you persist in capturing him yourself, I’ll report you to the authorities.”
“No kidding?” The challenge in his tone told her she would have to go that far, and perhaps further, to obtain his cooperation.
Sage released a frustrated sigh. Her tidy plan was unraveling at an alarming rate. A few days, a week at the most, was all the time she had to capture the horse. Then, as she and her boss had agreed, she’d spend her annual two weeks’ vacation in nearby Scottsdale visiting her cousin. It was the main reason she’d asked to be assigned to this case—locating and confronting her errant ex with her attorney cousin-in-law at her side.
After four years, she’d finally gotten a reliable lead on her ex’s whereabouts, and it had brought her to Mustang Village. The back child support he owed her—owed Isa—amounted to a considerable sum of money. Well worth two weeks of vacation and scrambling to rearrange both her and her daughter’s schedules.
Much as she hated admitting it, she couldn’t capture the horse without Gavin Powell’s help and his resources. Not in one week. Probably not ever.
She could try for an order, but that would require time she didn’t have. Besides, the task would go quicker and easier with his voluntary cooperation.
Sage thought fast. She was a field agent, her job was to safely capture wild horses and burros. Once in federal custody, the adoption of those horses and burros was handled by a different department. She knew a few people in that department and was confident she could pull a few strings.
“What if, in exchange for your help, I guaranteed you ownership of the horse?”
Gavin Powell studied her skeptically. “Can you do that?”
She lowered herself onto the couch, the well-worn leather cushions giving gently beneath her weight. She imagined, like the coffee table, the dated but well-constructed couch had been in the Powell family a long time.
“Can we sit a minute? I’ve had a long drive.”
He joined her with obvious reluctance and, rather than recline, sat stiffly with a closed fist resting on his knee.
She’d almost rather face a pair of flailing front hooves—something she’d done more than once in the course of her job.
“The fact is, Mr. Powell, we have trouble finding enough homes for the animals we round up. Despite the novelty of owning a feral horse or burro, most people aren’t interested in spending months and months domesticating them. Even then, some animals never truly adapt, and only a handful of the horses make decent and dependable riding stock.”
“I wouldn’t be using the horse for riding.”
Though she was curious, she didn’t ask about his intentions for the horse. “I think the BLM would be happy to have a home for the mustang and will likely just give him to you with a minimal amount of paperwork and processing.”
He nodded contemplatively.
“You’d still have to pay a fee.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know for certain. I can find out if you want. Most of the horses are adopted for a few hundred dollars. My guess is it would be something in that range.”
Another nod. Gavin Powell was clearly a man of few words.
“I have one week to round up the horse. After that, I’ll be staying in Scottsdale with relatives until the end of the month. My daughter’s there now, I dropped her off on the way.” She paused, giving herself a mental shake. Why did she feel the need to rattle off personal information? “If you don’t object, the horse can stay here with you on your ranch while I’m in Scottsdale. You’ll have a chance to observe him, work with him, see if he … meets your needs.”
She waited while he mulled over her proposition. He didn’t take long to make his decision.
“Deal.” He extended his hand.
“Good. Glad that’s resolved.”
Shaking his hand for the second time that afternoon, she tried to hide her relief. Like before, she noticed both strength and assurance in his callused fingers. Gavin Powell was definitely one of those men who didn’t make his living sitting behind a desk.
“Would you like something in writing?” She asked. “I can have the office fax—”
“Not necessary. I was raised to take someone at their word. And not to give mine unless I intend to keep it.”
She didn’t doubt that. “Then we’re in agreement.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Please, call me Sage. We’re going to be working together, after all.”
“Gavin.”
She smiled.
So did he. And though reserved, it both transformed him and disarmed her. She hadn’t noticed his vivid blue eyes or the pleasingly masculine lines of his face until now.
For a moment, Sage lost track of her thoughts. Standing, she promptly gathered them.
“About that stall for my mare.”
“Sure.” He also stood. “You can pull your truck around to the stables and unload her there.”
“Any chance I can park my trailer here? My cousin’s homeowners association won’t allow me to leave it there.”
“No problem.”
They went through the back of the house rather than the front door where Sage had entered. She caught a whiff of something tantalizing when they entered the kitchen, reminding her that all she’d eaten since breakfast was a semistale leftover doughnut and a snack-size box of raisins Isa must have accidentally left in her purse.
A man stood at the stove, stirring a pot. He turned and before Gavin introduced the man, she recognized the resemblance.
“Dad, this is Sage Navarre. From the BLM. My dad, Wayne.”
“The BLM?” Confusion clouded Wayne Powell’s face, then abruptly cleared. “Oh. Yeah. I forgot. Someone called last week.”
“That’s what I heard.”
To Gavin’s credit, if he was annoyed at his father, he didn’t let on. There was no point anyway; they’d reached an agreement about the horse.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Navarre.”
“Sage,” she told Gavin’s father.
“Will you be in Mustang Valley long?”
“A week at the most.”
“We’d better tend to that mare of yours,” Gavin said, inclining his head toward the door.
Sage got the hint. Gavin didn’t wish to prolong the conversation with his father. “It was a pleasure, Mr.
