A Cowboy's Heart. Rebecca Winters

Chapter Three

      “Connor? Is everything all right?”

      His head jerked up.

      Liz had just come out of the bathroom in her new nautical-design pajamas in navy with polka dots on the bottoms. She’d washed her hair and had braided it again.

      “Perfect,” he said automatically, but she didn’t believe him. “Where do you want to sleep? Up in the niche or near the floor? Both are comfortable.”

      “I think the sofa pullout bed.” It was closer to the bathroom and the kitchen if for any reason she had to get up in the night. In the back of her mind she imagined Connor had probably slept with Reva in the niche with its pull-down ladder.

      “Good. I’ll take my shower now. By the way, I had keys made for you to open the trailer and the truck. I put them there on the counter.”

      “That was very considerate. Thank you.”

      “Anything to oblige.”

      By his tone of voice, something was wrong and it worried her.

      She turned on the TV to the weather channel and then made her bed. To her surprise, his low-profile satellite dish was still allowing transmission despite the snow. The forecast predicted more intermittent flurries through Wyoming and the northern half of Utah tomorrow, but the southern half would be warmer and might see a little sun. Las Vegas was enjoying sixty-three–degree weather during the day and lower forties at night with some wind.

      Liz still couldn’t understand why she didn’t feel uncomfortable in this situation. Maybe it was because they both knew so much about each other’s lives, there was no mystique. Connor didn’t feel like an acquaintance or a confidante, brother, cousin, best friend or boyfriend.

      He existed outside those categories, though he wasn’t a figment of her imagination. She didn’t know what he was, but so far the inside of the book matched the cover. That didn’t bother her, either. Curious.

      Once under the blanket, she made a call home and thanked her mom for the food. Liz assured her parents that she and Connor were snug as a bug in his trailer while they waited out the storm in Kemmerer. The horses were in great shape. Connor was an expert—behind the wheel or mounted on his horse.

      “Good night, you two. Thank you for being the greatest parents on earth.”

      When she clicked off, she discovered Connor standing there in a pair of navy sweats. Their nightwear more or less matched. She could smell the soap he’d used in the shower. She’d left hers and he’d used it.

      “Your parents are very trusting, you know that?”

      “Besides the fact that you’re one of the famous Bannock brothers, don’t forget I was away at vet school for a long time and am not exactly a little girl anymore.”

      “No, you’re not.” His emphatic tone sent a shiver through her before he picked up the remote and flipped the channels to an old creature-of-the-lagoon movie. After tossing it to her, he turned out the light and climbed into the niche using the same masterful agility with which he threw a steer. She laughed when he got comfortable and looked down at her over the edge. “Monsters don’t scare you?” His mood had improved.

      “Not really, if that was your intention. I’m laughing because I meant this. I’m having fun. Being in the trailer is like we’re in a little hut deep in the forest of some mysterious kingdom.”

      “With satellite TV, no less.” His sudden smile turned him into the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on. “In truth, I’m having more fun than I’ve had in years, stranded with a vet who’s writing a romance article about the mating rituals of horses. After it’s in print and you’ve won the prize for the world champion barrel racer, what do you plan to do for an encore?”

      She raised herself on one elbow. “Mind if I try something out on you?”

      “What do you think? Go ahead.”

      “Well, the Crow council in Pryor has asked me if I’ll be one of the vets for the reservation. Even if Jarod had everything to do with the offer, it’s such a great honor I can hardly believe it. But I haven’t given them my answer yet because I’m committed to Dr. Rafferty at the vet hospital. I’d have to stretch myself thin to do both.”

      He rested his chin on his hard-muscled arm. “And here I thought you were worrying about what you were going to do with the rest of your life once the rodeo was over. Winning money to buy a new truck is going to come in handy with you driving back and forth from White Lodge to the reservation.”

      “Don’t I wish! In order to win it, I’ll have to beat Dustine’s time along with several other unknowns at the moment. That’s a tall order.”

      “You’re the best barrel racer on the circuit this year, Liz. In my official opinion, you’re a shoo-in. To the winner goes all the pickings.”

      “Thanks for the morale boost, Connor.” She patted her pillow. “As long as we’re talking about the future, after you’ve won your sixth title, have you thought about getting involved with the Pryor Mountains National Wild Horse Refuge?”

      He laughed. “What did you say? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

      “Oh, I think you did.” She egged him on. “When you rescued and adopted Firebrand, you got yourself a real prize. The horse refuge needs people like you. Your voice would carry a lot of weight, politically.”

      A look of surprise crossed his face. “Are you a lobbyist, too?”

      “I’m just a vet who’s an interested bystander and would love to see someone like you, with real clout, protecting Montana’s natural resources. It’s the second feral horse refuge in the U.S. Gus Cochran, one of the leading equine geneticists, concluded that the Pryor herd may be the most significant wild-horse herd remaining in the States. These animals don’t exist anywhere else, and they need advocates.”

      He held himself so still, she realized she had his attention.

      “Do you remember Wild Horse Annie, a secretary at an insurance firm in Reno?”

      “I know of the Wild Horse Annie Act.”

      “Well, she was obviously a wild horse advocate who lobbied for passage of a federal law to prevent hunting the herds from helicopters, and motorcycles that terrorized the horses and caused extreme cruelty.”

      “Amen to that.”

      “Because of her, the Hunting Wild Horses and Burros on Public Lands Act was passed in the late fifties, banning the hunting of feral horses on federal land using aircraft or motorized vehicles.”

      “You learn something new every day. Tell me more,” he urged with a genuine smile.

      His honest interest pleased her. “Seven years ago, the last three slaughterhouses in the U.S. were closed, all because certain interested parties discovered that some of the excess wild horses being sold had been sent straight to the slaughterhouses and killed.”

      He shook his head, signaling his disgust.

      “When they intervened, the BLM had to suspend the sales program. After investigating, they resumed the sales, but only after implementing new requirements to deter buyers from killing the animals.

      “There’s a ton of work to be done for their preservation. Your grandfather has a huge ranching reputation in the state. For his prominent grandson, Connor Bannock, to get involved in the fight to preserve the very kind of horse that will bring you another victory in the arena... It would be doing a great thing for man, horse and country. Of course, you’d have to do that work along with your regular ranch work. It would be stretching you to the max, too.”

      The next instant Connor swung himself to the floor with masculine ease and hunkered down in front of her. His brown eyes searched hers