Phillip Beaumont stood and looked over the top of the limo, all blond hair and gleaming smile.

His gaze settled on her. As their eyes met across the drive, Jo felt … disoriented. Looking at Phillip Beaumont was one thing, but apparently being looked at by Phillip Beaumont?

Something else entirely.

Heat flushed her face as the corner of his mouth curved up into a smile. She couldn’t pull away from his gaze. He looked like he was glad to see her—which she knew wasn’t possible. He had no idea who she was and couldn’t have been expecting her. Besides, compared to his traveling companions, no one in their right mind would even notice her.

But that look.

Happy and hungry and relieved. Like he’d come all this way just to see her, and now that she was here, the world would be right again.

No one had looked at her like that. Ever.

* * *

Tempted by a Cowboy is part of The Beaumont Heirs trilogy: One Colorado family, limitless scandal!

Tempted by a Cowboy
Sarah M. Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Award-winning author SARAH M. ANDERSON may live east of the Mississippi River, but her heart lies out West on the Great Plains. With a lifelong love of horses and two history teachers for parents, she had plenty of encouragement to learn everything she could about the tribes of the Great Plains.

When she started writing, it wasn’t long before her characters found themselves out in South Dakota among the Lakota Sioux. She loves to put people from two different worlds into new situations and to see how their backgrounds and cultures take them someplace they never thought they’d go.

Sarah’s book A Man of Privilege won the RT Book Reviews 2012 Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Awards Series: Mills & Boon Desire.

When not helping out at her son’s school or walking her rescue dogs, Sarah spends her days having conversations with imaginary cowboys and American Indians, all of which is surprisingly well-tolerated by her wonderful husband. Readers can find out more about Sarah’s love of cowboys and Indians at www.sarahmanderson.com.

To Phil Chu, who kept his promise and got me on television—that’s what friends are for, right?

I can’t believe we’ve been friends for twenty years! Here’s your book, Phil!

Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Extract

Copyright

One

Jo got out of the truck and stretched. Man, it’d been a long drive from Kentucky to Denver.

But she’d made it to Beaumont Farms.

Getting this job was a major accomplishment—a vote of confidence that came with the weight of the Beaumont family name behind it.

This wouldn’t be just a huge paycheck—the kind that could cover a down payment on a ranch of her own. This was proof that she was a respected horse trainer and her nontraditional methods worked.

A bowlegged man came out of the barn, slapping a pair of gloves against his leg as he walked. Maybe fifty, he had the lined face of a man who’d spent most of his years outside.

He was not Phillip Beaumont, the handsome face of the Beaumont Brewery and the man who owned this farm. Even though she shouldn’t be, Jo was disappointed.

It was for the best. A man as sinfully good-looking as Phillip would be...tempting. And she absolutely could not afford to be tempted. Professional horse trainers did not fawn over the people paying their bills—especially when those people were known for their partying ways. Jo did not party, not anymore. She was here to do a job and that was that.

“Mr. Telwep?”

“Sure am,” the man said, nodding politely. “You the horse whisperer?”

“Trainer,” Jo snapped, unable to help herself. She detested being labeled a “whisperer.” Damn that book that had made that a thing. “I don’t whisper. I train.”

Richard’s bushy eyebrows shot up at her tone. She winced. So much for that first impression. But she was so used to having to defend her reputation that the reaction was automatic. She put on a friendly smile and tried again. “I’m Jo Spears.”

Thankfully, the older man didn’t seem too fazed by her lack of social graces. “Miz Spears, call me Richard,” he said, coming over to give her a firm handshake.

“Jo,” she replied. She liked men like Richard. They’d spent their lives caring for animals. As long as he and his hired hands treated her like a professional, then this would work. “What do you have for me?”

“It’s a—well, better to show you.”

“Not a Percheron?” The Beaumont Brewery was world-famous for the teams of Percherons that had pulled their wagons in all their commercials for—well, for forever. A stuffed Beaumont Percheron had held a place of honor in the middle of her bed when she’d been growing up.

“Not this time. Even rarer.”

Rarer? Not that Percheron horses were rare, but they weren’t terribly common in the United States. The massive draft horses had fallen out of fashion now that people weren’t using them to pull plows anymore.

“One moment.” She couldn’t leave Betty in the truck. Not if she didn’t want her front seat destroyed, anyway.

Jo opened the door and unhooked Betty’s traveling harness. The donkey’s ears quivered in anticipation. “Ready to get out?”

Jo scooped Betty up and set her on the ground. Betty let off a serious round of kicks as Richard said, “I heard you traveled with a—well, what the heck is that?” with a note of amusement in his voice.

“That,” Jo replied, “is Itty Bitty Betty. She’s a mini donkey.” This was a conversation she’d had many a time. “She’s a companion animal.”

By this time, Betty had settled down and had begun investigating the grass around her. Barely three feet tall, she was indeed mini. At her size and weight, she was closer to a medium sized dog than a donkey—and acted like it, too. Jo had trained Betty, of course, but the little donkey had been Jo’s companion ever since Granny bought Betty for Jo almost ten years ago. Betty had helped Jo crawl out of the darkness. For that, Jo would be forever grateful.

Richard scratched his head in befuddlement at the sight of the pint-size animal. “Danged if I’ve ever seen a donkey that small. I don’t think you’ll be wanting to put her in with Sun just yet.” He turned and began walking.

Jo perked up. “Sun?” She fell in step with Richard and whistled over her shoulder. Betty came trotting.

“Danged if I’ve ever,” Richard repeated.

“Sun?” she said.

“Kandar’s Golden Sun.” Richard blew out hard, the frustration obvious. “You ever heard of an Akhal-Teke?”

The name rang a bell. “Isn’t that the breed that sired the Arabian?”

“Yup. From Turkmenistan. Only about five thousand in the world.” He led the way around the barn to a paddock off to one side, partially shaded by trees.

In the middle of the paddock was a horse that probably was golden, as the name implied. But sweat matted his coat and foam dripped from his mouth and neck, giving him a dull, dirty look. The horse was running and bucking in wild circles and had worked himself up to a lather.

“Yup,” Richard said, the disappointment obvious in his voice. “That’s Kandar’s Golden Sun, all right.”

Jo watched the horse run. “Why’s he so worked up?”

“We moved him from his stall to the paddock. Three hours ago.” Jo looked at the older man, but he shrugged. “Took three men. We try to be gentle, but the damn thing takes one look at us and goes ballistic.”

Three hours this horse had been bucking and running? Jesus, it was a miracle he hadn’t collapsed in a heap. Jo had dealt with her share of terrified horses but sooner or later, they all wore themselves out.

“What happened?”

“That’s the thing. No one knows. Mr. Beaumont flew to Turkmenistan himself to look at Sun. He understands horses,” Richard added in explanation.

Heat flooded her cheeks. “I’m aware of his reputation.”

