The Horse Trainer's Secret Read online

“Depends.” He snatched the knit cap of hers from the shelf before she noticed it. “These are balsa.” He tapped two of the models in succession. “Medical building in Braden. Commercial complex over in Gillette.” He tapped another. “Farmhouse.”

  “Where’s that one located?”

  “Outside of Weaver.” He hadn’t decided exactly where he’d build his place.

  She straightened. “Bet you played with Erector Sets when you were little, too.”

  “And made model airplanes and stage sets for the drama-class productions in high school.” He slid the door back in place, managing to slip the hat out of sight again. “I like using my hands.”

  Her gaze flickered. Then she suddenly moved away, walking over to his drafting table, effectively putting the entire length of his office between them again. She ran a fingertip along the corner of the tracing paper covering most of the surface of the slanted table. “Only things I cared about in high school were horses. Went to work for Rory’s dad out at Angel River when I was fifteen. Been there ever since.”

  “Never got bored? Itchy for a change?”

  “Nope.”

  “But you came here for the summer.”

  “For a couple months,” she corrected.

  “Since time is ticking away so quickly, then, when are you going to give me that dinner you owe me?”

  Her gaze flew to his and her mouth opened slightly.

  But whatever she’d been going to say went unsaid because Delia Templeton suddenly sailed into the room. “Hey, there, hot stuff!”

  Megan’s mouth closed. As did her expression.

  Nick squelched his annoyance. “Delia. What’re you doing here?”

  And why had Gina let her back here without warning him?

  “Brought you a little gift.” Delia’s bright eyes skipped from Nick to Megan and back again. She crossed over to him and held out a cloth-covered basket. “Montrose and Vivvie have been at each other’s throats for the past day and a half.” She laughed merrily. “So he’s been baking off his irritation. And I know how much you love his sourdough bread.”

  Nick took the basket and set it next to his briefcase. “Hope you didn’t make a special trip just for that, but thanks.”

  “Some people are worth a special trip.” She walked back toward Megan and thrust out her hand. “I’m Delia, by the way. Delia Templeton.”

  Megan shook her hand. “Megan Forrester.”

  “The horse trainer. You’re lucky to work with our Nick, here.” Somehow, Delia managed to position herself next to him again. “He’s absolutely the best.” She slid her arm through his. “We’re very lucky to have him.”

  Megan’s gaze met his before flicking away. “Yes, I can see that,” she said smoothly. “Well. Nick. I’ll get back to you about that, uh, plan you showed me.”

  Before he could stop her, she disappeared through his office door.

  Dammit.

  His headache was back in full force. He disentangled his arm. “Delia. I was in a meeting.”

  “Oh, come on.” She smiled, showing her dimples. “It looked like you were finished to me. And besides...” She sat on the stool and crossed one leg over the other, as if she was settling in for the duration no matter how inconvenient her timing. “My grandmother wants a report on the council meeting.”

  Chapter Six

  It wasn’t hard for Megan to find her way to J.D. Forrest’s horse rescue. All she’d had to do was mention Crossing West at Ruby’s Diner the next morning when she went there for breakfast, and the waitress had scrawled a quick map on a clean napkin.

  Megan hadn’t bothered to save that napkin. Unlike Nick’s drawing from dinner the other night, which she’d tucked away in her suitcase for some ridiculous reason.

  As she turned past the stone pillar with the words Crossing West engraved on it, she had to quickly revise her notion of what a horse rescue on the outskirts of Weaver might look like.

  She actually lifted her foot from the gas pedal and coasted to a stop as she eyed the majestic house located on a gentle grassy rise up ahead. Three stories. Massive pillars.

  The last horse rescue she’d visited north of Wymon, across the Montana border, had been stuck between a railroad track and a run-down trailer park. There had been a handful of roughly built run-in sheds and a single open pen. Despite the shoestring the place obviously ran on, it had been clean, and the poor horses well tended. But it still had been a sad, depressing place.

