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  Megan recognized the dark-haired man now stepping up onto the wood planks that crossed the muddy ground.

  Nick Ventura.

  She heartily wished she’d never laid eyes on the man. And certainly wished that she hadn’t ever slept with him.

  Straightening her shoulders, she glared up at the brilliant blue sky before turning to face Nick, hopefully with a relatively normal expression on her face.

  The smile he flashed was just as sexy as it had been that first time in Colbys Bar & Grill two and a half months ago.

  Had she known then that falling for that appealing smile would land her in her current predicament, she wouldn’t have gone near him with a ten-foot pole.

  But as he got closer, she looked into his eyes.

  She’d forgotten just how gray they were.

  Ten-foot pole?

  Who was she kidding?

  * * *

  RETURN TO THE DOUBLE C: Under the big, blue Wyoming sky, this family discovers true love

  Dear Reader,

  Megan Forrester is a strong, fiercely independent woman. She stands on her own two feet. She knows her own mind and isn’t influenced by the opinions of those around her. Good things, yes?

  Well, maybe not so much. Not when that streak of independence is so wide that it has become more like a weapon—against herself and others. When “independence” is the excuse to push others away because a) it is safer and b) it is safer.

  Fortunately for Megan, there are men like Nick Ventura. Nick is a confident man and he can see beyond the surface to the inner Megan. To the strong and beautiful woman who is not only capable of competently steering her own ship, but the one who is simply afraid. Of disappointment. Of rejection. Of love.

  The challenge for Nick is to help Megan see herself through his eyes. And to realize that real strength isn’t necessarily measured by the ability to stand alone. Sometimes it is measured by the willingness to accept the one who wants to stand with you.

  Allison Leigh

  The Horse Trainer’s Secret

  Allison Leigh

  Though her name is frequently on bestseller lists, Allison Leigh’s high point as a writer is hearing from readers that they laughed, cried or lost sleep while reading her books. She credits her family with great patience for the time she’s parked at her computer, and for blessing her with the kind of love she wants her readers to share with the characters living in the pages of her books. Contact her at allisonleigh.com.

  Books by Allison Leigh

  Harlequin Special Edition

  Return to the Double C

  A Weaver Christmas Gift

  One Night in Weaver...

  The BFF Bride

  A Child Under His Tree

  Yuletide Baby Bargain

  Show Me a Hero

  The Rancher’s Christmas Promise

  A Promise to Keep

  Lawfully Unwed

  Something About the Season

  The Horse Trainer’s Secret

  The Fortunes of Texas: All Fortune’s Children

  Fortune’s Secret Heir

  The Fortunes of Texas: The Lost Fortunes

  Fortune’s Texas Reunion

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  In loving memory of my aunt Janet.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Love Blooms by Jo McNally

  Excerpt from The Chef’s Surprise Baby by Brenda Harlen

  Prologue

  “It’s agreed, then. We’ll see you back here the middle of May.”

  Megan Forrester nodded at Jed Dalloway as everyone around the table clinked their frosty beer mugs together in a toast. “Middle of May,” she agreed. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Jed’s wife, April, smiled broadly. “So are we! It’s hard to believe that we’ve actually broken ground on our guest ranch.”

  “Believe it.” Chance Michaels slid off his barstool as he fit the cap in place on the long tube containing his rolled-up architectural drawings. “Only now, this damn weather’s got the ground frozen again.”

  The March weather was pretty miserable right now in Wyoming. And high up on Rambling Mountain, which overlooked the town of Weaver, it was even snowier. Once the guest ranch was built and open for business, that snow would be a major attraction for guests both far and near. But right now, it stood in the way of construction.

  It also prevented Megan from making the several-hour drive back home to Angel River tonight.

  “There’s Nick.” April abruptly set down her mug and waved her hand in the air. She glanced at Megan. “My cousin.”

  Megan didn’t look up; she was busy refilling her mug. She figured she might as well take advantage of the fact that she wouldn’t be driving home tonight.

  It was a Friday night. Despite the inclement weather, Colbys Bar & Grill was crowded. Two guitarists and a drummer were crammed in one corner playing music that probably wouldn’t land them a recording deal anytime soon, but they were good enough to have people dancing on one side of the bar, where the tables had been shoved aside. On the opposite side, every pool table was in use and the clacking of billiard balls was audible between one song and the next.

  It was noisy. It was energetic. It was everything that, on occasion, Megan Forrester enjoyed. And on this occasion, she had something to celebrate. It wasn’t every day when a woman like her was asked to design an equestrian center from the ground up.

  “I’m gonna get on home before the wife hunts me down,” Chance said, and Megan realized he’d already pulled on his coat. He tapped the cardboard tube lightly against the edge of the table. “Jed, I’ll send you the plans for your cabin remodel this week, too,” he promised before turning and making his way toward the door.