How could anyone not be aware of Phillip Beaumont’s reputation? He’d made the People magazine “Most Beautiful” list more than a few years in a row. He had the sort of blond hair that always looked as if he’d walked off a beach, a strong chin and the kind of jaw that could cut stone. He did the Beaumont Brewery commercials but also made headlines on gossip websites and tabloid magazines for some of the stunts he pulled at clubs in Vegas and L.A. Like the time he’d driven a Ferrari into a pool. At the top of a hotel.

No doubt about it, Phillip was a hard-partying playboy. Except...except when he wasn’t. In preparing for this job, she’d found an interview he’d done with Western Horseman magazine. In that interview—and the accompanying photos—he hadn’t been a jaded playboy but an honest-to-God cowboy. He’d talked about horses and herd management and certainly looked like the real McCoy in his boots, jeans, flannel shirt and cowboy hat. He’d said he was building Beaumont Farms as a preeminent stable in the West. Considering the Beaumont family name and its billions in the bank—it wasn’t some lofty goal. It was within his reach.

Which one was he? The playboy too sinfully handsome to resist or the hard-working cowboy who wasn’t afraid to get dirt on his boots?

No matter which one he was, she was not interested. She couldn’t afford to be interested in a playboy, especially one who was going to sign her checks. Yes, she’d been training horses for years now, but most wealthy owners of the valuable horses didn’t want to take a chance on her nontraditional methods. She’d taken every odd job in every out-of-the-way ranch and farm in the lower forty-eight states to build her clientele. The call from Beaumont Farms was her first major contract with people who bought horses not for thousands of dollars, but for millions. If she could save this horse, her reputation would be set.

Besides, the odds of even meeting Phillip Beaumont were slim. Richard was the man she’d be working with. She pulled her thoughts away from the unattainable and focused on why she was here—the horse.

Richard snorted. “We don’t deal too much with the partying out here. We just work horses.” He waved a hand at Sun, who obliged by rearing on to his back legs and whinnying in panic. “Best we can figure is that maybe something happened on the plane ride? But there were no marks, no wounds. No crashes—not even a rough landing, according to the pilots.”

“Just a horse that went off the rails,” she said, watching as Sun pawed at the dirt as if he were killing a snake.

“Yup.” Richard hung his head. “The horse ain’t right but Mr. Beaumont’s convinced he can be fixed—a horse to build a stable on, he keeps saying. Spent some ungodly sum of money on him—he’d hate to lose his investment. Personally, I can’t stand to see an animal suffer like that. But Mr. Beaumont won’t let me put Sun out of his misery. I hired three other trainers before you and none of them lasted a week. You’re the horse’s last chance. You can’t fix him, he’ll have to be put down.”

This had to be why Richard hadn’t gone into specifics over email. He was afraid he’d scare Jo off. “Who’d you hire?”

The older man dug the tip of his boot into the grass. “Lansing, Hoffmire and Callet.”

Jo snorted. Lansing was a fraud. Hoffmire was a former farm manager, respected in horse circles. Callet was old-school—and an asshole. He’d tracked her down once to tell her to stay the hell away from his clientele.

She would take particular joy in saving a horse he couldn’t.

Moving slowly, she walked to the paddock gate, Betty trotting to keep up. She unhooked the latch on the gate and let it swing open about a foot and a half.

Sun stopped and watched her. Then he really began to pitch a fit. His legs flailed as he bucked and reared and slammed his hooves into the ground so hard she felt the shock waves through the dirt. Hours of this, Jo thought. And no one knows why.

She patted her leg, which was the signal for Betty to stay close. Then Jo stepped into the paddock.

“Miss—” Richard called out, terror in his voice when he realized what she was doing. “Logan, get the tranq gun!”

“Quiet, please.” It came out gentle because she was doing her best to project calm.

She heard footsteps—probably Logan and the other hands, ready to ride to her rescue. She held up a hand, motioning them to stop, and then closed the gate behind her and Betty.

The horse went absolutely wild. It hurt to see an animal so lost in its own hell that there didn’t seem to be any way out.

She knew the feeling. It was a hard thing to see, harder to remember the years she’d lost to her own hell.

She’d found her way out. She’d hit bottom so hard it’d almost killed her but through the grace of God, Granny and Itty Bitty Betty, she’d fought her way back out.

She’d made it her life’s work to help animals do the same. Even lost causes like Sun could be saved—not fixed, because there was no erasing the damage that had already been done. Scars were forever. But moving forward meant accepting the scars. It was that simple. She’d accepted hers.

Jo could stand here for hours listening to the world move, if that was what it took.

It didn’t. After what was probably close to forty-five minutes, Sun stopped his frantic pacing. First, he stopped kicking, then he slowed from a run to a trot, then to a walk. Finally, he stood in the middle of the paddock, sides heaving and head down. For the first time, the horse was still.

She could almost hear him say, I give up.

It was a low place to be, when living hurt that much.

She understood. She couldn’t fix this horse. No one could. But she could save him.

She patted her leg again and turned to walk out of the paddock. A group of seven men stood watching the show Sun had put on for her. Richard had a tranq gun in the hand he was resting on a bar of the paddock.

They were silent. No one shouted about her safety as she turned her back on Sun, no one talked about how the horse must be possessed. They watched her walk to the gate, open it, walk out, and shut it as if they were witnessing a miracle.

“I’ll take the job.”

Relief so intense it almost knocked her back a step broke over the ranch manager’s face. The hired hands all grinned, obviously thankful that Sun was someone else’s problem now.

“Provided,” she went on, “my conditions are met.”

Richard tried to look stern, but he didn’t quite make it. “Yeah?”

“I need an on-site hookup for my trailer. That way, if Sun has a problem in the middle of the night, I’m here to deal with it.”

“We’ve got the electric. I’ll have Jerry rig up something for the sewer.”

“Second, no one else deals with Sun. I feed him, I groom him, I move him. The rest of you stay clear.”

“Done,” Richard agreed without hesitation. The hands all nodded.

So far, so good. “We do this my way or we don’t do it at all. No second-guessing from you, the hired hands or the owners. I won’t rush the horse and I expect the same treatment. And I expect to be left alone. I don’t date or hook up. Clear?”

She hated having to throw that out there because she knew it made her sound as if she thought men would be fighting over her. But she’d done enough harm by hooking up before. Even if she was sober this time, she couldn’t risk another life.

Plus, she was a single woman, traveling alone in a trailer with a bed. Some men thought that was enough. Things worked better if everything was cut-and-dried up front.

Richard looked around at his crew. Some were blushing, a few looked bummed—but most of them were just happy that they wouldn’t have to deal with Sun anymore.

Then Richard looked across the fields. A long, black limousine was heading toward them.

“Damn,” one of the hands said, “the boss.”

Everyone but Jo and Richard made themselves scarce. Sun found his second wind and began a full-fledged fit.

“This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” Jo asked Richard, who was busy dusting off his jeans and straightening his shirt.

“Shouldn’t be.” He did not sound convincing. “Mr. Beaumont wants the best for Sun.”

The but on the end of that statement was as loud as if Richard had actually said the word. But Phillip Beaumont was a known womanizer who made headlines around the world for his conquests.

Richard turned his attention back to her. “You’re hired. I’ll do my level-best to make sure that Mr. Beaumont stays clear of you.”

