The Last Cowboy

Jordana rode next to the impatient Thor. “And then I’ll be at those twin hills. What then?”

“There’s a path up the first one. Follow it up and down to the second hill. Go up and over the second hill, then, turn left. The trail is flat for two miles. Open her up to a controlled canter. Nothing out of control. I need to see how winded she’s become.”

Patting Stormy’s neck, Jordana said, “I think she’ll sail through these challenges without a problem.”

Grunting, Slade muttered, “We’ll see.”

Taking the gauntlet being thrown down at her, Jordana grinned. “Competition is my middle name.”

Giving her a sour grin in return, Slade liked the blue fire dancing in her eyes. Her shoulder-length black hair was mussed around her face and neck. The urge to reach out and tame some of those reddish strands mixed with black ones nearly overwhelmed him. He couldn’t touch Jordana. He didn’t dare. Her winsome smile, the joy in her expression all served to make Slade happy. For the first time in so many years, he’d forgotten what that emotion felt like. What was it about this feisty upstart of a woman that took him on? Slade realized Jordana had never flirted with him. No, she was all business and professional. Arm’s length. Sadness rolled through him. Maybe it was just as well, Slade acknowledged. He was in no position to think about a relationship. His whole focus was on saving his ranch from foreclosure.

Taking out a stopwatch from the leather vest he wore over his white cowboy shirt, he said, “Okay, take off. I’ll be timing you.”

Jordana gave him an evil grin. “Okay, we’re off! Watch us fly!” and she asked Stormy to move into an immediate trot.

Slade smiled reluctantly as she moved her small mustang down the trail. In moments, Jordana had the horse in that elastic, floating trot that only Arabians could manage for miles on end. Giving his restive stallion a nudge with his heels, Slade let Thor eagerly take off in pursuit. He did not like being second to anyone and fought the bit.

Jordana moved in sync with her mare as she continued for five miles at a floating trot. It was a hard trot to ride well. Lucky for her, her thighs had been molded by fifty-mile rides for the past year, so it wasn’t much of an effort for her. Just knowing Slade was behind her made her smile for no reason. Her focus was on the terrain up in front of them. When they hit the first steep, forested hill, Stormy lunged easily up the dirt path. She moved into a walk to a regular trot when the landscape allowed it. The area was strewn with fallen logs and branches from the surrounding trees. Stormy easily leaped over them. Never once did she balk, skid to a stop and refuse to jump. Jordana knew that the top endurance horses were fearless and would attempt to jump without balking. She patted Stormy’s wet, gleaming neck as they trotted down and across to the next hill.

As she leaned back in the saddle as Stormy skidded down the second steep slope, Jordana laughed out loud. The warmth of the July day, the strong scent of pine in the air, the wind moving past her face all conspired to give her a sense of freedom she loved so much. At the base of the hill, she leaned forward, and Stormy immediately broke into a controlled canter. For the next two miles, they were on flat but uneven ground. Ahead of her, she saw the slope of another mountain. This one would be different. Jordana knew that trees that had been cut down, their stumps thrusting warningly above ground, were a special hazard to a fast-moving horse and rider.

She had expected Slade to stop her at the slope, but he remained behind her. Okay, no problem. She urged Stormy up the steep, twisting trail. Rocks were here and there, and the mustang expertly stepped over and around them. Stumps were always a special danger. Forest rangers or timber companies had come in and cut the pines down and left the stumps sticking up like spears ready to dig into her horse’s fine, thin legs. Stormy was at a trot, lunging upward, always alert, but Jordana had to be, too. She couldn’t just rely on her mare to see these dangerous obstacles coming up.

Giving Stormy her head, laying the reins on the horse’s neck, Jordana leaned forward over the withers to keep her mustang balanced as she negotiated the ever-curving, twisting, uphill trail. Stormy was breathing hard as they moved from sixty-five hundred feet in altitude to nearly nine thousand feet.

