to speak.
Not that Dallas blamed Conner for avoiding any discussion of her former fiancé. Richard had been retained and awarded a raise while Conner was let go. He wouldn’t be human if he didn’t harbor a grudge.
“I always love coming here,” she said as they drove past the rodeo arena with its bucking chutes, bleachers and livestock holding pens. A group of men were practicing on their cutting horses, separating calves from a small herd and driving them one by one into a pen. Correction, several men and two women, Dallas observed upon closer inspection.
She wouldn’t mind getting pictures of the women. Maybe she’d ask Conner to stop briefly on their way out if the group was still practicing.
“Not too much happening this time of day.” Conner aimed the truck onto a long, straight dirt road, at the end of which were the pastures where the mustangs were kept. “If you want some photos of calf roping or bull riding, there should be a decent turnout tonight. Guys practicing for tomorrow’s jackpot.”
“Will you be working the jackpot?”
“Yeah. I fill in for Clay during events and on weekends. When Gavin doesn’t need me.”
Despite her curiosity, she didn’t pressure Conner for details. Did he enjoy living the cowboy life 24/7 instead of now and then? Prefer it over the manufacturing plant and the constant mental grind? What had happened to his girlfriend, the tall, willowy swimsuit model?
“Sage mentioned you’re at the sanctuary almost as much as at Powell Ranch.”
He cast her a sideways glance. “You talked to her about me?”
“Only in passing. I was there last week. Taking pictures of the baby.” Dallas pressed a hand to her stomach as they went over a pothole.
“How’s the documentary photography coming?”
She was surprised he remembered, and flattered. “I’m continuing to pursue it. In between weddings and family reunions and conventions.”
Being a commercial photographer was her livelihood but not her passion. She had hopes that the book on Prince and the mustang sanctuary would launch her artistic career. That and the volunteer photography she did for several local no-kill animal shelters.
“Don’t forget baby pictures,” Conner added.
“Right.” She smiled, glad the momentary awkwardness between the two of them had passed. Not only for the sake of the book, which would require them to spend considerable time together during the next few weeks, but also because of her fondness for him.
He was fond of her, too, and attracted to her. Still. Dallas could tell. When they’d first met—she’d been retained by Triad Energy for a company brochure—there were instantaneous sparks. First, they’d gone on a group lunch together. Then a happy-hour gathering after work. Their next happy hour had included just the two of them. It had ended with a kiss that left her thinking of nothing else for days.
By the end of her two-week project, she’d been completely smitten and convinced he had all the potential to be the one.
During that same period of time, Richard had also made his interest in her known. Dallas liked him, but kept him at arm’s length, her attention focused entirely on Conner. After her stint at Triad was over, however, he’d stopped calling her so much, then not at all. He cited work and spending weekends at the office as the reason, and apologized. Dallas had believed him. She’d heard the employees talking about a potential large contract and that Conner would be in charge.
After two weeks without a single peep from him, she gave up hope. Richard’s call and invitation to a movie wasn’t entirely unexpected, and she’d accepted. The rest, as the saying went, was history.
She’d be lying if she didn’t admit Richard was a rebound romance. And that she’d occasionally wondered what might have been if Conner hadn’t become buried in work.
Well, they were both unattached now.
Dallas instantly dismissed the notion. She couldn’t think about seeing anyone right now, and not for a while. She and Richard had only recently split. And then there was the matter of—
“Is this close enough?” Conner asked, interrupting her train of thought.
“Perfect.”
He’d pulled the truck alongside the larger of the three connecting pastures, not far from a gate. About a hundred yards off, four mustangs had raised their heads to stare at them. Not completely used to humans, they were content to stay put and watch. That would change as soon as Conner removed the bucket of grain he’d brought along.
Dallas hopped out of the truck, grabbing and then discarding her sweater. It was early October, and, typical for southern Arizona, the seasons were only now starting to change from summer to fall. The mildly nippy early-morning air had warmed as the sun rose. By afternoon, they would be running the air-conditioning in their vehicles.
Standing with the door open, Dallas rifled through her equipment bag, grabbing her digital camera and two lenses, one a zoom on the slim chance the horses proved able to resist the lure of a treat. Depending on the shot, she occasionally used a 35mm camera. A good photographer always allowed for choices.
She met up with Conner at the gate.
“Wait here,” he instructed. “These ponies are fresh off the Navajo Reservation and pretty unpredictable. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Dallas started to tell him she wasn’t a novice where horses were concerned and could handle herself, then reconsidered. Things were different now, and she’d be wise to practice caution. So she did as instructed and waited beside the gate, readying her camera.
Conner shook the bucket. That got the attention of the horses, and they meandered toward him. Dallas raised her camera and studied the scene through the viewfinder.
These mostly untamed horses were perfect for the book, in looks and disposition. Despite their shaggy coats, long manes and tails, and compact muscled bodies, they were extraordinary, and they knew it.
Not just any horse, they carried the blood of their Spanish ancestors, brought over on ships crossing the Atlantic Ocean nearly five hundred years ago. It showed in the proud, regal way they held their heads, the intelligence reflecting in their eyes and the graceful movements of their bodies.
Dallas was transfixed—by the horses and also by Conner.
He might possess two MBAs and be as smart as a rocket scientist, but he belonged to this land every bit as much as these mustangs. How many systems analysts handled a rope as if it was an extension of their arm? Had an uncanny ability to predict a horse’s next move? Wore their jeans, Western shirt and cowboy hat with the comfort and ease of a suit?
Conner did.
Except Dallas liked him infinitely better in jeans.
She snapped several pictures of him while he waited for the mustangs to approach, certain he had no idea he was the focal point of all her shots.
A mild breeze tousled the lock of unruly blond hair that swept across his tanned forehead. His hazel eyes narrowed with interest as he studied the approaching horses. A shade shy of six feet,
