would undoubtedly hate on sight.
“I don’t know,” she dismissed. “I’ll find something.”
Kay eyed her. “You know Knox Henderson is coming here specifically to court you. He’s number forty-two on the Forbes list, Cecily. A catch if there ever was one.”
Her lip curled. “No one uses the word ‘court’ anymore. And like I’ve told you a half a dozen times before, I have no interest in Knox.”
“Why not?”
Because he was an arrogant jerk who owned half of Texas with his massive cattle ranches and oil reserves, merely looking for a wife to decorate his salon in entertainment magazine photo spreads. Because he reminded her far too much of her ex, Davis—another male who’d been far too rich and far too appreciative of multiple members of the opposite sex—all at the same time.
“I am not marrying him.” She lifted her chin and stared her stepmother down. “End of story. Stop matchmaking. It’s only going to be embarrassing for both of us if you keep this up.”
“Perhaps Cecily is right,” her father interjected, sweeping his cool, gray gaze over her. “She would do better to focus on the task at hand. Dale said your times today were still subpar. Do I need to buy you another horse to make this happen?”
Her stomach twisted. No, ‘I’m sorry you had such a bad day, honey.’ No ‘You’ve got what it takes, just stick with it’ from her father. Never any of that. Only the stern, silver-haired disapproval that was her father’s de facto response. It made her feel about two feet tall.
Her lashes lowered. “I don’t have time to break in a new horse, Daddy. Besides, the committee will expect me on Bacchus.”
“Then what do we need to do?”
“I will figure it out.”
Suddenly the idea of Knox Henderson’s impending visit combined with the vast amount of pressure being heaped on her from all directions vaporized any desire for dessert.
She set her spoon down with a clatter. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a headache. I think I’ll go lie down.”
“Cecily.”
Her stepmother put a hand on her father’s arm. “Let her go. You know what she’s like when she’s in one of these moods.”
Cecily ignored her, scraping back her chair and leaving with a click of her heels on the hardwood floor. She started toward her bedroom, then changed her mind, taking a detour to the kitchen where she acquired some of Bacchus’s favorite breakfast cereal, then headed out the back door to the barn.
She thought she might owe both Bacchus and Colt Banyon an apology. She told herself that was the only reason she was venturing out into a balmy, perfect Kentucky evening when she had a stack of entrance forms waiting to be filled out. It was not, she assured herself, because of Colt Banyon’s sinful dark eyes she couldn’t forget.
Her bad timing on the course earlier today seemed to follow her as she entered the barn to find the grooms had finished up work. Not about to track Colt Banyon down at the staff quarters, she headed for Bacchus’s box.
She pulled up short when she got there, watching with astonishment as her horse, extremely picky when it came to grooms and highly nerved, blew out a breath and closed his eyes, putty under Colt’s hands as the groom massaged his head. She hadn’t seen him look this relaxed since before the accident.
Her attention shifted to the two-footed male in the box. Still clad in the close-fitting faded jeans, a gray T-shirt skimming his amazing abs, she found herself transfixed by the ripple of muscle in his powerful arms...by the lean, taut, undeniably ogle-worthy thighs underneath the worn denim.
He was a man—unlike Knox Henderson who preferred to preen like a peacock, there was a quiet substance to Colt that held her in its thrall.
He slid his hands down her horse’s head and began working his neck muscles, the kneading movement of his big hands making her horse shudder. Her stomach curled, tiny pinpricks of heat unfolding beneath her skin.
Would he handle a woman with such sensual precision? What would those hands feel like? Would they be deliberate and demanding? Slow and seductive? All of the above?
Bacchus lifted his head, his soft nicker of welcome causing the subject of her fascination to turn around. She wiped her expression clean, but perhaps not quick enough. Colt Banyon’s cool, dark stare made her freeze, utterly disconcerted.
“Why aren’t you eating with the others?” she blurted out.
A blast of arctic air directed her way. “Wasn’t hungry.”
She sank her hands into her pockets. Blew out a breath. “I owe you an apology for my behavior earlier. I was frustrated, I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”
A barely perceptible blink of those long, dark lashes. “Apology accepted.”
He turned and went back to work. Her skin burned. He’d clearly formed an opinion of her and wasn’t about to change it. Which should have been fine because she was used to people forming false impressions of her. Sometimes she even encouraged it, because it was easier than trying to maintain human relationships, something that never seemed to work out for her.
But for some reason, she wanted Colt Banyon to approve of her. Maybe because her horse had already given him the thumbs up and Bacchus’s opinion was never wrong.
Her horse nuzzled the pocket of her dress. She pulled out a handful of his favorite brightly colored fruit breakfast cereal and fed it to him.
Colt eyed her hand. “What is that?”
“Breakfast of champions. He’ll do anything for it.”
“Except jump the course the way you want him to.”
Ouch. She winced at the dig. “Are you always this—”
“Impertinent?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you thought it.”
“I think,” she corrected stiffly, “that you are direct. And that you don’t like me very much.”
He glanced at her, face impassive. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m paid to follow orders just like you said.”
She bit her lip. “I didn’t mean that.”
“Sure you did.”
Wow. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. She watched as he ran his hand over Bacchus’s side and dug his fingers into his trapezoids, key muscles her horse used to balance himself with. “What are you doing?”
“He seemed stiff when you rode him earlier. I thought a massage might loosen him up.”
“Did your grandmother teach you that too?”
“Yes. If he’s tight, he can’t stretch over the jumps properly.”
Well
