The Cowboy's Claim
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Nina Crespo
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15,8K
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HarlequinChapter One
It was perfect riding weather at Tillbridge Horse Stable. All Tristan Tillbridge needed was a horse and some time to enjoy the morning. He had plenty of horses, but based on the number of what-the-hells ganging up for his attention, enjoyment wasnât on his schedule anytime soon.
He dropped his black-booted foot from the bottom rail of the white ladder fence circling the small arena where a blond horse trainer exercised Moonlight Joy, a golden creamy-maned palomino. âSo you were driving the back road last night and found the south pasture gate wide-open?â
âYeah.â Mace Calderone stood beside him. His brown deputyâs hat cast a shadow over his bronze face. âThe winds from the rainstorm could have caused it.â
âOr someone left it that way.â Tristan stripped off his tan Rough Rider work gloves, flipped up the shirttail of his navy pullover and stuffed the gloves in his back jeans pocket. âThe staff knows the âclose every gateâ rule, but everyone else canât read a damn sign. Since the guesthouse and cottages opened on the property six months ago, stopping them from breaking, trampling or opening things they shouldnât is becoming a full-time job.â
Next to the one he already had as stable manager.
âI hear you. These days it seems like rules are considered more of a suggestion than a requirement.â Mace glanced over his shoulder. âLooks like you got a stray.â
On the wide dirt and gravel path leading from the stable farther behind them, a woman with long dark curly hair wearing oversize aviator sunglasses talked animatedly on her cell.
As she threw up her hand in frustration over something the person on the line told her, the front of her cropped yellow blazer opened wider revealing a snowy-white, fitted top. Matching skinny jeans molded to her long legs. Each step forward brought her and her red high-heeled bootsâdesigner, no doubtâcloser to fresh horse shit.
Mace turned to watch. âFive bucks she saves the shoes.â
âTen, she doesnât.â
She swerved right and Mace grinned. âInstead of cash, you can pay me with a beer this weekend.â
âThatâs fine, but I wonât be the one buying.â
The woman veered left, still talking on her phone and digging into her large red purse.
Maceâs smile disappeared. âShe really isnât paying attention.â
âTold you.â But not even the sure win of a bet could let Tristan stand by and watch what would probably be the worst part of her day unfold.
He and Mace called out at the same time. âHey! Look out!â
But too absorbed in her conversation, she traipsed ahead...right into the steaming fresh pile. As she skidded forward, the phone flew out of her hand and after a few long breath-holding seconds of teetering on her heels, she finally caught her balance.
Mace winced. âThat could have been ugly. Iâll make sure sheâs okay. Unless youâre interested. Sheâs cute.â
Sunglasses pushed up on her head, the woman bent down and retrieved her cell. As she stood straight, she alternated between shaking the dirtied boot on her foot and glancing at the bottom of it with a grossed-out expression.
Interested in a woman who wore high heels to a stable, and from a distance, faintly resembled his deceased fatherâs spoiled, devious second wife? Yeah, heâd pass. âI have a meeting in a few minutes. Sheâs all yours.â
The two-way radio clipped to Maceâs tactical belt crackled to life. âCalling all units in the southeast. Multiple reports of traffic backing up on Colton Road at the interstate exit. Motorists need assistance.â
He clicked a button on his shoulder mic. âDispatch. Unit seven in route.â Mace looked to Tristan. âYouâll have to help her out.â
âIâm not the one wearing the badge. Rescuing people is your job.â
âI would, but duty calls. You can tell me her name later.â Mace clapped him on the back, then strode to his patrol car parked in the grass on the other side of the ring.
Tristan headed to the woman. Why couldnât people just obey the multiple signs on the paved trail from the guesthouse that stated: No visitors allowed at the stable until 10:00 a.m. on Mondays.
âI canât believe this.â The woman glanced up at Tristan while gingerly scraping the sole of her boot on the ground. âIs this stuff literally everywhereâeven in the main areas?â
Yards behind her, two grooms wearing blue short-sleeved pullovers and jeans rode horses with black manes and mahogany coats at a steady trot.
âMove out of the way.â Tristan picked up the pace and closed the distance.
âYou donât have to yeââ She did a double take at the oncoming horses and froze. Annoyance quickly faded from her eyes along with the color from her smooth brown cheeks.
He grabbed hold of her arm and ushered her to the side of the path. As the bays went past, she turned toward him and squeezed her eyes shut.
Her barely detectable tremors vibrated into him. Was she afraid of the horses? On a reflex, he lightly grasped her arms and put himself between her and the bays. The sweet lemon fragrance wafting from her skin was like a welcome cool breeze. It roused memories of lazy summer afternoons, lying in his hammock in the shade with a cold drink in his hand, lost in the perfection of nothing on his mind. He hadnât enjoyed an afternoon like that in a long time.
âThanks.â Her soft exhale rushed over his throat spreading goose bumps over him. She tilted up her head and her long lashes rose.
His heart tripped. Mace had gotten it only partially right. She was more than just cute.
Caught between wanting to gently sweep back the curls partially concealing her deep coppery eyes and staring at her lush full lips that were meant for long, slow, kisses, he remained suspended in the moment. Her loosening her death grip from his forearm prompted him to let her go.
The pop song ringtone blaring from her cell snapped his priorities back in place.
It didnât matter that she was pretty and smelled like his all-time favorite flavor. She didnât belong there if she was afraid of horses. Had she startled one of the bays, she or the riders could have been hurt. If she wanted to play Monday morning phone tag, she needed to do it someplace else.
Just as she went to answer her cell phone he intervened. âThis isnât the place for you to talk on your phone. You have to stay alert, especially around the horses. In fact, you shouldnât be here.â Tristan pointed to the paved trail intersecting the path. âLike the signs back there said, guests arenât allowed at the stable at this time of the morning.â
âI am alert.â A healthy glow returned to her face. âAnd Iâm exactly where I should be. Iâm meeting the person in charge of the stable at nine oâclock.â
âAbout?â
âThatâs between me and them.â
âIâm the stable manager, and youâre not on my schedule.â
âThatâs because weâre not meeting.â She gave him a âtake thatâ smile.
Stubborn and a belief that rules didnât apply to her. Maybe she actually was a version of his fatherâs second wife.
She was obviously in the wrong place. It was time to hand her over to the one person who could clear up exactly where she belonged. His cousin, Zurie. But one thing was certain. She wasnât on Zurieâs schedule either. He was meeting with her that morning to talk about his expansion plan for the stable and to touch base about their staff appreciation get-together that was happening in a few weeks. She was squeezing the time in to talk with him before she headed to the airport to fly to Nevada for a conference.
Just as he went to call Zurie, he spotted his petite cousin farther up the path walking briskly toward them. Her straight black hair, gathered in a ponytail, swung behind her. She was dressed similarly to him in jeans and black work boots, but she wore a crisp blue Tillbridge Stable logoed button-down instead.
He looked to the woman. âSure you donât want to change your story about why youâre here?â
âNo. I donât.â
He almost felt sorry for her. Zurie had less patience for rule breakers and trespassers than he did. âItâs your head.â
She slid the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder. âMy head is staying right where it belongs.â