  “Cabin remodel?”

  April nodded and whipped out her cell phone, showing Megan a photo. “The view’s spectacular, but you can see it needs a little updating,” she joked. The picture showed an ancient, ramshackle cabin.

  Megan peered at it a little more closely. “That’s where the two of you live?” There were only a few tiny windows, and it looked in actual danger of sliding off the cliff where it was perched.

  “It does have indoor plumbing,” Jed interjected as a stranger in a cowboy hat grabbed the barstool Chance had just vacated.

  “Mind if I take this?” The guy was already starting to slide it away, but a second stranger clamped his hand over the back of the chair.

  “I do. Sorry, pal.” His smile was white. He was tall and dark-haired. His eyes were gray. And they danced over April and Jed before landing on Megan’s face.

  Every female cell she possessed stood up and took notice as the man sat down in Chance’s place.

  The architect had been pleasant enough. Sixty-five, if he was a day, with thinning gray hair and a dulling gold wedding band on his finger. He’d seemed to know his stuff and Megan figured she could tolerate working with the guy for a couple months when she returned to Weaver in May. She’d work with almo
st anyone if it meant having the opportunity to design some stables and buy a lot of horses.

  But that was business.

  And this guy, with his broad shoulders and sexy grin, looked like anything but business. In fact, he looked like a long slow roll in the hay.

  And it had been a very long time since Megan had rolled in any hay.

  “Megan, this is my cousin—”

  “I’m Nick,” the man said before April could finish speaking. He shook Megan’s hand, and the look in his eyes told her that he was taking notice of her in return. “And you are...?”

  “Megan.” From the corner of her eye, she saw April toss up her hands and shrug. But Megan was far more focused on the feel of Nick’s thumb as he slowly rubbed the back of her hand.

  “Want to dance, Megan?”

  She was stuck in town for the night at the very least. She was celebrating. And now, a mouthwatering guy had practically dropped right in her lap.

  She slipped off her barstool to stand in the very narrow bit of space between them. His jean-clad thigh felt solid and warm against her. “Dancing will do...” She slowly turned her hand in his and returned the subtle caress. His gray gaze sharpened, and she smiled slightly. “For a start.”

  Chapter One

  May

  Please, please, please let me get through this without losing my lunch.

  Megan sucked harder on the lemon drop in her mouth and wiped the perspiration from her forehead before she pushed open her pickup door and got out.

  But the second her boots hit the muddy ground, her stomach churned even harder. Her knees actually felt weak and the urge to get back in the truck and turn tail was almost irresistible.

  Instead, she clamped her hand over the top of her truck door until her palm hurt and clenched her back molars until her jaw ached.

  Because, one way or another, she would get through this.

  She was Megan Forrester, for cripes’ sake. She made her own way in this world. She didn’t do second thoughts. She didn’t do regrets. She played the cards that life dealt her, and she didn’t sit around boo-hooing if that hand happened to suck big-time.

  But, oh, she seriously didn’t want to puke all over the ground on her very first day on the job. It was bad enough she was sweating through the red silk blouse she’d worn for no reason other than to prove she could wear silk if she wanted to.

  She squeezed the cold metal a little harder and swallowed several times, breathing deeply.

  Her best friend, Rory—who’d given her the damn blouse last Christmas—would have laughed herself silly at the image of Megan now trying to find a little Zen. But then, Rory was the whole reason Megan was standing here on the side of Rambling Mountain on a Monday morning in the middle of May with her boots sinking into two inches of mud. If not for Gage Stanton—Rory’s new husband—Megan wouldn’t have been offered this job in the first place.

  For a moment, she indulged in a good amount of mental grumbling at her friend, who was off on another whirlwind trip with Gage, checking out another piece of prime real estate to add to his portfolio.

  Megan realized her nausea was finally fading, and she’d stopped sweating.

  She looked down at the mud. Truth be told, she was more comfortable with mud than she was with silk. Not surprising for a person who generally preferred horses to people.

  Considering everything, she should have just stuck with her usual cotton shirt and worn denim jeans. It wasn’t as if she was trying to impress anyone.

  Was she?

  The sound of another vehicle door slamming made her stiffen. She looked over her shoulder toward the SUV that had pulled up some distance behind her.

  She recognized the vehicle, and the dark-haired man now stepping up onto the wood planks that bridged the muddy ground.

  Nick Ventura.

  She heartily wished she’d never laid eyes on him. And certainly wished that she had never slept with him.

  She exhaled again, quickly chewing the lemon drop and swallowing it as she shut her truck door. Then, straightening her shoulders, she turned to face Nick, hopefully with a normal expression on her face.

  He was carrying a long cardboard tube that he waved in greeting. His smile was just as sexy as the one he’d flashed that first time in Colbys Bar & Grill two and a half months ago.