  After the visit, she’d talked Sean McAdams into sending a shipment of feed and hay there. He’d kept up the shipments for a full year before the rescue had finally had to shut down for lack of funds.

  From the looks of Crossing West, she suspected J.D. had never needed to worry about funding.

  Beyond the house, she counted two riding arenas, three long barns and a verdant pasture surrounded by bright, white-railed fencing.

  There were at least two dozen horses grazing.

  If they were the rescues, she didn’t think they looked all that poor. Not from a distance, at least.

  “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” she murmured.

  Then she pressed the gas pedal again and followed the paved road around the spectacular house until it ended in a circle near the first of the barns.

  Despite the number of vehicles parked there already, she didn’t see anyone around as she got out of her truck.

  She could have walked straight to the barns, or even back to the house for that matter, to see if she could find an actual person, but she headed for the picturesque fencing instead.

  The second she folded her arms over the top rail and propped her boot on the bottom, a gleaming bay trotted over and sniffed her arm.

  They didn’t have thoroughbreds at Angel River, but that didn’t mean Megan didn’t recognize one when she saw it. She lifted her palm and chuckled when the horse—after some initial hesitation—nudged it with his nose. “Aren’t you a handsome one?”

  “He’s handsome, all right,” J.D. called, appearing from within the barn. She was leading a small brown colt by a rope. “That’s Latitude.”

  The second she appeared, the bay abandoned Megan and trotted along the fence line toward J.D., reaching over the top rail to bump at her shoulder.

  “Be good,” she chided with obvious fondness. Then she pulled a treat from her pocket and fed it to him, after which the horse pivoted on his powerful, sleek legs and ran off, his black tail streaming behind him.

  J.D. was shaking her head ruefully when she reached Megan. “He’s a glutton for peppermints. And I can’t help spoiling him.” She propped her boot on the lower rail the way that Megan had done and made a sweeping gesture with her arm. “So what do you think of our little place?” Much as Latitude had done, the young colt butted J.D. from behind until she wrapped her arm over his neck and petted him as if he was a dog.

  “Little?” Megan laughed. “That’s like calling Rambling Mountain a molehill. And I hope you don’t mind me just showing up out here. I probably should have called first.”

  J.D. chuckled, waving off the concern. “Don’t mind in the least. And you can blame my husband for that oversize house. When we built this place, Jake’s Georgia roots were showing. His family has a long history of raising thoroughbreds. And as you can see, he just couldn’t stop himself from creating a Southern horse farm like Forrest’s Crossing right here in Wyoming.”

  Thus, Crossing West, Megan realized.

  She looked around the pasture. In just that quick glimpse, she counted several thoroughbreds besides Latitude, twice as many quarter horses, a huge black Tennessee Walker and a short and stout Shetland. And—she looked twice—a llama. “Quite a variety you’ve got now.”

  J.D. nodded. “We get them from all over the United States. Abused. Abandoned. No longer wanted or whatever. We’ll take them if we have room. Currently, we h
ave eighty-seven horses. One llama. Don’t ask me how many barn cats. We’re pretty much at capacity until we get someone adopted out. All of these here in the front pasture are ready. Expect they’ll have new homes in the next month or so. Except for Lat. He was our first and he’s not going anywhere.” There was obvious adoration in her eyes as she looked at the horse who was bouncing around the taller Tennessee Walker like a kid trying to coax his friend to come out to play.

  “He’s gorgeous.” Megan wasn’t exaggerating. Latitude’s musculature rippled beneath his glossy reddish-brown coat. If he’d been a little leaner, he’d have looked the quintessential racehorse. “Where’d he come from?”

  “Forrest’s Crossing, actually. Had a brief racing career but went down when another horse collided with him. Surgery got him back up, but he was done for racing. Now he’s just a pampered baby.”

  “I never much followed horse racing,” Megan admitted. She loved horses, but more for their work and leisure aspects. “I barrel-raced when I was younger for a while.”

