he murmured. “I apologize for dropping it on you like this. I can see you’re tired and you’ve had quite a rough month. My half brother Jack Ferguson signed the sales agreement on your stable. He sent photos of your facility to my ranch out in California six months ago because he knew I was looking for a base of operation back East for Altair. I bought it sight unseen.”
She felt the sting of tears prickling at the back of her eyes, and she shut them tightly, fighting back the deluge of emotion that threatened to engulf her. Why couldn’t he be flip or arrogant like Jean? That always brought out her anger, and she was able to withstand any barrage. But this man—he was throwing her completely off base. His work-roughened fingers slipped around her wrist, pulling her hand gently away from her face.
“Here,” he growled, “you might need this,” and placed a white handkerchief in her palm.
A new, more disturbing sensation coursed electrically through her. Danielle looked up, her lashes thickly matted with tears. His face seemed open and undisguised of intrigue or game playing. He was so diametrically opposite of Jean that it was crumbling her defenses more quickly than she could replace them. This perfect stranger was leaning across the desk, his features sympathetic, offering her solace. She blinked twice and then murmured, “Thank you.” She dabbed at her eyes, clenching the linen cloth tightly within her long, artistic fingers.
“Look, Danielle—may I call you that? Westerners hate formality.” He gave her a frank smile. “We’re mostly homesteader folk and would rather sit down over a whiskey and discuss our troubles. I’ll take you to lunch, and we can discuss this problem over some good food. Besides, you look a little shook up.”
She shivered inwardly as he spoke her name. It rolled off his tongue like a soft growl of that mountain lion he had mentioned. Her heart was aching, and at the moment, she was aware of only pain and loss.
“Come on,” he urged, pulling her to her feet. “You’re getting paler by the second. Don’t worry. Everything will turn out all right.”
* * *
Danielle sat quietly in the darkened restaurant, a glass of wine in front of her. She stared down at the salad, her appetite nonexistent.
“You know, if you don’t eat, you aren’t going to be any good for me,” Sam murmured, setting the fork down and wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“I have a proposal for you,” he began. “And one that I think might do you a lot of good.” He rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. “Fly back to my ranch that sits above Placerville and work Altair for me throughout the late spring. Then, if he comes along under your hand, I’ll put him on any show circuit you want. I can even have you both flown back East here for the Devon show. What do you say?”
She took a drink of the wine, trying to shore up her broken defenses. “Your ranch?” she echoed.
Sam sipped the whiskey, the shadows playing across his face reminding her of a medieval knight who had just stepped out of the past into the present and into her life.
“The Cross Bar-U sits in the High Sierra mountains eight thousand feet above Placerville and close to the Truckee River. It’s God’s unaltered handiwork up there. The Truckee is one of the most violent rivers in the West, and the mountains are some of the finest in the world. I have thousands of acres of rich grassland, steep hills and rolling meadows perfect for training Altair. It’s a vast, virgin country, Danielle. Far different than your tame hills here in Virginia.” He allowed himself a small smile, his voice vibrating with a low-key excitement. “You would have a suite of rooms at the main house.”
She found herself being pulled along by the fervor in his voice. She colored as he picked up one of her hands, pressing it between his own.
“Danielle, you’re one of the best trainers in the U.S. when it comes to polishing off an event horse.”
Her pulse accelerated unevenly, and she was acutely aware of the strong, callused fingers capturing her hand. His voice was a husky balm to her shredded heart, and his touch soothed her frantic, worried mind. Hesitantly, she withdrew her hand, tucking it in her lap, unable to meet his warm, inviting eyes that seemed to be dappled with silver flecks of excitement.
“My ex-husband was the rider, Mr.—”
“Call me Sam. And frankly, Danielle, I’ve had a thorough check made into both your backgrounds. Your ex-husband took chances with the horses under his tutelage. The sprained ligaments, the bowed tendons…no, you were the one who brought those animals along and gave them their distance to go that extra mile when it was asked of them. Look, I wouldn’t trust anyone else with Altair. He’s an athletic, daring stallion who can go all the way. But he’s a sensitively calibrated instrument also. He needs your touch. He can’t be mishandled at this stage by a whip or a club in some man’s hands. You’re the only one who can do it.”
She touched her hair in confusion, pushing a strand behind her ear that had escaped from the severe chignon she wore while training and riding. Her hair was nearly long enough to reach her slender waist and had to be tightly knotted at the nape of her neck so that she could get her protective hard hat on her head. “Sam—” Her voice quavered and she gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Please—so much is happening—I can’t think straight. Give me time.…”
“I can’t do that. Not under the circumstances. Look, you’ll love the Sierras. I believe the change of location and environment might do you a world of good. Might bring back that sparkle to your blue eyes and put a dash of color on those pale cheeks.” He stared at her intently for a moment. “It may make you smile again. You have a beautiful mouth.”
Danielle shivered at the husky inference in his tone. There was a veiled, hungry look in his gray eyes, and she stared wordlessly across the table at him, feeling her body respond of its own volition to the invitation. “I just can’t pack up and leave Richland! I have several coming five-year-olds here that need daily training and—”
“You have two capable assistants,” he countered. “Surely they can manage the three animals that are here.”
She sighed heavily. Since Jean had left, the bulk of their numerous clientele had left Richland. She wished that their clients had known that it was her ability that had made those horses winners. But she couldn’t ride—at least that’s what Jean had always impressed upon her—and clients didn’t want just a good trainer, they wanted a brilliant rider to make their horse a winner. And she was anything but a brilliant show rider.
“I’d be willing to invest fifty thousand in Richland for renovation purposes plus an advertising campaign that will bring you in some of the biggest clients in the world. You give me four months of your time and I’ll make sure Richland becomes a center for Grand Prix hopefuls on both sides of the Atlantic.”
She stared in shock at him. Fifty thousand…what she could do with that money! It would enable her to buy another hot-walker to cool out her charges after their demanding morning runs, another groom to help in the more mundane duties around the barn and—it was too good to turn down.
“Look,” she began unevenly, “the offer is wonderful, and to tell you the truth, it would help Richland.” She lifted her lashes, meeting his steady gaze, her heart beating painfully in her breast. “Sam, I’m not a show rider. Oh, sure, I can ride. But I’m not a Grand Prix rider. I have no experience…no—”
“Who told you that?” he demanded
