the rogue stallion on a steep downhill slope. Sol snaked out his hand and grabbed the reins in an attempt to stop the animal.
Wild-eyed, the sorrel reared up, jerking Sol off his horse and unseating the woman. She fell backward with a thud and groan—and Sol landed directly on top of her, forcing out her breath in a whoosh. His thigh wedged intimately between her legs and his chest slammed against her breasts.
She shrieked, panicked and shoved him aside. But their arms and legs were in a hopeless tangle, so they were knotted together as they rolled pell-mell down the hill. When they finally came to a dizzying stop on level ground, Sol was sprawled on top of her—a position he admitted held provocative appeal for him.
The same didn’t appear to hold true for her.
She struggled again to push him off her, but suddenly her eyes rolled back in her head and she wilted. Sol watched her flushed face turn an interesting shade of blue, then pasty-white.
“You okay, miss?” he asked as he rose onto his hands and knees above her.
Her ample breasts heaved while she struggled to draw breath—and couldn’t. Sol grabbed her arm and jerked her over his knee, to whack her between the shoulder blades until she began breathing again.
“Stop—whack—doing—whack—that!” she wheezed, then squirmed away from him to fall back on the ground.
Sol watched her inhale several shuddering gulps of air. But his attention kept dropping to the top button of her blouse, which had come undone during their downhill tumble, exposing her enticing cleavage.
“You okay now?” He tried to focus on her rattled condition, not her enticing physique. It wasn’t easy. She had sensuous curves in all the right places. And he had been trained to be exceptionally observant. Now that talent was working against him.
Forget-me-not-blue eyes zeroed in on him, narrowing into an accusing glare. “I was okay before you jerked me off my horse and threw yourself on top of me!” she huffed indignantly.
“I didn’t unseat you,” he contradicted. “Your devil horse did that when he reared up. Then he yanked me off my horse.”
“It’s what you deserve for roughing me up,” she muttered as she twisted gingerly from side to side to assess her condition. “You’re that horse trader I saw in town today, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “And you’re that blonde with wedding proposals galore. Find one to your liking yet?”
“No.” She rose unsteadily to her feet, rejecting his offer of support. She brushed grass off her breeches and glared at him some more.
“Not to worry, there are several single, wealthy shopkeepers and hotel owners in town, in case your slew of cowpunchers and plow-boys don’t meet your high expectations,” he assured her, then smirked.
She jerked up her head, causing the coil of shiny, spring-loaded, silver-blond curls to dangle above her left ear like a lopsided fountain. She took a challenging step toward him. He noticed she was tall for a woman—five foot five inches of feminine defiance, to be specific. Since he was six-two, he held the height advantage. Nonetheless, that didn’t stop her from standing toe to toe with him, refusing to be the slightest bit intimidated.
“And what is that supposed to imply, Mr. Horse Trader?”
The woman was bristling with indignation and bad temper—all directed at him. And Grant swore the brunette had a worse disposition? Ha! She had nothing on this sassy blonde, who hadn’t even bothered to thank him for risking his neck to save her gorgeous hide.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” he said sarcastically.
Her chilling glare could have formed icicles. “For what?”
Sol did a double take. “For saving you from disaster, of course. That devil sorrel didn’t look like he planned to slow down until his legs gave out or he launched you off his back. Whichever came first.”
“Which is the whole point of the exercise,” she insisted in a scathing tone.
“What exercise?” he scoffed caustically. “Catapulting off his back to see how many bones you can break at once?”
“No, I have to be able to hold on while Rooster runs hell-for-leather if I want to stake my claim in the run.”
“Lady, the only claim you’ll stake is a cemetery plot if you ride this animal.” Sol flashed her a stern glance. “You need to buy one of my horses. They are trained for riding, not green broke like this unruly stallion.”
She tilted her chin and scoffed at him. “How convenient that you just happen to have a string of mounts for sale. And you call me an opportunist? Ha! That’s a laugh.”
To his surprise, she became huffier by the second. She nearly stood on top of him, despite the fact that she was a head shorter and at least one hundred pounds lighter than he was. “I will have you know, Mr. Horse Trader, that I am not trolling for a husband in this sea of would-be settlers. I’m here to claim land for a ranch of my own, so I can raise horses and cattle. I don’t need a man lording over me and getting in my way. I do not need to be saved from the sire of my future horse herd … and you stay off me!” she shouted as she stabbed her forefinger into his chest.
Sol tried to pay attention to her lecture while she was yelling at him, he really did. Nevertheless, his betraying gaze zeroed in on her lush, tempting mouth. She had plump pink lips that he hungered to taste. The thought prompted him to lick his own lips in anticipation.
Apparently, he’d been too long without a woman, if this firebrand aroused him and sent his thoughts skittering off in the wrong direction. She was all sharp claws, biting teeth and prickly criticism, as spirited and contrary as her stallion. Not to mention wildly attractive—if a man could convince her to use that sassy mouth for something besides delivering scornful lectures.
When she lifted a questioning brow, Sol blinked and scrambled to find his place in the one-sided conversation. He finally gave up and said, “What?”
She cast him a withering glance. “Never mind. You men are all alike. You can’t get past outward appearances to pay attention to anything as inconsequential as intelligent conversation.”
She pivoted around to hobble toward her horse, which was trying to pick a fight with Outlaw. The two stallions laid back their ears, snorted and pawed the ground.
It reminded Sol of his confrontation with the blonde.
“I suppose I don’t need to know you by name.” She tossed the comment over her shoulder flippantly. “I can think of plenty to call you, even if you refuse to provide the one you were given at birth.”
Which was not the name he used now, he reminded himself. He had been born in a Cheyenne camp, not in white society.
Why did she want to know his name, anyway? So she could tattle to the El Reno city marshal that he had attacked her? Which he most certainly had not … but he was thinking about it now.
Before she could walk between the two stallions and get trampled, Sol let out a sharp whistle, startling Rooster and bringing Outlaw obediently to him.
“The