In other words, Richard had absolutely no control of the situation. A fact that became more apparent as the limo got closer. The older man stood at attention as the vehicle rolled to a stop in front of the barn.

Phillip Beaumont didn’t scare her. Or intimidate her. She’d dealt with handsome, entitled men before and none of them had ever tempted her to fall back into her old ways. None of them made her forget the scars. This wouldn’t be any different. She was just here for the job.

The limo door opened. A bare, female leg emerged from the limo at the same time as giggling filled the air. Behind her, Jo heard Sun kick it up a notch.

The first leg was followed by a second. Jo wasn’t that surprised when a second set of female legs followed the first. By that time, the first woman had stepped clear of the limo’s door and Jo could see that, while she was wearing clothing, the dress consisted of little more than a bikini’s worth of black sequined material. The second woman stood up and pulled the red velvet material of her skirt down around her hips.

Beside her, Richard made a sound that was stuck somewhere between a sigh and a groan. Jo took that to mean that this wasn’t the first time Phillip had shown up with women dressed like hookers.

Betty nickered in boredom and went back to cropping grass. Jo pretty much felt the same way. Of course this was how Phillip Beaumont rolled. Those headlines hadn’t lied. The thing that had been less honest had been that interview in Western Horseman. That had probably been more about rehabilitating his brand image than about his actual love and respect for horses.

But on the bright side, if he’d brought his own entertainment to the ranch, he’d leave her to her work. That’s what was important here—she had to save Sun, cement her reputation as a horse trainer and add this paycheck to the fund that she’d use to buy her own ranch. Adding Beaumont Farms to her résumé was worth putting up with the hassle of, well, this.

Then another set of legs appeared. Unlike the first sets, these legs were clad in what looked like expensive Italian leather shoes and fine-cut wool trousers. Phillip Beaumont himself stood and looked at his farm over the top of the limo, all blond hair and gleaming smile. He wore an odd look on his face. He almost looked relieved.

His gaze settled on her. As their eyes met across the drive, Jo felt...disoriented. Looking at Phillip Beaumont was one thing, but apparently being looked at by Phillip Beaumont?

Something else entirely.

Heat flushed her face as the corner of his mouth curved up into a smile, grabbed hold of her and refused to let her go. She couldn’t pull away from his gaze—and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. He looked as if he was glad to see her—which she knew wasn’t possible. He had no idea who she was and couldn’t have been expecting her. Besides, compared to his traveling companions, no one in their right mind would even notice her.

But that look.... Happy and hungry and relieved. Like he’d come all this way just to see her and now that she was here, the world would be right again.

No one had looked at her like that. Ever. Before, when she’d been a party girl, men looked at her with a wolfish hunger that had very little to do with her as a woman and everything to do with them wanting to get laid. And since the accident? Well, she wore her hair like this and dressed like she did specifically so she wouldn’t invite people to look at her.

He saw right through her.

The women lost their balance and nearly tumbled to the ground, but Phillip caught them in his arms. He pulled them apart and settled one on his left side, the other on his right. The women giggled, as if this were nothing but hilarious.

It hurt to see them, like ghosts of her past come back to haunt her.

“Mr. Beaumont,” Richard began in a warm, if desperate, tone as he went to meet his boss. “We weren’t expecting you today.”

“Dick,” Phillip said, which caused his traveling companions to break out into renewed giggles. “I wanted to show my new friends—” He looked down at Blonde Number One.

“Katylynn,” Number One giggled. Of course.

“Sailor,” Number Two helpfully added.

Phillip’s head swung up in a careful arc, another disarming smile already in place as he gave the girls a squeeze. “I wanted to show Sun to Katylynn and Sailor.”

“Mr. Beaumont,” Richard began again. Jo heard more anger in his voice this time. “Sun is not—”

“Wha’s wrong with that horse?” Sailor took a step away from Phillip and pointed at Sun.

They all turned to look. Sun was now bucking with renewed vigor. Damn stamina, Jo thought as she watched him.

“Wha’s making him do that?” Katylynn asked.

“You are,” Jo informed the trio.

The women glared at her. “Who are you?” Sailor asked in a haughty tone.

“Yes, who are you?” Phillip Beaumont spoke slowly—carefully—as his eyes focused on her again.

Again, her face prickled with unfamiliar heat. Get ahold of yourself, she thought, forcibly breaking the eye contact. She wasn’t the kind of woman who got drunk and got lost in a man’s eyes. Not anymore. She’d left that life behind and no one—not even someone as handsome and rich as Phillip Beaumont—would tempt her back to it.

“Mr. Beaumont, this here is Jo Spears. She’s the horse...” She almost heard whisperer sneak out through his teeth. “Trainer. The new trainer for Sun.”

She gave Richard an appreciative smile. A quick study, that one.

Phillip detached himself from his companions, which led to them making whimpering noises of protest.

As Phillip closed the distance between him and Jo, that half-smile took hold of his mouth again. He stopped with two feet still between them. “You’re the new trainer?”

She stared at his eyes. They were pale green with flecks of gold around the edges. Nice eyes.

Nice eyes that bounced. It wasn’t a big movement, but Phillip’s eyes were definitely moving of their own accord. She knew the signs of intoxication and that one was a dead giveaway. He was drunk.

She had to admire his control, though. Nothing else in his mannerisms or behaviors gave away that he was three sheets to the wind. Which really only meant one thing.

Being this drunk wasn’t something new for him. He’d gotten very good at masking his state. That was something that took years of practice.

She’d gotten good at it, too—but it was so exhausting to keep up that false front of competency, to act normal when she wasn’t. She’d hated being that person. She wasn’t anymore.

She let this realization push down on the other part of her brain that was still admiring his lovely eyes. Phillip Beaumont represented every single one of her triggers wrapped up in one extremely attractive package. Everything she could never be again if she wanted to be a respected horse trainer, not an out-of-control alcoholic.

She needed this job, needed the prestige of retraining a horse like Sun on her résumé and the paycheck that went with it. She absolutely could not allow a handsome man who could hold his liquor to tempt her back into a life she’d long since given up.

She did not hook up. Not even with the likes of Phillip Beaumont.

“I’m just here for the horse,” she told him.

He tilted his head in what looked like acknowledgement without breaking eye contact and without losing that smile.

Man, this was unnerving. Men who looked at her usually saw the bluntly cut, shoulder-length hair and the flannel shirts and the jeans and dismissed her out of hand. That was how she wanted it. It kept a safe distance between her and the rest of the world. That was just the way it had to be.

But this look was doing some very unusual things to her. Things she didn’t like. Her cheeks got hot—was she blushing?—and a strange prickling started at the base of her neck and raced down her back.

She gritted her teeth but thankfully, he was the one who broke the eye contact first. He looked down at Betty, still blissfully cropping grass. “And who is this?”

Jo braced herself. “This is Itty Bitty Betty, my companion mini donkey.”

Instead of the lame joke or snorting laughter, Phillip leaned down, held his hand out palm up and let Betty sniff his hand. “Well hello, Little Bitty Betty. Aren’t you a good girl?”

