The Girl with the Golden Spurs. Ann Major

Lizzy Kemble,” the handsome, ill-natured cuss drawled lazily in that pure-Texas accent of his, bringing her thoughts back to the present.

      When he edged his mount closer to hers, she instinctively backed hers up. Again he smiled and let his hot, sinful eyes devour the length of her body, taking liberties she’d never given any man—and certainly didn’t want to give the insolent likes of him.

      He stared until she was practically frothing with fury. Then he shot her another bold smile that made her skin really heat.

      “You blush real easy, don’t you, little girl? I like that.”

      “Well, I don’t like it, and I don’t like anything about you, either,” she snapped.

      “You barely know me.”

      “I know enough.”

      “Then why don’t you run, Little Red Riding Hood?”

      “Go away. Just go away!” she said. “Before somebody sees you here.”

      “You’ve seen me. Aren’t you somebody?”

      Before she could stop herself, “I don’t count for much around here.”

      He laughed at that, and some of the strain and anger left his dark face. He was handsome—too handsome for his good and for hers, too, she suddenly realized. This was bad. She wasn’t as immune to his charm as she needed to be.

      “I know that feeling…not counting for much,” he said, his voice low and beguilingly gentle now as he urged his big horse to sidle closer to hers. He tipped his hat back, so that she could see his beautiful, long-lashed eyes better. “It’s an awful feeling, isn’t it?”

      “I’ve got to go,” she said, studying the silky length of his lashes rather too fixedly.

      “You’re not scared of me, now are you, little girl?”

      “No! Of course not!”

      “Then stay. Relax. I’m not the big bad wolf. I’m just your neighbor. Maybe it’s time we got better acquainted.”

      She was about to say no, but Blackie charged through the brush, yapping his fool terrier head off at a rabbit that was running for his life. Panicked at the shrill barks, Pájaro reared slightly.

      When the rabbit and dog sprinted toward the gelding like a pair of bullets, Lizzy screamed, and Pájaro started bucking for all he was worth.

      “Keep your head, girl, and quit your screaming,” Cole yelled, moving swiftly toward her.

      Lizzy hollered again and again.

      “Hush,” Cole ordered, trying to grab her reins.

      “Get away!” she yelled, slapping at his hands with them.

      Then Blackie rushed under Pájaro’s hooves again, and the gelding tossed his head wildly and reared. Cole grabbed the reins just as Pájaro bolted. The reins flew out of his hands, and Lizzy clutched the saddle horn and the gelding’s mane and held on.

      Born to fly, Pájaro’s hooves pounded the earth as if ten demon terriers were chasing him straight to hell instead of one small dog. Lizzy was equally spooked. No way could she stop screaming now.

      Pájaro dashed straight through thorny brush—through mesquite, huisache and granjeño, racing for the middle of the herd. Lizzy clung desperately, fighting to hang on. If she fell, she could be trampled. Behind her, she heard Cole shouting instructions, but the cattle were bawling so loudly, she couldn’t make out what he was saying.

      Ahead she saw a low branch, so she bent low over Pájaro’s back. When he raced beneath it, thorns knocked off her hat and shredded the back of her blouse. Pájaro shot through a bunch of cattle, scattering them in all directions. Then he veered away from the herd back into the brush, racing at a full gallop for maybe five minutes.

      Her heart was thudding in terror, but still she held on. If anything the monster sped up. The man on the horse behind them seemed to be catching up, which made Pájaro even wilder to outrun them.

      Tightening her grip on the saddle horn and the coarse hair of Pájaro’s mane, somehow she endured the wild, thundering chase. Suddenly Cole and his horse were racing right beside her.

      “Let go!” a hard voice yelled. “I’ve got you.”

       Let go? Was he crazy?

      Even when she felt Cole’s powerful arm around her waist, her knees gripped Pájaro’s flanks and she held on to the saddle horn for dear life. But her strength was nothing compared to Cole’s, who yanked her off with seeming ease.

      Her hands were ripped off the saddle horn, and for a fleeting horrible second she was airborne between the two flying horses. Pájaro veered to the left, and Cole pulled her in front of him on his horse.

      “I’ve got you,” Cole repeated over and over against her ear.

      Panic tightened her stomach even as Cole pressed her tightly against his body as he reined in his mount.

      “There. You’re okay. You’re safe,” he muttered between harsh, rasping breaths as the thudding hooves slowed. “You’re okay.”

      “I want down. I don’t care if I have to walk all the way home, I don’t want to ever ride a horse again.”

      “That’s understandable,” Cole said soothingly.

      “This is all your fault! You shouldn’t have chased me!”

      “Then I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said in that same calming tone.

      Her daddy would never have been so reasonable. When she fell off a horse, he always hollered or used a stern voice to order her back on.

      Cole dismounted and helped her down. Still, terrified, her heart continued to race as he circled her waist with his hands and lowered her from the horse. When he continued to hold her, she was so upset, she lacked the sense to push him away.

      Her choked breaths erupted in burning gasps. Her knees were so wobbly she could barely stand, and her eyes burned with unshed tears. She was scared and too mortified for words.

      “I—I probably look a mess.”

      “There now,” he said. When he drew her close, she forgot her fear of him and clung. He was breathing hard and fast, just like she was. But he was holding her gently, caressing her and letting her cling.

      “If you want to know, that scared the hell out of me, too,” he said.

      “I’m not scared.”

      “Then maybe you wouldn’t mind loosening your hands just a little. Your fingernails are slicing little hunks out of my back.”

      “Oh… Of course…”

      “You’re so much braver than me,” he whispered reassuringly. “If anything would have happened to you…”

      A callused fingertip caressed her muddy cheek as he pulled a twig out of her dusty curls.

      Never before had she been babied when she was afraid, and even though she knew she should push him away, she couldn’t let go of him even when she stopped shaking. It was simply too pleasant to be soothed and comforted by someone so strong and solid…and nice.

      She didn’t care what Daddy had said about him. Cole Knight had saved her life, and he was so nice he wouldn’t make her ever get on a horse again if she didn’t want to. He had a gentle voice, and he smelled real good, of leather and spice and his own clean male sweat. He didn’t seem to mind that she was so dirty.

      Cole was a full head taller than she was, and the skin above the top buttons of his white shirt was way darker than hers, and his hand that slid against the bare skin of her spine where her blouse was ripped into shreds was way rougher than hers. He was old, much too old for her, probably at least twenty-two. Old, and too experienced