horse,” Luke commented. “Armstrong is an idiot.”
“I wouldn’t argue with that assessment,” she said with feeling. “Afterward, Harlan turned Ransom loose with the cattle in the open pasture and let him run. He’s been there ever since and no one’s tried to handle him.”
“Why didn’t Harlan hire another trainer?”
Rachel glanced around the bar. Luke let the small silence stretch, waiting for her answer but suspecting what it would be.
“I think my uncle decided Ransom wasn’t worth the effort.”
“But you don’t agree?”
“No.” Rachel’s gaze met his. Conviction rang in her voice. “Ransom’s fast. I’ve seen him run.”
Luke didn’t know if Rachel’s assessment of her horse’s speed was accurate. He did, however, know Harlan Kerrigan was bullheaded and stubborn enough to lose his temper and write off a horse who had potential. Maybe the horse really wasn’t worth the effort it might take to train and race him, but Luke figured the stud’s bloodline alone made it worth a look.
“I have to see the colt before I agree to take him on. And,” he added. “I get the land whether your horse wins or not. You’ll have to sign a contract.”
“Of course.” Rachel slipped the bag from her shoulder and unzipped it to pull out a sheaf of papers. “I had our attorney prepare a document.”
She held out the stapled legal-size form. He took it, settling back into his chair while he scanned the top sheet, then the second, before looking at her.
“You were pretty confident I’d say yes.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I hoped you’d say yes. And if you agreed, I knew you wouldn’t do it without conditions so I had Mr. Cline put in the ones I anticipated.” She gestured at the papers. “I also had him insert a condition I think is important. It’s on page three, paragraph two.”
Luke turned to page three, and read the second paragraph aloud:
“All parties agree to act in good faith. Luke McCloud shall make all efforts to train Ransom’s Mist and enable him to win sufficient races to develop a reputation as a potential stud. Failure to exert such reasonable and expected efforts on the part of Mr. McCloud shall negate the contract in its entirety.”
The language was fairly standard, but Luke felt a flash of annoyance that she felt it necessary to have him sign a document affirming he would do his best to train her horse.
“If I don’t think I can help your horse after I’ve looked him over, I won’t accept your offer,” he said evenly. “If I think he’s trainable, and if I think he has a chance of becoming a stud that generates income for you, I’ll give him the same time and attention as any other horse I handle.”
She flushed, the arch of her cheekbones darkening with color, but her eyes didn’t leave his. “You have a reputation for honesty—that’s why I approached you instead of someone without our family history. And my sources told me that you’re the best trainer in five states. But you’re still a McCloud. And I’m Harlan Kerrigan’s niece and Lonnie Kerrigan’s cousin. I couldn’t ignore the bad blood between our families, nor the possibility that you might feel you have cause to treat our horse differently.”
Her words ripped away the veil of pretense between them and sliced with knifelike precision to the heart of the matter. He was John McCloud’s son and Chase McCloud’s brother. Not only had their ancestors been on opposite sides of a land feud for three generations, but he believed her uncle and cousin had caused his family irreparable harm.
If he agreed to help her, his family would be outraged. Was the long-term gain worth the short-term problems he’d have to face with the rest of the McClouds?
Yes, he decided. He’d deal with his family. Once the deed to the homestead was his and the land legally in McCloud hands, his father, brother, sister and mother would forgive him for agreeing to work with a Kerrigan.
“You’re right. You’re a Kerrigan. I’m a McCloud. But this is business. If I think your horse is trainable, I’ll sign the contract. If not, I won’t.”
“Excellent.” Her mouth curved in a spontaneous smile of relief, and she leaned forward to hold out her hand.
He took her hand in his. The combined impact of her smile and the feel of her slim fingers sent a jolt of lust to his groin and a strange longing through his veins. Her grip was firm, but her skin was an unexpected combination of roughness and soft silk. Frowning, he turned her hand palm up. Barely healed blisters reddened the skin of her fingers and palm while an angry-looking rope burn marked the center.
She tugged her hand from his and he looked at her, studying the faint streaks of pink on her cheeks.
“You’ve been working on the ranch?”
“I’ve been helping Charlie with chores and riding the horses a bit.”
Luke wondered just how many hours a day she was working to tear up her hands like that, but decided to let it go.
“I’ll be back at my place on Wednesday. Bring your horse by and I’ll look him over.” He nodded at the legal papers on the table. “I’ll have my attorney go over the contract before then.”
“Very well.” She rose. “Ransom’s Mist and I will see you Wednesday.”
She waited a moment, as if expecting him to say more. When he didn’t, she nodded, the goodbye gesture as brief as his had been, before she turned and walked away.
Luke’s gaze followed her slim back, the slight sway of her hips, the faint swing of her dark hair against her shoulders as she crossed the room. She disappeared from view, and the heavy bar door closed behind her.
She’s going to be trouble, he thought. He knew it in his gut.
He’d felt the same when he was twenty-one and Rachel Kerrigan was seventeen, too young and way too innocent for him. Despite his instinctive awareness that she had the potential to screw up his life, he’d been hard-pressed to stay away from her back then.
He’d kissed women before. He’d certainly kissed women since. Why had he never forgotten what her mouth felt like under his?
Luke didn’t want to imagine what that said about his feelings for Rachel Kerrigan.
Chapter Three
Rachel walked the short blocks from the bar to her hotel in a daze.
He said yes, she repeated silently as she caught the elevator to her third-floor room, barely aware of the two other people in the lift. The doors opened and she walked down the hall to her room, her fingers trembling in delayed reaction as she swiped her key card and pushed open the door.
She stepped inside and fumbled with the locks before managing to set the dead bolt and slide the security chain into place. The comfortable hotel room had a queen-size bed, and she tossed her purse atop the deep blue spread, kicked off her shoes and dropped onto the edge of the bed.
“He said yes.” The whispered