Jo decided not to correct him on her name. It wasn’t worth it. What was worth it, though, was the way Betty snuffled at his hand and then let him rub her ears.

That weird prickling sensation only got stronger as she watched Phillip Beaumont make friends with her donkey. “We’ve got nice grass,” he told her, sounding for all the world as if he was talking to a toddler. “You’ll like it here.”

Jo realized she was staring at Phillip with her mouth open, which she quickly corrected. The people who hired her usually made a joke about Betty or stated they weren’t paying extra for a donkey of any size. But Phillip?

Wearing a smile that bordered on cute he looked up at Jo as Betty went back to the grass. “She’s a good companion, I can tell.”

She couldn’t help herself. “Can you?”

Richard had said his boss was a good judge of horses. He’d certainly sounded as if were true it in that interview. She wanted him to be a good judge of horses, to be a real person and not just a shallow, beer-peddling facade of a man. Even though she had no right to want that from him, she did.

His smile went from adorable to wicked in a heartbeat and damned if other parts of her body didn’t start prickling at the sight. “I’m an excellent judge of character.”

Right then, the party girls decided to speak up. “Philly, we want to go home,” one cooed.

“With you,” the other one added.

“Yes,” Jo told him, casting a glare back at the women. “I can see that.”

Sun made an unholy noise behind them. Richard shouted and the blondes screamed.

Jesus, Jo thought as Sun pawed at the ground and then charged the paddock fence, snot streaming out of his nose. If he hit the fence at that speed, there wouldn’t be anything left to save.

Everyone else dove out of the way. Jo turned and ran toward the horse, throwing her hands up and shouting “Hiyahh!” at the top of her lungs.

It worked with feet to spare. Sun spooked hard to the left and only hit the paddock fence with his hindquarters—which might be enough to bruise him but wouldn’t do any other damage.

“Jesus,” she said out loud as the horse returned to his bucking. Her chest heaved as the adrenaline pumped through her body.

“I’ll tranq him,” Richard said beside her, leveling the gun at Sun.

“No.” She pushed the muzzle away before he could squeeze the trigger. “Leave him be. He started this, he’s got to finish it.”

Richard gave her a hell of a doubtful look. “We’ll have to tranq him to get him back to his stall. I can’t afford anymore workman’s comp because of this horse.”

She turned to give the ranch manager her meanest look. “We do this my way or we don’t do it at all. That was the deal. I say you don’t shoot him. Leave him in this paddock. Set out hay and water. No one else touches this horse. Do I make myself clear?”

“Do what she says,” Phillip said behind her.

Jo turned back to the paddock to make sure that Sun hadn’t decided to exit on the other side. Nope. Just more bucking circles. It’d almost been a horse’s version of shut the hell up. She grinned at him. On that point, she had to agree.

She could feel her connection with Sun start to grow, which was a good thing. The more she could understand what he was thinking, the easier it would be to help him.

“Philly, we want to go,” one of the blondes demanded with a full-on whine.

“Fine,” Phillip snapped. “Ortiz, make sure the ladies get back to their homes.”

A different male voice—probably the limo driver—said, “Yes sir, Mr. Beaumont.” This announcement was met with cries of protest, which quickly turned to howls of fury.

Jo didn’t watch. She kept her eye on Sun, who was still freaking out at all the commotion. If he made another bolt for the fence, she might have to let Richard tranq him and she really didn’t want that to happen. Shots fired now would only make her job that much harder in the long run.

Finally, the limo doors shut and she heard the car drive off. Thank God. With the women gone, the odds that Sun would settle down were a lot better.

She heard footsteps behind her and tensed. She didn’t want Phillip to touch her. She’d meant what she’d said to the hired hands earlier—she didn’t hook up with anyone. Especially not men like Phillip Beaumont. She couldn’t afford to have her professional reputation compromised, not when she’d finally gotten a top-tier client—and a horse no one else could save. She needed this job far more than she needed Phillip Beaumont to smile at her.

He came level with her and stopped. He was too close—more than close enough to touch.

She panicked. “I don’t sleep with clients,” she announced into the silence—and immediately felt stupid. She was letting a little thing like prickling heat undermine her authority here. She was a horse trainer. That was all.

“I’ll be sure to take that into consideration.” He looked down at her and turned on the most seductive smile she’d ever seen.

Oh, what a smile. She struggled for a moment to remember why, exactly, she didn’t need that smile in her life. How long had it been since she’d let herself smile back at a man? How long had it been since she’d allowed herself even a little bit of fun?

Years. But then the skin on the back of her neck pulled and she remembered the hospital and the pain. The scars. She hadn’t gotten this job because she smiled at attractive men. She’d gotten this job because she was a horse trainer who could save a broken horse.

She was a professional, by God. When she’d made her announcement to the hired hands earlier, they’d all nodded and agreed. But Phillip?

He looked as if she’d issued a personal challenge. One that he was up to meeting.

Heat flushed her face as she fluttered—honest-to-God fluttered. One little smile—that wouldn’t cost her too much, would it?

No.

She pushed back against whatever insanity was gripping her. She no longer fluttered. She did not fall for party boys. She did not sleep with men at the drop of a hat because they were cute or bought her drinks. She did not look for a human connection in a bar because the connections she’d always made there were never very human.

She would not be tempted by Phillip Beaumont. It didn’t matter how tempting he was. She would not smile back because one smile would lead to another and she couldn’t let that happen.

He notched up one eyebrow as if he were acknowledging how much he’d flustered her. But instead of saying something else, he walked past her and leaned heavily against the paddock fence, staring at Sun. His body language pulled at her in ways she didn’t like. So few of the people who hired her to train horses actually cared about their animals. They looked at the horse and saw dollars—either in money spent, money yet to be made, or insurance payments. That’s why she didn’t get involved with her clients. She could count the exceptions on one hand, like Whitney Maddox, a horse breeder she’d stayed with a few months last winter. But those cases were few and far between and never involved men with reputations like Phillip Beaumont.

But the way Phillip was looking at his horse... There was a pain in his face that seemed to mirror what the horse was feeling. It was a hard thing to see.

No. She was not going to feel sorry for this poor little rich boy. She’d come from nothing, managed to nearly destroy her own life and actually managed to make good all by herself.

“He’s a good horse—I know he is.” Phillip didn’t even glance in her direction. He sounded different now that the ladies were gone. It was almost as if she could see his mask slip. What was left was a man who was tired and worried. “I know Richard thinks he should be put out of his misery, but I can’t do it. I can’t—I can’t give up on him. If he could just...” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, which, damn it, only made it look better. He turned to her. “Can you fix him?”

“No,” she told him. What was left of his playboy mask fell completely away at this pronouncement.

In that moment, Jo saw something else in Phillip Beaumont’s eyes—something that she didn’t just recognize, but that she understood.

He was so lost. Just like she’d been once.

“I can’t fix him—but I can save him.”

He looked at her. “There’s a difference?”

“Trust me—all the difference in the world.”

