he think she’d invited him over to play polo? If so, he was as out of place on the Broken R as she would have been sipping tea in Buckingham Palace.
And speaking of being out of place, so was that little flutter that was racing up and down her spine.
He held the horse’s reins in one hand and reached out the other to her in greeting. “Good morning.”
Well, dang. The gent was certainly formal. She shifted the steaming mug to her left hand and accepted his handshake. But the moment his fingers wrapped around hers, her pulse rate spiked.
Then, upon his release, which was slow and drawn out, that little flutter took off like a flock of turtledoves, and she nearly dropped her coffee on the ground.
“I hope I’m not too early,” he said.
He was too everything. Too early, too formal, too good-looking. But her grandmother had raised her to be a gracious hostess, and she didn’t give voice to her racing thoughts. “Of course not. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Or tea? You guys probably prefer tea, right?”
“We guys?”
“You Brits.”
He smiled and gave her a slight nod of his head. “Actually, I was hoping for a nice pot of chicory cooked over a campfire. That’s what you country-and-western ‘guys’ drink, correct?”
The glint of amusement in his eyes sent her already soaring pulse rate into a loop de loop, but she reined it back down to earth the best she could and tossed him a smile of her own. “Fair enough. I guess we probably shouldn’t make assumptions about each other. So...? Coffee or tea?”
“Neither, thank you. Amelia cooked a huge breakfast this morning. I believe she’s going through what the maternity experts call ‘the nesting period.’ She can’t stop cleaning and organizing and freezing big pans of food Quinn refers to as casseroles.”
Amber laughed at the animated confusion in Jensen’s eyes. “I’ve heard about nesting. I would imagine the responsibility of bringing another life into the world would be a little overwhelming. She probably just wants to get everything in order.”
“I take it you don’t have children?” Jensen glanced down at her left hand.
She moved the mug handle around, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that her ring finger was very much unadorned.
“Nope,” she said. “No kids. But maybe someday.”
“My aunt Jeanne Marie said you live here with your grandmother?”
“Yes, it’s just me and Gram.” She dumped the rest of her coffee into a shrub near the barn, then set the mug on the fence post. “Actually, I only moved back to Horseback Hollow a few months ago.”
“Where were you living before that?”
My, he was certainly full of questions for a man who’d closed the door in her face when he’d thought she’d been a nosy reporter. She wondered how he’d like a taste of his own medicine. But she didn’t have anything to hide. Well, other than her possible job with Cowboy Country USA. But if that came to be, and it certainly looked promising, it would soon be out in the open as front-page news for the Cross Town Crier, the county weekly paper. And boy, was she dreading that day...
“I traveled around,” she admitted. “I was on the professional rodeo circuit for a couple of years and spent most of the time living out of a trailer.”
She waited for him to lift his snooty British nose at that revelation, but he just nodded his head as if he’d expected her response.
“Like a caravan?” he asked.
“A what?”
“A caravan. Isn’t that what you Americans call a recreational vehicle?”
“I guess—if it’s a whole bunch of them. Sometimes we stayed in motels or would bunk at a friend’s ranch. It’s a far cry from the glamorous world you’re probably used to living in. But I loved the rodeo life—the traveling and the camaraderie.” In fact, after only a few months away, she was already missing it.
“It sounds quite exciting, actually. Like Dale Evans, Queen of the West.”
Was he comparing her to a movie star from the fifties? Seriously?
“Dale Evans?” she asked.
He nodded, and his dark brows lifted as if he was...well, if not intrigued, then definitely interested.
She shrugged. “I guess it was kind of like that, but with faster riding and less singing.”
He smiled. “I actually have a film library and collect all the classic American Westerns and some documentaries. I’ve even watched some of the rodeos on television. But besides an appreciation for thoroughbred racing—especially the Kentucky Derby—I’m afraid my knowledge of other American horsing sports is somewhat limited.”
The tension in Amber’s shoulders eased. So that’s why he was here. He really was a greenhorn, interested in the Wild West. And if he was still going to be in town this summer, when Cowboy Country USA opened for business, he’d probably be the first in line to buy a front-row seat.
Well, she could deal with that kind of fan. And while his style of dress was better suited to a polite game of polo than to bronc busting, she’d give him a tour, just as she’d promised.
She rubbed the bay gelding’s nose. “So what do you think of Trail Blazer? Though I realize you’re more into the English style of riding.”
“He’s a fine horse. Quinn said your grandfather trained him.”
“That’s right. Trail Blazer is one of the last colts out of Moonshine, my pop’s pride and joy. The other is Lady Sybil. She’s one of our more spirited fillies.”
“Lady Sybil? As in the character from Downton Abbey?” He arched his brow.
Amber’s cheeks warmed at the connection. The last thing she wanted was for Jensen to think she was some sort of British noble wannabe like a few of the other Horseback Hollow residents. But since he was such a Western movie buff, maybe he wouldn’t judge her too harshly. “Gram is a big fan of the show. Anyway, come on into the stable and you can meet her.”
“Lady Sybil or your grandmother?”
Amber laughed as Jensen followed, the bay gelding trailing behind him. “No, Gram went to Vicker’s Corners this morning to meet with her quilting club. And the rest of the hands are still off for the holidays. It’s just me, you and the horses.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to snatch them back. “What I meant was that nobody else is here to bother...I mean, we’re alone...Oh, heck. What I’m trying to say is that there’s no reason to keep me from showing you around. Why don’t we start in the barn?”
She kept walking, not wanting to turn and face him since the blush in her cheeks had probably deepened to the exact shade of red in her plaid shirt. Fortunately, the cool confines of the stable and its familiar smell of straw and horses brought her back to her
