Rancher and Protector. Pamela Britton

them. So? That didn’t mean anything.

      “Hey,” Colt heard her call again.

      He told himself to walk straight past the arena gate. Hell, he should head to the parking area and get in his truck. Amber Brooks was the worst sort of woman to be attracted to. The only reason he’d met her was because he’d been sent to find out where her nephew was. She’d stolen a man’s son away. Okay, so maybe not stolen. She had legal custody of the child, but the fact remained that she refused to bring Rudy by to visit his father. Refused to let Logan see his son. Refused to let Logan even talk to him on the phone.

      “Okay, fine,” she said. “Leave me here. But I want you to know that you’re the worst damn riding instructor I’ve ever met.”

      And he was angry, he admitted. That’s why he wanted to walk out.

      “And that’s saying a lot, since you’re the only riding instructor I know.”

      “Crap,” he muttered under his breath.

      He couldn’t leave her there.

      He slowly swung around to face her. She had the same joy of spirit that his sister had. That’s why she reminded him of Maggie.

      Crap.

      “Follow me,” he said.

      She sat on the horse like an abandoned child. “I would love to ‘follow you,’” she said, “if you would only tell me how, exactly, to do that.”

       Get it together, Colt.

      “Okay.” He took a deep breath. He could quit at any moment.

      And go back to day-leasing pathetic horses next year.

      “First thing you need to do is pick up the reins.”

      She glanced down. “Reins,” she said, scooping them up as if she was scooping out ice cream. “Check.”