Jo looked back at Sun, who was quickly working through his energy. Soon, he’d calm down. Maybe he’d even drink some water and sleep. That’d be good. She wanted to save him in a way that went beyond the satisfaction of a job well done or the fees that Phillip Beaumont could afford to pay her.

She wanted to save this horse because once, she’d hurt as much as he did right now. And no one—no horse—should hurt that much. Not when she could make it better.

She wasn’t here for Phillip Beaumont. He might be a scarred man in a tempting package, but she’d avoided temptation before and she’d do it again.

“Don’t give up on him,” he said in a voice that she wasn’t sure was meant for her.

“Don’t worry,” she told the horse as much as she told Phillip. “I won’t.”

She would not give up on the horse.

She wasn’t sure she had such high hopes for the man.

Two

Light. Too much light.

God, his head.

Phillip rolled away from the sunlight but moving his head did not improve the situation. In fact, it only made things worse.

Finally, he sat up, which had the benefit of getting the light out of his face but also made his stomach roll. He managed to get his eyes cracked open. He wasn’t in his downtown apartment and he wasn’t in his bedroom at the Beaumont Mansion.

The walls of the room were rough-cut logs, the fireplace was stone and a massive painting showing a pair of Percherons pulling a covered wagon across the prairie hung over the mantle.

Ah. He was at the farm. Immediately, his stomach unclenched. There were a lot worse places to wake up. He knew that from experience. Back when his grandfather had built it, it’d been little more than a cabin set far away from the world of beer. John Beaumont hadn’t wasted money on opulence where no one would see it. That’s why the Beaumont Mansion was a work of art and the farm was...not.

Phillip liked it out here. Over the years, the original cabin had been expanded, but always with the rough-hewn logs. His room was a part he’d added himself, mostly because he wanted a view and a deck to look at it from. The hot tub outside didn’t hurt, either, but unlike the hot tub at his bachelor pad, this one was mostly for soaking.

Mostly. He was Phillip Beaumont, after all.

Phillip sat in bed for a while, rubbing his temples and trying to sift through the random memories from the last few days. He knew he’d had an event in Las Vegas on...Thursday. That’d been a hell of a night.

He was pretty sure he’d had a club party in L.A. on Friday, hadn’t he? No, that wasn’t right. Beaumont Brewery had a big party tent at a music festival and Phillip had been there for the Friday festivities. Lots of music people. Lots of beer.

And Saturday...he’d been back in Denver for a private party for some guy’s twenty-first birthday. But, no matter how hard he tried to remember the party, his brain wouldn’t supply any details.

So, did that mean today was Sunday or Monday? Hell, he didn’t know. That was the downside of his job. Phillip was vice president of Marketing in charge of special events for Beaumont Brewery, which loosely translated into making sure everyone had a good time at a Beaumont-sponsored event and talked about it on social media.

Phillip was very good at his job.

He found the clock. It was 11:49. He needed to get up. The sun was only getting brighter. Why didn’t he have room-darkening blinds in here?

Oh, yeah. Because the windows opened up on to a beautiful vista, full of lush grass, tall trees and his horses. Damn his aesthetic demands.

He got his feet swung over the bed and under him. Each movement was like being hit with a meat cleaver right between the eyes. Yeah, that must have been one hell of a party.

He navigated a flight of stairs and two hallways to the kitchen, which was in the original building. He got the coffee going and then dug a sports drink out of the fridge. He popped some Tylenol and guzzled the sports drink.

Almost immediately, his head felt better. He finished the first bottle and cracked open a second. Food. He needed food. But he needed a shower first.

Phillip headed back to his bathroom. That was the other reason he’d built his own addition—the other bathroom held the antique claw-foot tub that couldn’t hope to contain all six of his feet.

His bathroom had a walk-in shower, a separate tub big enough for two and a double sink that stretched out for over eight feet. He could sprawl out all over the place and still have room to spare.

He soaked his head in cool water, which got his blood pumping again. He’d always had a quick recovery time from a good party—today was no different.

Finally, he got dressed in his work clothes and went back to the kitchen. He made some eggs, which helped his stomach. The coffee was done, so he filled up a thermal mug and added a shot of whiskey. Hair of the dog.

Finally, food in his stomach and coffee in his hand, he found his phone and scrolled through it.

Ah. It was Monday. Which meant he had no recollection of Sunday. Damn.

He didn’t dwell on that. Instead, he scrolled through his contacts list. Lots of new numbers. Not too many pictures. One he’d apparently already posted to Instagram of him and Drake on stage together? Cool. That was a dream-come-true kind of moment right there. He was thrilled someone had gotten a photo of it.

He scanned some of the gossip sites. There were mentions of the clubs, the festival—but nothing terrible. Mostly just who’s-who tallies and some wild speculation about who went to bed with whom.

Phillip heaved a sigh of relief. He’d done his job well. He always did. People had a good time, drank a lot of Beaumont Beer and talked the company up to their friends. And they did that because Phillip brought all the elements together for them—the beer, the party, the celebrities.

It was just that sometimes, people talked about things that gave the PR department fits. No matter how many times Phillip tried to tell those suits who worked for his brother Chadwick that there was no such thing as bad PR, every time he made headlines for what they considered the “wrong” reasons, Chadwick felt the need to have a coming-to-Jesus moment with Phillip about how his behavior was damaging the brand name and costing the company money and blah, blah, blah.

Frankly, Phillip could do with less Chadwick in his life.

That wasn’t going to happen this week, thank God. The initial summaries looked good—the Klout Score was up, the hits were high and on Saturday, the Beaumont party tent had been trending for about four hours on Twitter.

Phillip shut off his phone with a smile. That was a job well done in his book.

He felt human again. His head was clearing and the food in his stomach was working. Hair of the dog always does the trick, he thought as he refilled his mug and put on his boots. He felt good.

He was happy to be back on the farm in a way he couldn’t quite put into words. He missed his horses—especially Sun. He hadn’t seen Sun in what felt like weeks. The last he knew, Richard had hired some trainer who’d promised to fix the horse. But that was a while ago. Maybe a month?

There it was again—that uneasy feeling that had nothing to do with the hangover or the breakfast. He didn’t like that feeling, so he took an extra big swig of coffee to wash it away.

He had some time before the next round of events kicked off. There was a lull between now and Spring Break. That was fine by Phillip. He would get caught up with Richard, evaluate his horses, go for some long rides—hopefully on Sun—and ignore the world for a while. Then, by the time he was due to head south to help ensure that Beaumont Beers were the leading choice of college kids everywhere, he’d be good to go. Brand loyalty couldn’t start early enough.

He grabbed his hat off the peg by the door and headed down to the barn. The half-mile walk did wonders for his head. The whole place was turning green as the last of the winter gave way to spring. Daffodils popped up in random spots and the pastures were so bright they hurt his eyes.

It felt good to be home. He needed a week or two to recover, that was all.

As he rounded the bend in the road that connected the house to the main barn, he saw that Sun was out in a paddock. That was a good sign. As best he could recall, Richard had said they couldn’t move the horse out of his stall without risking life and limb. Phillip had nearly had his own head taken off by a flying hoof the one time he’d tried to put a halter on his own horse—something that Sun had let him do when they were at the stables in Turkmenistan.

