Kissed by a Cowboy. Pamela Britton

Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Epilogue

       Extract

       Copyright

Chapter One

      “Not that one.”

      Wesley Landon glanced at the woman who’d spoken. Who was she talking to? With her friendly smile and bright blue eyes, she had to be the prettiest thing he’d seen all day. Then again, there were half a dozen people lining the rail at the 51st Annual Red Bluff Bull and Gelding Sale. Clearly, though, she’d been speaking to someone inside the arena.

      “Can you lope him out a bit?” he called to the kid who owned the gelding he was considering purchasing.

      “Sure thing,” the young man answered as he urged the big bay into a slow run.

      The horse sure had the looks, Wes thought, his heart pumping in tempo with his mounting excitement. “What do you think, Cowboy? You think he’s the one?”

      The border collie glanced up at him and wagged his tail, his bright brown gaze declaring he was far more thrilled to look into his owner’s eyes than at the horse in question.

      “Well, I think he is,” Wes said. If the gelding didn’t turn into a total nutcase during the competition portion of the sale, he might have found a diamond in the rough.

      “Seriously.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman edge closer. “That horse is plumb crazy.”

      Wes glanced left again, surprised to see the cute little brunette staring at him. So she was talking to him.

      “Excuse me?”

      “The horse you’re looking at.”

      She wasn’t flirting, he realized in disappointment—she was trying to psych him out. It wasn’t uncommon for the competition to do that. Sometimes they would tell out-and-out lies in the hopes of souring a sale.

      “Who told you that?” he said, playing along.

      She smiled. She had a nose that was tipped up at the end and when she grinned, the smile lit up her face and her bright green eyes like the dawn of sunrise. In a light blue ribbed shirt—one the same color as the California sky above—and jeans tucked into fancy cowboy boots, she didn’t look like someone who’d tell a lie. She looked innocent and sweet and, yes, beautiful.

      “The horse did.”

      “Excuse me?” he said again.

      “What’s your dog’s name?” She came forward, smiling down now.

      “Cowboy.”

      “Hey, Cowboy.” She knelt, scratching the dog under his white chin before she rested her forehead on his black mask. “How are you, gorgeous?”

      Okay, there was something about a woman loving on his dog that never failed to soften Wes’s mood, even if she was trying to pull the wool over his eyes. Unless maybe he’d misunderstood her.

      “Did you see him buck someone off?”

      She stood. “Nope. I can just tell by looking at him.”

      Okay, this was ridiculous. He held back his laughter, although just barely. “You can just tell,” he asked, wanting to be absolutely clear. “By looking at him.”

      A nod, one that set her angular bob—her hair more black than brown—into motion. It brushed her jawline, that hair, coming to a point by her chin. Wes was struck by the notion that the cut perfectly accentuated her pixielike face. A face filled with utter seriousness.

      His smile faltered. “I think you might be wrong about this one.” He glanced back at the animal in question. The gelding loped around like a pleasure pony, completely calm and relaxed.

      She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She shifted her smile down to his dog. “Nice talking to you, Cowboy.”

      He watched her leave, admitting he’d never seen such light green eyes; her gaze seemed otherworldly, and it tried to convince him she told the truth. He didn’t believe her, of course. There might be some people who could take one look at a horse and know if it was a good animal, but he’d never met any. His friend Zach knew someone like that. A friend of his fiancée’s. He claimed she was a real-life horse whisperer, a woman with short black hair and bright—

      He jerked around. “Jillian?”

      She immediately turned and frowned. “Yes?”

      Oh, good Lord. This was one of Zach’s fiancée’s best friends, the horse trainer.

      “You’re Jillian Thacker?”

      She smiled a bit, and he could tell the grin was tinged with relief. “Oh, good, maybe now he’ll believe me ” relief. She tipped her head.

      “Do I know you?”

      “No. Yes. Sort of. I’m Wes Landon.”

      Any doubt that she didn’t recognize the name faded the moment he saw her green eyes widen almost imperceptibly. Her gaze swept over him as if matching up her last image of him—probably out at Golden Downs racetrack—with the man in the cowboy hat, long-sleeved white button-down, jeans and boots who stood before her. He’d seen her before, too; he just hadn’t recognized her.

      “Well, well, well,” she said, her eyes narrowing before she slowly crossed her arms. “The evil racehorse owner in the flesh.”

      He smiled, well aware of her derision but completely unfazed. He knew that she and her fellow members of CEASE—Concerned Equestrians Aiding in Saving Equines—hated him. Okay, not really hated, more like...wanted to put him out of a job. They couldn’t stand people who raced horses, because they all thought it was cruel. It still struck him as a small miracle that Zach had somehow managed to charm the founder of the group, Mariah Stewart, into marrying him.

      “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Dr. Dolittle in the flesh.”

      Zach had taken to calling her that. When Wes had first heard about the woman who claimed to have a special touch with horses, he’d pretended to believe it was possible. He didn’t, of course. In his line of work as an equine-farm manager he’d heard it all. The miracle worker who could pop a horse’s bones into place and make them instantly sound. The massage therapist for sore equines. The herbal concoction that would give a horse extra zip. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe some of that stuff might help—he just wasn’t sold they were the miracles some people purported them to be.

      “What are you doing here?” She lifted a brow. “Slumming it?”

      “I could ask the same of you.”

      He’d only ever seen her from a distance, usually as he was driving through the entrance of Golden Downs racetrack, and she was holding a protest sign. Cute, he admitted, even if she was bat-shit crazy.

      “I’m here with a client. She had me look at that one yesterday.”

      They both turned to stare at the horse in question. “Given your low opinion of me, I’m surprised you didn’t encourage me to buy him.”

      She