  “Me, too. Ultimately, I landed in Georgia. Worked at Forrest’s Crossing as an assistant trainer for a while. That’s how I met Jake. So—” she turned and looked at Megan “—what’s your deal with our young Nick?”

  Megan jerked slightly. “Young?”

  J.D. chuckled. “Can’t help it. These days that’s how I see anyone who’s under thirty.”

  Megan grimaced. Obviously, J.D. could tell that didn’t apply to her and she suddenly felt decrepit. Just because she didn’t fuss all that much with her own appearance didn’t mean she had no vanity. “How far under thirty?”

  “Just a year, but still.” J.D. propped her head on her hand. “Closer I get to the big four-oh, the more I notice youth.” She wrinkled her nose playfully. “It’s annoying as hell.”

  The other woman didn’t look any older than Megan.

  But then, maybe Megan should have bought night cream when she’d been buying blister bandages and prenatal vitamins.

  The threat of crow’s feet aside, she supposed that being three years older than Nick wasn’t really so bad. At least it was better than the one time she’d hooked up with a college kid nearly ten years younger than she was. It hadn’t been intentional on her part. But he’d been cute. The moment had struck and then passed, and they’d happily gone their separate ways, Megan’s sexual urge satisfied for another long winter.

  A portion of her mind was distracted with trying to remember what his name had been. The rest of her mind was distracted with the fact that she’d never be able to forget Nick.

  Even if the condom hadn’t failed—whichever one it had been—he was the kind of man a woman always remembered.

  “There’s no deal with Nick,” she answered. A little belatedly, she realized, but hopefully not sounding as defensive as she felt. “Gage Stanton asked me to come and help with the design for the equestrian setup at their new guest ranch. It’s what I do back at Angel River. Manage everything concerning the horses. Food. Care. Some doctoring when I need to.” She did a lot more than that, but making sure that the rotating schedule of daily guest activities stayed on track and managing the staff not directly involved with lodging and food was hardly the most interesting part of her day.

  “Rambling Rad is less guest ranch and more luxury resort from what I’ve been hearing. Will be interesting to see how well it does around these parts.”

  “You don’t think it’ll be successful?” The thought had never occurred to Megan. In fact, there’d been a time when Gage had first come to Angel River when Rory had feared that his plans for Rambling Mountain would put them right out of business. Or that he’d intended to buy Angel River right out from under them.

  “Considering the state-park thing on top of it all?” J.D. made a face. “I think it’s going to be wildly successful. Whether or not everyone around Weaver is ready for that is another matter.”

  “Angel River hasn’t had that huge of an effect on Wymon. Town’s no bigger now than it was when I was a kid.”

  “Unlike Weaver, which has doubled in size since I was a kid.” J.D. waved an encompassing arm. “Beck Ventura—Nick’s dad—helped design all this.”

  “It looks pretty amazing,” Megan said truthfully. It was like something on the cover of a magazine.

  If she was going to fantasize about her dream house, though, it’d be more like that farmhouse model Nick was building. She’d have a couple horses. A dog. Maybe some chickens.

  And a baby.

  She rubbed the colt’s back, blocking out the thought. “Is this little guy a rescue, as well?”

  “Sadly.” J.D. scrubbed the young horse’s forehead. “A trucker found him near the Idaho border. Someone had just dumped him on the side of the highway. He was nearly starved.”

  “Terrible.”

  “He’s coming along, though. Super affectionate, aren’t you, buddy?” She kissed the horse on the forehead and pulled down her foot from the rail. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour.” She winked. “It’s the price I charge for people jonesing to get on a horse.”

  Megan chuckled and followed. The amiable little colt trotted along. “Shows, does it?”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  “I left Earhart at Angel River. Didn’t seem fair to bring her here for just a few months. She’s not a real fan of the trailer.”

  “Lot of horses aren’t.”

  When they walked through the open barn door, Megan couldn’t help but stop and draw in a deep breath.