God, he wished he knew where things had gone wrong. Sun had been a handful, that was for sure—but at his old stables, he’d been manageable. Phillip had even inquired into bringing his former owner out to the farm to see if the old man who spoke no English would be able to settle Sun down. The man had refused.

But if that last trainer had worked wonders, then Phillip could get on with his plan. The trainer’s services had cost a fortune, but if he’d gotten Sun back on track, it was worth it. The horse’s bloodlines could be traced back on paper to the 1880s and the former owner had transcribed an oral bloodline that went back to the 1600s. True, an oral bloodline didn’t count much, but Philip knew Sun was a special horse. His ancestors had taken home gold, the Grand Prix de Dressage and too many long-distance races to count.

He needed to highlight Sun’s confirmation and stamina—that was what would sell his lineage as a stud. Sun’s line would live on for a long time to come. That stamina—and his name—was what breeders would pay top dollar for. But beyond that, there was something noble about the whole thing. The Akhal-Tekes were an ancient breed of horse—the founder of the modern lines of the Arabians and Thoroughbreds. It seemed a shame that almost no one had ever heard of them. They were amazing animals—almost unbreakable, especially compared to the delicate racing Thoroughbreds whose legs seemed to shatter with increasing frequency on the racetrack. A horse like Sun could reinvigorate lines—leading to stronger, faster racehorses.

Phillip felt lighter than he had in a while. Sun was a damned fine horse—the kind of stud upon which to found a line. He must be getting old because as fun as the parties obviously were—photos didn’t lie—he was getting to the point where he just wanted to train his horses.

Of course he knew he couldn’t hide out here forever. He had a job to do. Not that he needed the money, but working for the Beaumont Brewery wasn’t just a family tradition. It was also a damned good way to keep Chadwick off his back. No matter what his older brother said, Phillip wasn’t wasting the family fortune on horses and women. He was an important part of the Beaumont brand name—that more than offset his occasional forays into horses.

Phillip saw a massive trailer parked off to the side of the barn with what looked like a garden hose and—was that an extension cord?—running from the barn to the trailer. Odd. Had he invited someone out to the farm? Usually, when he had guests, they stayed at the house.

He took a swig of coffee. He didn’t like that unsettling feeling of not knowing what was going on.

As he got closer, he saw that Sun wasn’t grazing. He was running. That wasn’t a good sign.

Sun wasn’t better. He was the same. God, what a depressing thought.

Then Phillip saw her. It was obvious she was a her—tall, clad in snug jeans and a close-fit flannel shirt, he could see the curve of her hips at three hundred yards. Longish hair hung underneath a brown hat. She sure as hell didn’t look like the kind of woman he brought home with him—not even to the farm. So what was she doing here?

Standing in the middle of the paddock while Sun ran in wild circles, that’s what.

Phillip shook his head. This had to be a post-hangover hallucination. If Sun weren’t better, why would anyone be in a paddock with him? The horse was too far gone. It wasn’t safe. The horse had knocked a few of the hired hands out of commission for a while. The medical bills were another thing Chadwick rode his ass about.

Not only did the vision of this woman not disperse, but Phillip noticed something else that couldn’t be real. Was that a donkey in there with her? He was pretty sure he’d remember buying a donkey that small.

He looked the woman over again, hoping for some sign of recognition. Nothing. He was sure he’d remember thighs and a backside like that. Maybe she’d look different up close.

He walked the rest of the way down to the paddock, his gaze never leaving her. No, she wasn’t his type, but variety was the spice of life, wasn’t it?

“Good morning,” he said in a cheerful voice as he leaned against the fence.

Her back stiffened but she gave no other sign that she’d heard him. The small donkey craned its neck around to give him a look that could only be described as doleful as Sun went from a bucking trot to a rearing, snorting mess in seconds.

Jesus, that horse could kill her. But he tried not to let the panic creep into his voice. “Miss, I don’t think it’s safe to be in there right now.” Sun made a sound that was closer to a scream than a whinny. Phillip winced at the noise.

The woman’s head dropped in what looked like resignation. Then she patted the side of her leg as she turned and began a slow walk back to the gate. Betty followed close on her heels.

The donkey’s name was Betty. How did he know that?

Oh, crap—he did know her. Had she been at the party? Had they slept together? He didn’t remember seeing any signs of a female in his room or in the house.

He watched as she walked toward him. She was a cowgirl, that much was certain—and not one of those fake ones whose hats were covered in rhinestones and whose jeans had never seen a saddle. The brown hat fit low on her forehead, the flannel shirt was tucked in under a worn leather belt that had absolutely no adornment and her chest—

Phillip was positive he’d remember spending a little quality time with that chest. Despite the nearly unisex clothing, the flannel shirt did nothing to hide the generous breasts that swelled outward, begging him to notice them.

Which he did, of course. But he could control his baser urges to ogle a woman. So, after a quick glance at what had to be perfection in breast form, he snapped his eyes up to her face. The movement made his head swim.

It’d be so nice if he could remember her, because she was certainly a memorable woman. Her face wasn’t made up or altered. She had tanned skin, a light dusting of freckles and a nose that looked as if it might have been broken once. It should have made her look awkward, but he decided it was fitting. There was a certain beauty in the imperfect.

Then she raised her eyes to his and he felt rooted to the spot. Her eyes were clear and bright, a soft hazel. He could get lost in eyes like that.

Not that he got the chance. She scowled at him. The shock of someone other than Chadwick looking so displeased with him put Phillip on the defensive. Still, she was a woman and women were his specialty. So he waited until she’d made it out of the gate and closed it behind Betty.

Once the gate clicked, she didn’t head for where he stood. Instead, she went back to ignoring him entirely as she propped a booted foot up on the gate and watched the show Sun was putting on for them.

What. The. Hell.

He was going to have to amend his previous statement—most women were his specialty.

Time to get back to basics. One compliment, coming right up. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone wear a pair of jeans like you do.” That should do the trick.

Or it would have for any other woman. Instead, she dropped her forehead onto the top bar of the gate—a similar motion to the one she’d made out in the paddock moments ago. Then she turned her face to him. “Was it worth it?”

His generous smile faltered. “Was what worth it?”

Her soft eyes didn’t seem so soft anymore. “The blackout. Was it worth it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

That got a smirk out of her, just a small curve of her lips. It was gone in a flash. “That’s the definition of a blackout, isn’t it? You have no idea who I am or what I’m doing here, do you?”

Sun made that unholy noise again. Phillip tensed. The woman he didn’t know looked at the horse and shook her head as if the screaming beast was a disappointment to her. Then she looked at Phillip and shook her head again.

Unfamiliar anger coursed through him, bringing a new clarity to his thoughts. Who the hell was this woman, anyway? “I know you shouldn’t be climbing into the paddock with Sun. He’s dangerous.”

Another smirk. Was she challenging him?

“But he wasn’t when you bought him, was he?”

