Aidan: Loyal Cowboy. Cathy Mcdavid

knew it, too. He intentionally downplayed his interest in purchasing Midnight by finding fault with him and the other horses. Ace’s mother employed the same tactics with Earl. They’d been doing it for years, with Earl usually coming out ahead.

      “You ready, sweetie?” Earl asked Flynn.

      “Let’s go.”

      “I’ll be seeing you later when the auction starts.” Earl tipped his hat at Ace’s mother, then he and Flynn leapfrogged over wet patches to the double row of pens holding the geldings and mares.

      The challenge had been officially issued.

      “He’s going to bid against us for Midnight,” Ace’s mother observed.

      “He won’t be the only one.”

      Ace watched Flynn go, ashamed at his relief. He should apologize to her. He owed her that much, if not more. But after three weeks without any contact, she’d probably refuse to speak to him, and he wouldn’t blame her.

      God, he’d been such an idiot.

      “Aidan?”

      “Yeah.” His mother was one of the few people to call him by his given name.

      “Are you going to examine that horse or what?” She inclined her head at the pen.

      “I will. Eventually.” He returned his attention to Midnight, forcing thoughts of Flynn from his mind. It wasn’t easy.

      It seemed as though the horse ignored everyone else except him. Good. They were of similar minds.

      “Too muddy?” his mother asked. “Or is the horse too mean?”

      “Unpredictable and wary aren’t the same as mean.” On the ranch and in his veterinarian practice, Ace had examined his share of mean horses. “He’s a stallion standing within fifty feet of twenty mares. His mares. Not to mention the geldings. His competition, in his mind. He’s in a strange environment, surrounded by strange people and hearing strange noises. He’s bound to act a little temperamental.”

      “No one’s been in the pen with him that I’ve seen.”

      “Are you challenging me?”

      Ace’s mother arched a brow at him and smiled. “When have you needed someone to challenge you other than yourself?”

      He hadn’t, not since his father died.

      Eventually, Ace decided both he and Midnight were ready. He slipped the latch and opened the gate. The horse snorted and pawed the muck again, his way of saying, “You sure about this? Because I have a thousand pounds of solid muscle on you.”

      Ace was sure. He stepped inside the pen, shut the gate behind him and waited. When it came to horses, he had an endless supply of patience.

      Now, people? Not so much.

      “Easy, boy.”

      Midnight flicked his ears slightly at the silky smooth tone of Ace’s voice but didn’t budge.

      “That’s right.”

      Minutes ticked by, Ace wasn’t sure how many. From the corner of his eye he noticed a small crowd had gathered in front of the pen. A few of the louder comments reached his ears.

      “Watch this. You ever seen Hart at work?”

      “He’s got more nerve than me, climbing in with that brute.”

      “What is he? Some kind of horse whisperer or something?”

      Not exactly, Ace thought. But he did have a knack for reading animals, horses especially, and for getting them to trust him. Enough to earn himself a reputation around the state.

      When he sensed the moment was right, he took a small, slow step forward. Midnight jerked his head, his gaze still fastened on Ace.

      “There you go.”

      Another small step, this one met with an angry snort and a head toss. No problem. As long as the horse didn’t show signs of charging him, Ace was okay.

      “We’ll do this on your terms, buddy.”

      Finally, Ace was close enough to touch the horse, though he hesitated.

      “Good job,” he murmured softly.

      Midnight’s breathing increased as he inhaled Ace’s scent, the fine whiskers of his velvety nose brushing Ace’s jacket sleeve. He was determined that the horse make the next move.

      His patience, as usual, paid off.

      Midnight sniffed Ace’s hand, drew back and sniffed again.

      It was a small but vital victory for Ace. When he reached out to stroke Midnight’s neck, the horse flinched. He didn’t bolt or rear, however, and after several more long moments, allowed Ace to run a hand along his neck and chest, his hide twitching.

      Sadness squeezed Ace’s heart. Neglect had scarred this magnificent animal. He just didn’t understand some people, which would explain why, other than his family, he’d spent much of his thirty-four years a loner.

      His attention wandered, as did his gaze. Flynn had evidently concluded one chance meeting with him was enough, for she was nowhere in sight. When Ace looked back around, Midnight had retreated to his corner and had resumed glaring at people. Ace in particular.

      Rather than antagonize the horse unnecessarily, Ace conducted the remainder of his examination visually. Skittish personality and weight loss aside, the horse appeared in reasonably good health. Ace had no reason to doubt the copy of the medical report, which hung on the pen railing along with Midnight’s registration papers.

      Ace turned, his movements calm and measured. He was taking a big risk presenting his back to Midnight. He’d once met an old cowboy with a sizable chunk missing from his shoulder after just this sort of move. But Ace had to know for certain if Midnight was wary and not mean.

      He walked unscathed to the gate and sighed quietly. On the other side, he paused to look at Midnight.

      The horse bobbed his head.

      Yeah, I agree. Ace grinned to himself, feeling as if he, too, had passed a test. You’re coming home to Thunder Ranch with me.

      His mother wasn’t standing where he’d left her. Ace spotted her several feet away, conversing with his uncle Joshua and cousin Duke who’d accompanied Ace and his mother to the sale.

      He’d barely started toward them when Flynn unexpectedly crossed his path. A jolt of alarm brought him to a halt.

      “Hi,” he muttered, trying to move. The soft ground pulled at him, sucking his boots down into the muck. He was trapped.

      Served him right.

      She stared at him in silence, tendrils of corn-silk-yellow hair peeking out from under her cowboy hat.

      Memories surfaced. Ace had sifted his hands through that hair, watched, mesmerized, as the soft strands coiled around his fingers like spun gold.

      Then, not two hours later, he’d abruptly left her bedside, hurting her with his transparent excuses.

      No longer calm and collected, she stared at him with the same pained expression she’d worn that morning.

      “Flynn, I’m sorry,” he offered lamely.

      “For what exactly?” She crossed her arms in front of her and glared at him through slitted blue eyes. “Slinking out of my room before my father discovered you spent the night, or acting like it never happened?”

      * * *

      FLYNN THOUGHT SHE’D READIED herself for their inevitable confrontation. All the phrases she’d used to bolster her defenses during the drive to the auction suddenly abandoned her, and she was once again an emotional weakling.

      What had possessed her to sleep with him?

      Easy.