The trail was tricky, challenging and dangerous. Jordana forgot that Slade was behind and timing her. She’d traversed this type of terrain in other rides but not often. Stormy was proving more adept at it than she was. Her legs were strong and more than anything else, Jordana wanted to stay in balance as they hit the nine-thousand-foot level. The trail then dipped downward at a precarious angle. Jordana clamped her legs to the horse and leaned back, giving her full head, the reins lying down on her neck.

By the time they had hit the plain once more, Jordana urged Stormy into a canter toward the two hills. This was a rugged trail and as the mustang moved along, she realized the difference between level one and two endurance competition. This was brutal stuff. It asked everything of horse and rider.

At the gate that led to Slade’s ranch, Jordana pulled up. She looked around to see Thor at a gallop not far behind. The stallion was powerful, and he looked rested and as if he were just starting this competition. Slade rode like the master horseman he was. His lower body moved in perfect rhythm with the stallion while his upper body was completely quiet. Thor slowed to a trot and then a walk, snorting and tossing his head. He had beautiful light blue eyes, his forelock of mane long and covering them from time to time.

“Well? How did we do?” she asked, patting Stormy. The mare’s gray hair was wet and sleek.

He held up the time. “Not bad for a first run. You made it in one hour.” Giving Jordana a look of pride, he added, “And you did well, too.”

Glowing beneath his unexpected praise, Jordana dismounted and opened up the gate. “That’s a good time?”

Riding Thor, Slade moved through the opened gate.

“It’s good for a first time.”

Jordana shut and locked the gate. “I’m happy with it, then. That’s quite a test riding range you have,” she said as she remounted Stormy. They rode side by side at a walk.

“Your mare is typical mustang,” Slade said as they rode. “She’s used to negotiating all kinds of obstacles and doesn’t bat an eye at them.”

“I know,” Jordana said, running her fingers through her mare’s thick black mane. “She’s fearless.”

“So is her owner.”

Jordana felt as if Slade had lightly touched her. Praise didn’t come from him very often. “Thanks.”

“Maybe because you’re an emergency-room doc? You’re used to chaos and don’t get rattled?”

“I like your observations, Slade. You’re right, I’m a cool head when things get out of control around me.”

“You took those hills like a champ. Maybe I need to revise my opinion of you and that runt of a mustang you ride.” His mouth barely tipped into a smile.

Jordana laughed fully and reached out. She rested her fingers on his darkly haired arm for just an instant. When her fingers grazed his sunburned flesh, she felt his muscles leap instantly in response beneath her touch. Oh, she hadn’t meant to reach out like that. But she had. Jerking her hand back, she saw surprise and then sudden darkness come to his narrowing gray eyes. Her flesh prickled with a delicious sense that he was stripping her with his intense gaze. Gulping unsteadily, Jordana knew what she’d read in those intense, large eyes of his. What had just happened? There was no room in her life for a man right now. She was working twelve to fourteen hours a day trying to make ends meet.

Slade was surprised at Jordana’s warm, graceful fingers wrapping momentarily around his forearm. It had been completely unexpected. He felt helpless to remain immune to her spontaneity and childlike innocence. And that was how he saw Jordana. Oh, Slade knew she was thirty years old and life had erased the innocence from her, but somehow, she had kept some of it. He hadn’t, he realized. He was so dark and glum in comparison to her light, sunny smiles she shared with him. And every time Jordana’s mouth curved upward, Slade’s heart pumped a little harder. Right now, he felt boiling heat building in his lower body; a sure sign of pleasure and more…

“A horse can trot anywhere from ten to seventeen miles per hour,” he said, becoming taciturn. No way did he want Jordana to touch him again. If she did, Slade wasn’t sure he could control his reaction to her the next time around. “Your mare at her float trot was doing seventeen, which is good.” He picked up his timer and showed it to her. “Your canter was about twenty miles an hour and that’s excellent.”

“Heck,” Jordana said, making sure she kept her hands on the reins, “Stormy has never been timed like this before. I know thoroughbreds can race at forty miles per hour. And quarter horses can run fifty in a quarter of a mile race.”