How did she know about that? An idea began to take shape in his mind like a Polaroid developing. He shook his head, hoping the image would get clearer—fast. It didn’t. “No.”

She stared at him a moment longer. It shouldn’t bother him that she knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. That went with being the face of the Beaumont Brewery.

But she didn’t look at him like everyone else did—with that gleam of delight that went with meeting a celebrity in the flesh. Instead, she just looked disappointed.

Well, she could just keep on looking disappointed. He turned his attention to the most receptive being here—the donkey. “How are you this morning, Betty?”

When the woman didn’t correct him, he grinned. He’d gotten that part right, at least.

He rubbed the donkey behind the ears, which resulted in her leaning against his legs and groaning in satisfaction. “Good girl, aren’t you?” he whispered.

Maybe he’d have to get a little donkey like this. If Betty wasn’t his already.

Maybe, a quiet voice in the back of his head whispered, that blackout wasn’t worth it.

He took another swig of coffee.

He looked back at the woman. Her posture hadn’t changed, but everything about her face had. Instead of a smirk, she was smiling at him—him and the donkey.

The donkey was hers, he realized. And since he already knew the donkey’s name, he must have met the woman, too.

Double damn.

That’s when he realized he was smiling back at her. What had been superior about her had softened into something that looked closer to delight.

He forgot about not knowing who she was, how she got here or what she was doing with his prize stallion. All he could think was that now things were about to get interesting. This was a dance he could do with his eyes closed—a beautiful woman, a welcoming smile—a good time soon to be had by all.

Genuine compliment, take two. “She’s a real sweetie, isn’t she? I’ve never seen a donkey this well-behaved.” He took a risk. “You did an amazing job training her.”

Oh, yeah, that worked much better than the jeans comment had. Her smile deepened as she tilted her head to one side. Soft morning light warmed her face and suddenly, she looked like a woman who wanted to be kissed.

Whoever she was, this woman was unlike anyone he’d ever met before. Different could be good. Hell, different could be great. She wasn’t a woman who belonged at the clubs but then, he wasn’t at the clubs. He was at his farm and this woman clearly fit in this world.

Maybe he’d enjoy this break from big-city living more than he’d thought he would. After all, his bed was more than large enough to accommodate two people. So was the hot tub.

Yes, the week was suddenly looking up.

But she still hadn’t told him who the hell she was and that was becoming a problem. Kissing an anonymous woman in a dark club? No problem. Kissing a cowgirl who was inexplicably on his ranch in broad daylight?

Problem.

He had to bite the bullet and admit he didn’t remember her name. So, still rubbing Betty’s ears, he stuck out a hand. “We got off to a rough beginning.” He could only assume that was true, as she’d opened with a blackout comment. “Let’s start over. I’m Phillip Beaumont. And you are?”

Some of her softness faded, but she shook his hand with the kind of grip that made it clear she was used to working with her hands. “Jo Spears.”

That didn’t ring a single damned bell in his head.

It was only after she’d let go of his hand that she added, with a grin that bordered on cruel, “I’m here to retrain Sun.”

Three

“You’re the new trainer?”

Jo fought hard to keep the grin off her face. She wasn’t entirely sure she succeeded. Even yesterday, when he’d been toasted, she hadn’t been able to surprise Phillip Beaumont. But she’d caught him off guard this morning.

How bad was his hangover? It had to be killer. She could smell whiskey from where she stood. But she would have never guessed it just by looking at him. Hell, his eyes weren’t even bloodshot. He had a three-day-old scruff on his cheeks that should have looked messy but, on him, made him look better—like a man who worked with his hands.

Other than that...she let her eyes drift over his body. The jeans weren’t the fancy kind that he’d spent hundreds of dollars to make look old and broken in—they looked like the kind he’d broken in himself. The denim work shirt was much the same. Yes, his brown boots had probably cost a pretty penny once—but they were scuffed and scratched, not polished to a high shine. These were his work clothes and he was clearly comfortable in them.

The suit he’d had on yesterday had been the outfit of the Phillip Beaumont who went to parties and did commercials. But the Phillip Beaumont who was petting Betty’s ears today?

This was a cowboy. A real one.

Heat flooded her body. She forced herself to ignore it. She would not develop a crush or an infatuation or even an admiration for Phillip Beaumont just because he looked good in jeans.

She’d been right about him. He had no memory of yesterday and he’d spiked his coffee this morning. He was everything she couldn’t allow herself, all wrapped up in one attractive package. She had a job to do. And if she did it well, a reference from Phillip Beaumont would be worth its weight in gold. It’d be worth that smile of his.

“I believe,” she said with a pointed tone that let him know he wasn’t fooling anyone, “that we established our identities yesterday afternoon.”

The change was impressive. It only took a matter of seconds for his confusion to be buried beneath a warm smile. “Forgive me.” He managed to look appropriately contrite while also adding a bit of smolder to his eyes. The effect was almost heady. She was not falling for this. Not at all. “I’m just a little surprised. The other trainers have been...”

“Older? Male? Richard told me about his previous attempts.” She turned her attention back to the horse to hide her confusion. She could not flutter. Too much was at risk here.

Sun did seem to be calming down. Which meant he hadn’t made that screaming noise in a couple of minutes. He was still racing as if his life depended on it, though. “I think it’s clear that Sun needs something else.”

“And that’s you?” He kept his tone light and conversational, but she could hear the doubt lurking below the surface.

The other three men had all been crusty old farts, men who’d been around horses their whole lives. Not like her. “Yup. That’s me.”

Phillip leaned against the paddock fence. Jo did not like how aware of his body she was. He kicked a foot up on the lowest railing and draped his arms over the top of the fence. It was all very casual—and close enough to touch.

“So what’s your plan to fix him?”

She sighed. “As I told you yesterday, I don’t fix horses. No one can fix him.”

She managed to keep the crack about whether or not he’d remember this conversation tomorrow to herself. She was already pushing her luck with him and she knew it. He was still paying her and, given how big a mess Sun was, she might have enough to put a down payment on her own ranch after this.

Wouldn’t that be the ultimate dream? A piece of land to call her own, where the Phillip Beaumonts of the world would bring her their messed-up horses. She wouldn’t have to spend days driving across country and showering in a trailer. Betty could run wild and free on her own grass. Her own ranch would be safety and security and she wouldn’t have to deal with people at all. Just horses. That’s what this job could give to her.

That’s why she needed to work extra hard on keeping her distance from the man who was still close enough to touch.

He ignored the first part of the statement. “Then what do you do?”

There was no way to sum up what she did. So she didn’t. “Save him.”

Because she was so aware of Phillip’s body, she felt the tension take hold of him. She turned her head just enough to look at him out of the corner of her eye. Phillip’s gaze was trained on the half-crazed horse in the paddock. He looked stricken, as if her words had sliced right through all his charm and left nothing but a raw, broken man who owned a raw, broken horse.

Then he looked at her. His eyes—God, there was so much going on under the surface. She felt herself start to get lost in them, but Sun whinnied, pulling her back to herself.

