fee and what you may expect from my services have been spelled out in great detail.”
“Do part of your services include getting yourself killed?” Flint pointed his finger at her. “That stunt you pulled out there was one of the most harebrained I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ll admit my methods are unorthodox, but let me assure you—they work.” She shrugged. “Satin and I were getting along just fine, until you and your men got him excited.”
Jenna could tell her composure grated on the man’s nerves. Every point he brought up, she’d been able to shoot down with amazing ease. He was mad as a hornet and itching for a fight, but she refused to take the bait. Flint McCray would just have to get used to the fact that the best man for this job was a woman. Besides, she couldn’t afford to start canceling contracts if she ever intended to reach her goal. And she was close. Very close.
“I don’t want you training my horse,” McCray said tightly. “Satin is out of championship bloodlines and should have a great future. But after meeting you, I find you could be detrimental to my goals.”
Anger, swift and hot, raced through Jenna. If there was one thing she knew, it was how to turn a high-spirited animal into a top show horse. After all, she’d been a trainer for six years and around horses all her life. “Last year I had a second-place winner at the National Reining Horse Association Futurity, two that took first in similar competitions, and three of this year’s top contenders are horses I’ve trained.”
“You were highly recommended by Cal, Miss Adams. But—”
“But nothing.” She stood, braced her hands on his desk, then leaned forward. “If you had a valid reason for wanting to cancel the contract, I’d be the first one to rip it up. But you don’t. The fact that I’m a woman outside of a round pen or an arena is immaterial. When I step inside, I’m generic. I’m neither man nor woman. I’m a horse trainer. And that is all you should be concerned with.”
He rose from his chair to take a similar position on the opposite side of the desk, bringing them nose to nose. “I’m canceling the contract, Miss Adams.”
“The name’s Jenna, and you can’t. It’s ironclad, unless both parties agree on its nullification. And believe me, before I relent, chickens will start giving milk.” Walking to the door, she turned to smile at her enraged employer. “Check with your lawyer, boss. I think you’ll find I’ve covered all the bases. Either I get paid for training your horse, or I get paid for doing nothing. Period. It’s your choice. But let me remind you, my waiting list has the majority of your competition on it. The only reason I agreed to train your horse exclusively and put you ahead of my other clients was as a personal favor to Cal. Otherwise, a year from now, you’d still be sitting here with an untrained stallion.”
She closed the door behind her with a quiet click, but only managed to walk a few feet before she stopped to lean against the wall. Her whole body trembled, and her knees had turned to jelly.
She’d learned long ago to deal with a certain amount of animosity from some of the more narrow-minded horse-men. But when McCray attacked her abilities and experience, he’d crossed the line. If he’d explained from the beginning that he would rather not deal with her, or that he felt uncomfortable with the situation, she’d have considered letting him out of the contract. But there was no way she’d back down now. She had a point to prove.
Jenna smiled to herself. This would be a first for her. Along with training a horse for championship competition, she’d been presented with the golden opportunity of teaching a prized jackass a lesson or two in the bargain.
Her grin turned to a giggle when an enraged curse, then the sound of a receiver slammed onto its cradle, came from Flint’s office. Apparently his attorney had just given him the good news. J. J. Adams would train his horse and, short of paying her for nothing, there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.
Smiling, Jenna pushed away from the wall. It was time to get her things from Daisy and find a place in the bunkhouse.
Flint rubbed his forehead in an attempt to ease the mounting tension. “Hilliard said he remembered the contract as being one of the clearest he’d ever seen. No gray areas or hidden loopholes. Either she does the job, or I pay through the nose to get out of it. Then I’d still have to find another trainer.”
“I should have checked around and found someone else,” Brad said, his expression dismal. “Cal didn’t say anything about J. J. Adams being a woman.”
“I’m not blaming you or Cal.” Flint glared at the closed door. “Miss Adams has obviously practiced this little deception before with her initials and gotten quite good at it. She had ample opportunity to identify herself when you discussed the contract. Besides, I should have had the name investigated before signing on the dotted line.” He leaned back, his gaze zeroing in on the glass dome on the mantel. “It might not be a bad idea to have her checked out, anyway.”
Brad rose to leave. “Do what you think is best. Since one of her requirements is a room in the bunkhouse, I guess I’d better get her settled in before supper.”
“No. She’s the only single woman under the age of sixty within a thirty-mile radius, and I won’t have her causing trouble among the men.” Flint followed Brad down the hall. “She can have one of the rooms upstairs.”
“I’ll tell her.”
Flint shook his head. “From now on, leave Jenna Adams to me. Let’s see how she likes dealing with someone who’s immune to the distraction of a pretty face.”
Leaving the house, Brad shrugged. “You’re the boss.”
Continuing down the hall to the kitchen, Flint called, “Whiskers, I need you to get one of the guest rooms ready.”
In an exaggerated flurry of activity, the old man stirred the contents of a large pot on the stove, then turned his attention to a ball of dough on the counter. “Ain’t I got enough to do without you comin’ up with more?”
“You sound a little hassled. Has Ryan been keeping you busy?” Flint asked, running his finger along the top of a chocolate frosted cake.
Whiskers picked up a wooden spoon to slap the back of Flint’s hand. “Stay outta that cake. It’s for supper.” He shook the spoon at Flint. “Ridin’ herd on that kid of yours is like tryin’ to keep a young buck out of a honky-tonk come Saturday night. It just cain’t be done.”
Grinning, Flint put a large amount of icing into his mouth. “You’ll have to take a nap before we eat.”
“Now, boy, you know I don’t never do more than rest my eyes a mite durin’ the day.”
Flint bit back his laughter. Whiskers’s snoring, while he “rested his eyes,” could stampede a herd of cattle.
“Where’s Ryan?” Flint asked, looking around for his son.
“Outside rustlin’ up a peck of trouble, I reckon.” Whiskers again stirred the boiling concoction in the pot. “I heard an awful ruckus comin’ from the office a while back. What got your nose outta joint?”
The chocolate flavor in Flint’s mouth suddenly tasted like mud. “The woman who’s going to train Satin.”
“Woman?” Whiskers turned to stare, openmouthed. “Was that
