of a lady, whose husband had died a couple of years ago. She worked at the grocery store in Rattlesnake, though she must be up in her seventies by now.
“I thought,” Jackson went on, “my aunt could use a relative close by, and Jett and Colt figured work wouldn’t be hard to find.”
Opening the stall door, he led the horse forward and waited for the animal to head, bucking and kicking up dust, into the open corral. Sunshine gleamed on the black and white hide.
“Then go to work for them.” Colt and Jett were the Garret brothers, two former rodeo cowboys who owned the largest ranch in the panhandle. Jackson and Jett had been traveling partners until an injury had forced Jett to retire from the circuit. “I don’t need you or want you on the Circle W.”
“Look, Shannon, can’t we let bygones be bygones? We were kids back then. Kids,” he added again with emphasis. “I didn’t realize I’d hurt you.”
She stiffened. “You didn’t hurt me. You made me mad. No one had ever jilted me before.”
“Who said I jilted you?”
“What other term do you use when a guy calls a girl and says, ‘I’ll catch you later, darlin’,’ and then never does?”
“Shannon.” His voice fell to that honeyed baritone that had talked her into too many things. To her total amazement and eternal discomfort, he stroked one finger down her cheek. “Don’t be mad.”
How was it that she hadn’t seen this man in nearly ten years and yet, he could stroll back into her life, and she felt as though he’d never left?
Yes, they’d been kids, foolish, imprudent teenagers who hadn’t considered the consequences of their actions. He was a rodeo cowboy so she’d known he wouldn’t stick around, and she’d promised herself not to be hurt once he was gone. And she wouldn’t have been, except for what he’d left behind.
“All that happened a very long time ago, Jackson. I’m not mad. I’m not hurt. I’ve simply grown up and moved on.”
“Then why the chilly reception?”
“Maybe I was surprised to see you after all this time.”
He laughed, appreciating the ironic understatement. “Maybe.”
“I’m too busy with the future to revisit the past, so if you don’t mind…” She waved a hand around at the small ranch, the barns, the corrals, the modest brick house snuggled between two thick pines. “I have work to do.”
“Show me the way.”
“Excuse me?”
“Work is why I’m here, remember? Your granddad hired me?”
Shannon stewed over that little piece of information. Though she’d grown up here, her grandfather was the true owner of this place. But since his heart attack six months ago he’d let her call the shots. That he’d hired Jackson Kane irked her no end, but they’d been thinking of taking on a hand and Granddad couldn’t know that Jackson would be a problem for her. After all, their brief fling had happened a long time ago.
Yes, she needed more help now that Granddad was no longer able to carry his weight, but Jackson? She didn’t think so.
“Then perhaps you should get your duties from him. I don’t need you.”
Jackson removed the lollipop from his mouth and studied the now empty stick. “He said you needed some help breaking these new colts and from the looks of that paint, I’d say he was right.”
“I stayed on him way more than eight seconds. In a rodeo arena, I’d have won money. Would you have?”
“Guess we’ll have to find out.”
“Guess we won’t,” she said with a hint of mocking sarcasm. “Breaking the horses is my job. I’m the trainer. And that paint happens to be a special case, more difficult than most, but I promised his owner he’d end up as gentle as a dog. I’ll keep that promise no matter how long it takes.”
“There are new techniques available. Have you tried any of them?”
She shifted, uncomfortable under the growing heat and annoying buzz of buffalo gnats as well as his assumption that her training techniques were lacking.
“What are you? A horse whisperer or something?”
His mouth kicked up and brought with it that insolent dimple. “Maybe.”
“Well, I happen to know what I’m doing. Granddad taught me to break horses from the time I could ride. His methods worked then and they work now. I don’t need some rodeo cowboy turned horse psychologist to tell me how a horse thinks and why he behaves the way he does. Breaking that paint is a matter of wearing him down.”
“Mind if I give him a try?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I do mind.” So what if he’d spent most of his life riding broncs, both saddle and bareback. He wasn’t a trainer. He was a rodeo performer. She could do this job better.
He shrugged. “Have it your way, but you’re paying me a salary whether I do anything or not.”
“Consider yourself unhired.”
“Sorry.” He didn’t look one bit contrite. “Your granddaddy hired me. He’s the only one who can fire me.”
Shannon rolled her eyes heavenward. “I need to have a talk with my grandfather.”
Jackson slouched against the paddock gate, unwrapped another Dum-Dum—a green one this time—and shot her his cockiest smile. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here.”
Jackson tipped his hat back and watched her go, admiring the cute little jiggle of her perfect backside encased in tight jeans. The worn spot between the pockets where she’d spent hours in the saddle was especially appealing. Not that he’d tell sweet Shannon that. She’d likely punch him in the nose.
She’d changed in ten years. And he sure wasn’t complaining about that. At eighteen she’d been a girl, fresh as the outdoors and full of promise. The promise had been fulfilled. Today she was all woman, rounded in the right spots, and full of vinegar. He liked a little fire and sass in a woman. Shannon with her blue eyes and sun-blond hair barely reached his shirt pocket, but she could definitely hold her own. He looked forward to reminiscing in a more practical manner.
But first he’d have to get past that bad attitude she had toward him, a reaction that surprised him. He’d had no idea he’d left a burr under her saddle. Sure, they’d played around back then, had a good time, but it wasn’t as if they’d been in love. Love? He almost shivered in spite of the warm day. They’d only spent a summer together, and at nineteen he hadn’t known diddly about love. To tell the truth, he was nearly thirty and he still didn’t know anything about the troublesome emotion. Didn’t want to know either.
What he did know about was horses. And her grandfather had sense enough to know that if he was ever going to expand his training and breaking facility he needed a top-notch trainer. Shannon may not like change, but her ideas were as antiquated as a crank telephone. He, on the other hand, had spent years studying