She could not get lost in Phillip Beaumont. To do so would be to take that first slippery step back down the slope to lost nights and mornings in strangers’ beds. And there would be no coming back from that this time.

So she said, in a low voice, “I only save horses.”

“I don’t need to be saved, thank you very much.”

Again, the change was impressive. The warm smile that bordered on teasing snapped back onto his face and the honest pain she’d seen in his eyes was gone beneath a wink and twinkle.

She couldn’t help it. She looked at his coffee mug. “If you say so.”

His grip tightened on the handle, but that was the only sign he’d gotten her meaning. He probably thought the smell of the coffee masked the whiskey. Maybe it did for regular folks, but not for her.

“How are you going to save my horse then?” It came out in the same voice he might use to ask a woman on a date.

It was time to end this conversation before things went completely off the rails. “One day at a time.”

Let’s see if he catches that, she thought as she opened the gate and slowly walked back into the paddock, Betty trailing at her heels.

As she closed the gate behind her, she heard Richard come out of the barn. “Mr. Beaumont—you’re up!”

Good. She wanted more time with Sun alone. The horse had almost calmed down before Phillip showed up. If she could get the animal to stay at a trot...

That wasn’t happening now. Sun clearly did not like Richard, probably because the older man had been the one to tranquilize him and move him around the most. She was encouraged that, although the horse did freak out any time Phillip showed up, he had sort of settled down this morning as she and Phillip had talked in conversational tones. Sun didn’t have any negative associations with Phillip—he just didn’t like change. That was a good thing to know.

“Just getting to know the new trainer,” Phillip said behind her. She had to give him credit, he managed not to make it sound dismissive.

“If you two are going to talk,” she said in a low voice that carried a great distance, “please do so elsewhere. You’re freaking out the horse.”

There was a pause and she got the feeling that both men were looking at her. Then Richard said, “Now that you’re here, I’d like you to see the new Percheron foals.” That was followed by the sounds of footsteps leading away from the paddock.

But they weren’t far away when she heard Phillip say, “Are you sure about her?”

Jo tensed.

Richard, bless his crusty old heart, came to her defense. As his voice trailed off, she heard him reply, “She came highly recommended. If anyone can fix Sun... She’s our last chance.”

She couldn’t fix this horse. She couldn’t fix the man, either, but she had no interest in trying. She would not be swayed by handsome faces, broken-in jeans or kind words for Betty.

She was just here for the horse.

She needed to remember that.

* * *

Phillip woke up early the next day and he knew why. He was hoping there’d be a woman with an attitude standing in a paddock this morning.

Jo Spears. She was not his type—not physically, not socially. Not even close. He sure as hell remembered her today. How could he have forgotten meeting her the day before? That didn’t matter. What mattered now was that he was dying to see if she was still in that arena, just standing there.

He hurried through his shower while the coffee brewed. He added a shot of whiskey to keep the headache away and then got a mug for her. While he was at it, he grabbed a couple of carrots from the fridge for the donkey.

Would Jo still be standing in the middle of that paddock, watching Sun do whatever the hell it was Sun did? Because that’s what she’d done all day yesterday—just stand there. Richard had gotten him up to speed on the farm’s business and he’d spent some time haltering and walking the Percheron foals but he’d always been aware of the woman in the paddock.

She hadn’t been watching him, which was a weird feeling. Women were always aware of what he was doing, waiting for their opportunity to strike up a conversation. He could make eye contact with a woman when he walked into a club and know that, six hours later, she’d be going back to his hotel with him. All he had to do was wait for the right time for her to make her move. She would come to him. Not the other way around.

But this horse trainer? He’d caught the way her hard glare had softened and she’d tilted her head when he’d complimented her little donkey. That was the kind of look a woman gave him when she was interested—when she was going to be in his bed later.

Not the kind of look a woman gave him when she proceeded to ignore him for the rest of the day. And night.

Phillip Beaumont was not used to being ignored. He was the life of the party. People not only paid attention to what he was doing, who he was doing it with, what he was wearing—hell, who he was tweeting about—but they paid good money to do all of that with him. It was his job, for God’s sake. People always noticed him.

Except for her.

He should have been insulted yesterday. But he’d been so surprised by her attitude that he hadn’t given a whole lot of thought to his wounded pride.

She was something else. A woman apart from others.

Variety is the spice of life, he thought as he strolled down to the barn. That had to be why he was so damned glad to see her and that donkey in the middle of the paddock again, Sun still doing laps around them both. But, Phillip noted, the horse was only trotting and making a few small bucks with his hind legs. Phillip wasn’t sure he’d seen Sun this calm since...well, since Asia.

For a moment, he allowed himself to be hopeful. So three other trainers had failed. This Jo Spears might actually work. She might save his horse.

But then he had to go and ruin Sun’s progress by saying, “Good morning.”

At the sound of Phillip’s voice, Sun lost it. He reared back, kicking his forelegs and whinnying with such terror that Phillip’s hope immediately crumbled to dust. Betty looked at him and he swore the tiny thing rolled her eyes.

But almost immediately, Sun calmed down—or at least stopped making that God-awful noise and started running.

“You got that part right today,” Jo said in that low voice of hers.

“It’s good?” He looked her over—her legs spread shoulder-width apart, fingers hooked into her belt loops. Everything about her was relaxed but strong. He could imagine those legs and that backside riding high in the saddle.

And then, because he was Phillip Beaumont, he imagined those legs and that backside riding high in his bed.

Oh, yeah—it could be good. Might even be great.

“It’s morning.” She glanced over her shoulder at him and he saw the corner of her mouth curve up into a smile. “Yesterday when you said that, it was technically afternoon.”

He couldn’t help but grin at her. Boy, she was tough. When was the last time someone had tried to make him toe the line? Hell, when was the last time there’d even been a line?

And there was that smile. Okay, half a smile but still. Jo didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who smiled at a man if she didn’t actually want to. That smile told Phillip that she was interested in him. Or, at the very least, attracted to him. Wasn’t that the same thing?

“Back at it again?”

She nodded.

Sun looped around the whole paddock, blowing past Phillip with a snort. His instinct was to step back from the fence, but he didn’t want to project anything resembling fear—especially when she was actually inside the fence and he wasn’t.

She pivoted, her eyes following the horse as he made another lap. Then, when he went back to running along the far side of the paddock again, she made that slow walk over to where Phillip stood.

Watching her walk was almost a holy experience. Instead of a practiced wiggle, Jo moved with a coiled grace that projected the same strength he’d felt in her handshake yesterday.

Did she give as good as she got? Obviously, in conversation the answer was yes. But did that apply to other areas?

She opened the gate and, Betty on her heels, walked out. When the gate closed behind her, she didn’t come to him. She didn’t even turn her head in his direction.

What would it take to get her to look at him? He could say something witty and crude. That would definitely get her attention. But instead of being scandalous and funny—which was how such comments went over when everyone was happily sloshed at a bar—he had a feeling that Jo might hit him for being an asshole.

Still, he was interested in that image of her riding him. He was the kind of man who was used to having female company every night. And he hadn’t had any since he’d woken up at the farm.

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