  Had she known then that falling for that smile would land her in her current predicament, she wouldn’t have gone near him with a ten-foot pole.

  The rough-hewn lumber rattled under his feet as he drew abreast of her, close enough now that she could see the color of his eyes.

  She’d forgotten just how gray they were.

  His smile deepened when he finally stopped a few feet away from her.

  “Good to see you, stranger.”

  Under other circumstances, Megan would have probably agreed. Instead, she gave him an intentionally cool smile. “Nick. How are you?”

  “Better now that the rain’s finally stopped.” He spread his arms slightly and his eyes actually seemed to twinkle. “Guess all we needed was for you to move here from Angel River.”

  She squinted against the bright sunlight, which she knew had to be the real cause of that twinkle. “That’s me. Weather Goddess,” she drawled and walked two paces through the sucking mud to step onto the temporary boardwalk. “And I didn’t move here. This is just a temporary deal, remember? I’ll be heading back to Angel River in a couple months.” She didn’t stop next to him, but headed for the long trailer at the end of the boardwalk.

  The trailer wasn’t much to look at, but it served as the nerve center for the entire project that was underway on Rambling Mountain. It was the same trailer where she’d met with April, Jed and their architect before the bad weather had chased them off the mountain down to Colbys Bar & Grill back in March.

  At the time, there had been no boardwalk. No construction vehicles, no foundations laid, no half-built anything. Just a whole lot of plans for the guest ranch on the edge of a pristine wilderness that was to become Wyoming’s newest state park.

  And Megan had been thrilled that Gage had requested her input about the equestrian facilities at his new guest ranch. Yeah, she was his new wife’s best friend who happened to be the head wrangler at the Angel River guest ranch, but Gage hadn’t achieved his level of success by indulging in sentimental choices. Regardless of her title at Angel River, she was just a horse trainer. Pure and simple. And she’d never in her wildest dreams expected the job offer of helping design the facilities on top of overseeing the acquisition of the horses for the new ranch.

  Despite her fast pace, Nick somehow managed to beat her to the door of the trailer. He held it open for her, gesturing with the tube of architectural drawings. “Beauty first.”

  She rolled her eyes and ignored his widening smile as she walked through the narrow doorway.

  Only once she’d stepped inside did it occur to her that she ought to have wiped off her muddy boots first.

  Swearing under her breath, she started to back out, only to bump right against Nick. She froze again, this time swearing not so softly under her breath. “Mud,” she grumbled and started scraping her heels against the rough edge of the wooden walkway.

  He chuckled. “Only way to keep mud out of the trailer is to have everyone take off their boots before going inside. Won’t ever happen. Fortunately, mud dries and dirt sweeps.” He tapped her shoulder with the end of the tube. “Come on. I want to see what you think of our progress before the others get here.”

  He entered the trailer ahead of her, which was a good thing. It gave her a moment to practice that pointless Zen breathing. Not because she was nauseated again, but because she could still feel the imprint of his fingers against her waist.

  Megan’s grandmother would have told her this was what she deserved. That the universe served up justice in one way or another.

/>   Nick wasn’t even supposed to be part of the guest-ranch development. The fact that he was an architect had never even been mentioned in March. Admittedly, the two of them hadn’t wasted a lot of time talking.

  They’d danced. They’d left Colbys Bar & Grill.

  They’d spent the night in the motel room she’d rented.

  Megan figured there was one good use for most men, and that snowy night, Nick Ventura had delivered.

  She’d only learned of his involvement with the guest ranch two weeks ago, when April told her that Chance Michaels had backed out of the deal and that her cousin was taking over the job.

  Megan had learned a lot of things two weeks ago, and she was still reeling.

  If she could have backed out of her agreement with Gage and his partners at that point, she would have.

  But Angel River had already contracted a replacement to cover her absence at the guest ranch for the next two months. And Megan had already deposited Gage’s check.

  And, most of all, Rory would have had questions.

  Questions that Megan wasn’t ready to answer.

  Not yet, anyway.

  If she scraped her boots any longer against the sawn edge of the wood, she’d start wearing away the leather.

  Swallowing a sigh, she went inside the trailer.

  The floor was covered in ugly gray tile. The perimeter was lined with utilitarian metal desks and shelves, while the walls were covered with calendars, schedules and drawings.

  She was very aware of Nick’s gaze as he uncapped his cardboard tube. Rather than face him, she made a point of studying the nearest drawing on the wall. It was an artist’s rendering of the finished lodge. It made Angel River—which wasn’t exactly tiny—look like a fishing camp. And it was only vaguely reminiscent of the drawing that Chance Michaels had sent to her after their meeting all those weeks ago.

  “How’ve you been?”

  “Good.” She tapped the indecipherable signature at the corner of the drawing. “This is a lot more advanced than the drawing Chance Michaels gave me.”