with her?”

Sam frowned. “Yeah.” She turned, propping her forearms on the counter, and stared out the window, holding the glass between her hands. “She kind of reminds me a little bit of myself at that age. She’s a tomboy and crazy about her horse. You wouldn’t believe how she lit in to me when she heard her daddy order me to put him down.” Sam chuckled as the image built. “Took all my strength to hold her back. And she lost her mother before she even had a chance to get to know her, just like we did.” She stared a moment longer, than gave herself a firm shake. “Not that I intend to serve as a surrogate mother, mind you. I’m just going to help her improve her riding skills so her daddy will agree to let her keep her horse.”

Mandy watched Sam, her instincts going on red alert. “What about her dad? What’s he like?”

“Nash?” Sam snorted. “He’s a suit.”

At Mandy’s quizzical look, Sam pushed away from the counter to pace. “You know the type. Brooks Brothers suit, Italian silk tie, Rolex watch, Mercedes. And all business. I bet he even schedules trips to the rest room on his day planner.”

Mandy lifted a brow. She’d never known Sam to get this worked up over a man. “Is he handsome?”

“If you like pretty boys. Merideth would love him,” she added, using their younger sister’s taste in men as a reference point for Mandy.

“So he is handsome.”

An image formed in Sam’s mind of Nash standing at the fence, the wind lifting his carefully combed hair then dropping it carelessly down on his forehead. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing muscled forearms dusted with dark hair. Carved cheekbones, a stubborn jaw. Gray eyes leveled on her, eyes that seemed capable of stripping her down to her most vulnerable core.

A shiver chased along her spine.

“Yeah, I guess,” she replied vaguely, dumping the rest of her milk down the drain, her appetite suddenly gone. “I really didn’t pay that much attention.”

Three days later, Sam was in the barn at Rivers Ranch, saddling Whiskey in preparation for her first lesson with Colby, when she heard a car door slam in the yard. She lifted her head, turning slightly, and bit back an oath when Nash stepped inside the barn. Wearing a navy blazer and khaki pants, he looked as out of place as he had the first time she’d seen him.

“Where’s Colby?” he asked.

“In the house, changing clothes.”

He glanced at his watch, frowning. “So when do we start?”

“We?” Sam repeated, arching a brow his way as he strode down the alleyway toward her.

His frown deepened. “Yes, we. I intend to be present at every lesson.”

“Great,” Sam muttered under her breath. She stooped and caught the rear girt, buckling it into place.

He stopped and braced his hands on his hips. “We didn’t discuss the details of this arrangement, so I think we need to do so now. How much are you charging for these lessons?”

“Nothing. I’m doing this for Colby.”

His eyes widened then narrowed. “Colby isn’t a charity case. I paid her last teacher forty dollars an hour. I’ll pay you the same, plus an additional ten dollars for the trip out.”

“Keep your money. I don’t want it or need it. Like I said, I’m doing this for Colby.” She stooped and picked up Whiskey’s hoof. “Who’s your farrier?”

“Cletus Boggs. Now, about your fee—”

“Better call him. This rear shoe is loose. And tell Cletus to use shoes with rims for the front hooves. It’ll help give Whiskey more traction on the turns.”

“Fine. And I’m paying you, whether you like it or not.”

Sam dropped the hoof and picked up a currycomb, taking out her frustrations with Nash on the burrs matted in the horse’s tail. “Your money would be better spent on repairing Whiskey’s stall. There are some loose boards he could injure himself on. And you need a new load of shavings for the floor.”

“Is that an order or a suggestion?”

The challenge in his voice had Sam cocking her head to look at him. Seeing the hostility in his gray eyes, she tightened her fingers on the comb. “Take it however you want, but the horse deserves the best care you can give him.”

“Hi, Daddy!”

Sam and Nash both turned at the sound of Colby’s voice. Nash’s frown disappeared as Colby skipped down the alleyway toward them. “Hey, sunshine!” He held out his arms and she ran the last few steps and vaulted into them.

Planting a kiss on his cheek, she curled an arm around his neck and reared back to look at him. “Are you going to watch me ride?”

“Yep. Are you ready?”

Colby’s mouth puckered into a pout. “I’ve been ready for hours, but Sam made me go back to the house and put on jeans.”

Nash shot Sam a questioning glance. She lifted a shoulder as she dropped Whiskey’s tail, then tossed the currycomb back in the bucket. “She had on shorts. I was afraid the saddle would rub sores on her legs.”

Nash turned his gaze on his daughter. “Sam’s the boss. What she says goes.”

He couldn’t have said anything that would have surprised Sam more. From the moment he’d announced his intention of being present at the lessons, she’d prepared herself to have to fight him at every turn. Not trusting this unexpected display of support, she eyed him warily. “We’re burning daylight,” she mumbled. “Let’s get started.”

Nash swung Colby onto the saddle, then untied the reins and led the horse out into the arena. Sam followed, pulling her cap lower on her forehead to shade her eyes from the bright sunlight.

“Okay, Colby, let’s warm him up,” she instructed, anxious to get the lesson underway. “Circle the arena a couple of times at a walk, then have him trot. And I want to see you use your body to give him the change of command. Understand?”

Colby beamed at Sam as she took the reins from Nash. “Yes, ma’am.”

Sam positioned herself in the middle of the arena, placing herself as far from Nash as possible, while still being able to keep an eye on Colby. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him at the fence, shrugging out of his jacket. As he leaned to hook it on a fence post, the stretch of starched white cotton across his back revealed muscles that Sam would have preferred not to have noticed. But she did notice and, as hard as she tried, she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away. With his back still to her, he cocked a hip slightly, then lifted a hand and unbuttoned a cuff. He carefully folded the sleeve back two turns, then lifted the opposite hand and started on the other. As each turn revealed another three inches of bare skin, Sam’s mouth grew dryer and dryer until it was as parched as the ground beneath her feet.

Ignore him, she told herself, and turned away. Determined to do just that, she folded her arms beneath her breasts and focused on Colby. “Okay, move him up to a trot,” she called out.

Colby leaned forward, lifting the reins, and repeated the voice command. Sam nodded her approval, turning slowly in a tight circle as she monitored Colby’s movements around the arena...and nearly jumped out of her skin when she made a complete circle and Nash’s chest filled her field of vision, inches from her face and blocking her view of Colby. Unaware that he’d even moved, she cried, “What are you doing?”