  Hay. Horses. If she’d have closed her eyes, she could have been standing in the horse barn at Angel River. And it coated her senses like a soothing balm.

  There were only a half-dozen box stalls inside the barn. None of them were occupied, though they were all filled with fresh, fluffy straw. The rest of the space seemed to be a repository for tack.

  As soothing as the distinctive barn aroma was, walking past the rows of saddles and harnesses reminded Megan yet again about yesterday afternoon in Nick’s office.

  And of the way the petite, curvaceous, perky Delia Templeton, of the bread and the sexy yellow sundress, had snuggled up close and comfy against him.

  If Megan had needed an explanation for Nick’s capitulation where her one-and-done stance was concerned, she’d certainly gotten one yesterday.

  Why pursue a woman like Megan when he had one like Delia close at hand?

  “You remember my son Tucker from Pizza Bella?”

  Megan scrambled to get her thoughts together. The gangly boy was sitting on the ground rubbing a cloth over a finely tooled saddle. “Of course.” She smiled at the kid. “Nice saddle. Yours?”

  He nodded, blushing a little as he rubbed more furiously.

  “Is school out already?” Megan didn’t think so, but worried that her ignorance proved how unprepared she was to be responsible for another human being.

  “End of next week. Kids are off today while teachers do something.” J.D. grinned. “I have no idea what, quite honestly.” She rumpled Tucker’s hair as she passed him. “When you’re finished, you can spend an hour with your precious video games.”

  She pushed open the door at the end of the barn when they reached it. “Given the choice, Tuck prefers video games over anything. I have a feeling he’ll be more interested in going to work at Cee-Vid when he’s old enough than learning how to take over the ropes here.”

  They passed into the sunshine again.

  Thanks to Killian’s last few Christmas letters to Santa, Megan knew that Cee-Vid was a video game company. She’d forgotten that it was located somewhere near here.

  J.D. was nodding toward the second barn they were approaching. “Keep all the equipment in here.”

  This time, the aroma was still familiar but not anywhere near as moving. Oil. Gas. Tires. Megan glanced around at the tractors and trailers packed into the space. She had
to admit that not all of the equipment looked brand-new. Or even state-of-the-art, which was sort of surprising considering the obvious money that had been sunk into the place.

  The third and largest barn held only stalls. A lot of them. In fact, it was all so vast, Megan almost felt overwhelmed. She’d been to plenty of rodeos. Plenty of county fairs. But never had she seen a barn this large.

  “We call this our medical wing,” J.D. said, slowing her steps. “One of my cousins is married to a vet. He comes by at least weekly. More often, obviously, when there’s a reason. Evan has a tech who is permanently stationed out here, though. Johnnie.”

  At the sound of her name, a young woman who was measuring feed from a bucket looked over with a smile.

  “We’d be lost without her,” J.D. added. “Johnnie, this is Megan Forrester. She’s in town for a little while and thinking about volunteering some of her time here.”

  “Welcome, then,” Johnnie said. “We couldn’t operate without volunteers.”

  “You want to get Junior, here, settled for the afternoon? He’s had a pretty good little walk around.” J.D. handed over the colt’s rope before leading Megan past every occupied stall, providing a brief recap of each horse’s situation.

  Megan’s heart ached by the time they were through.

  “We do everything we can to rehabilitate them,” J.D. said when they finally reached the far end of the barn. “But there are some situations that can’t be solved. Where neglect has gone on for so long that it can’t be remedied or injuries are so severe there’s no chance left for any quality of life. Then the only choice is humane euthanasia.” Her expression was solemn. “Anyone who volunteers with us needs to understand that.”

  Megan nodded. “That’s always been my stance.”

  J.D.’s smile returned. “Great. And fortunately, we haven’t had to do that in a long while.” She pushed open the final barn door, revealing another pasture; this one was divided into a series of much smaller ones. There were also several pens, most of which had a run-in shed or shelter.

  And Megan saw more people here. At least a dozen, young and old, moving among the equine patients.