Have Cowboy, Need Cupid

He steeled himself against a reaction. “Just got the palomino and the paint in to break. The Stallion’s mine. Name’s Thunder.”

“Figures.”

He arched a brow.

“Big man needs a big horse.”

He chuckled, but the breeze lifted her hair and tousled it across her face, bringing with it a softer fragrance than the perfume she’d worn the evening before. Must be her daytime perfume.

“I guess you’ve ridden horses all your life.” She smiled up at him, eyes twinkling, as if she was oblivious to the torture she rendered men.

“Since I could walk.”

“I wanted a pony when I was small, but my dad said they were too dangerous.”

“They are that.”

“Dad was slightly overprotective.” She leaned her chin on the top of her hands, which were resting on the wooden fence slats. “I always figured it was because my mom wasn’t around, but maybe it was his nature.”

He cut his gaze toward her, waiting to see if she offered more, remembering how his own father had encouraged him to get right back on that horse after his accident.

“Mom died when I was young.” She frowned as she watched the horses. “Cancer.”

He shifted on the balls of his feet, wincing at the hint of pain in her voice and ignoring the stab of muscles contracting in his lower left leg. His mother might not be in the best of health, but at least she was alive. Hell if he knew what to say, though. He wasn’t good at comfort or talk. “I’m sorry.”

Her thin shoulders lifted slightly. “Thanks, but it was a long time ago.”

Only, it felt like yesterday, he thought, detecting a hardened edge to her voice. An edge that warned him not to cross the line and pry.

An edge that made him want to.

She was tough, he realized, not the weepy sort. Independent to a fault. Like the horses he tamed.

His admiration for her rose, as well as protective instincts that he had no business feeling.

“My grandfather used to say that a man’s job was to protect a woman,” he offered. “Guess your father was just doing his job.”

Suzanne laughed, a light throaty sound that brushed his nerve endings with desire. “You were born in the wrong time period, Mr. McAllister.”

“Why’s that?” Irritation sliced through him as he pulled himself up straight. “Because I believe in tradition.”

“Because you hold on to the past.”

He crossed his arms and glared down at her. “Maybe you let it go too easily.”

She righted herself, her height still slight compared to his imposing frame. It didn’t seem to faze her. “I look toward the future.”

He lowered his voice to a husky whisper, “You fill your life with material things that don’t really matter.”

“I see the value in change,” she whispered in return, “new technology, improved medical techniques.”

“You think traffic, smog and kids who are so bored they resort to drugs to entertain themselves are good things?” He made a clicking sound with his teeth. “That’s selling out your soul for a buck, Suzanne.”

“The advantages override the flaws, Rafe.” A spark of anger brightened the inky depths of her eyes, and the sun’s golden rays left amber flecks in her hair as she scowled at him. Her spunk sent an undercurrent of awareness zinging through him.

He had thought there was nothing more beautiful than horses running free over the mountainside, nothing more dangerous than a wild one, fighting to run free. He suddenly realized he was wrong.

Suzanne Hartwell was both heartstoppingly beautiful and wild. And far more dangerous.

Doing the only smart thing he could, he turned and walked away from her. “Come on, let me give you your first riding lesson. Once you feel the mare beneath you and experience the heavenly places he can take you, you may change your mind.”