suppose it doesn’t mean a thing that he’s a range horse?”
Sam Reese gave her an odd smile. “You can come from the wrong side of the tracks and still make it. I’m sure you’re familiar with Nautilus, the palomino gelding they found at some riding stable?”
Dany nodded. “Yes, a rags-to-riches story of a Heinz-variety gelding who made it big in the Olympics as a jumper. That’s a one-in-a-million shot.”
“Altair’s unique.”
“He’s trouble with a capital ‘T,’ Mr. Reese.” She pulled up the file, frowning. “Jean didn’t make these notes for nothing. He has excellent ability to size up a Grand Prix candidate for the jumping circuit.”
“Then why did he agree to show Altair if he thought the stallion was such a loss?”
It was Dany’s turn to give him a withering smile. “Because Jean thought he could ride anything and make it win.”
“He has—so far. But,” he hesitated, tilting his head, watching her with a more gentle expression. “I’ve been following his career the last four years, and it seems to me he had one hell of a trainer behind the scenes working the kinks out of these animals before they ever showed.” He pointed at her. “You’re the real reason why he’s skyrocketed to fame and has winner after winner on his hands.”
She couldn’t stand still a moment longer, unable to bear remembering the last four miserable years of her life. “Please—”
He reached out, capturing her arm and turning her toward him. Dany was wildly aware of his masculine aura and she pulled her arm away. “I made a mistake by hiring three different male trainers to coach Altair. He needs a woman’s touch.”
She took a step away. “Doesn’t every male,” she noted with sarcasm. “I have no wish to get mangled by that sorrel stallion. I’ve heard rumors that Altair has injured all his trainers to some degree.”
“And in every instance it was their fault,” he growled. “He’s an intelligent horse who won’t be beaten or cajoled into doing something. He has to be reasoned with psychologically and respected.”
“I have no wish to end up with a broken neck or fractured skull because of that red devil!”
“You’re reacting to rumors, that’s all.”
Danielle’s eyes widened, their blueness becoming clouded with cobalt flecks. How could this—this “cowboy” from California suddenly walk in unannounced and demand that she fulfill this agreement made so long ago? The only business that she wanted to conduct today was to turn over control of the Virginia training and stable business to her new partner. Had it only been nine months since the divorce from Jean Baptiste Daguerre? Her heart wrenched in anger and pain over the shock of his sudden departure. Jean was the brilliant, flamboyant part of their duo, and she was only the trainer who stayed behind the scenes doing the groundwork and strenuous training of thoroughbreds for their blue-blooded owners of the East Coast. Jean had ridden nearly every one of the horses she had lovingly trained to the very heights of equine stardom. He would show them in stadium jumping, dressage and the dangerous, spectacular three-day cross-country eventing. The more dangerous, the more closely timed the event, the better his electric performance on the horse. Choking down a lump forming in her throat, she was unable to meet Sam Reese’s inquiring gaze. It was too bad Jean’s performance in their marriage had gotten such poor marks. She sighed. It was just as much her fault; she spent too much time training the young horses and too little time with Jean.
“My attorneys have made inquiries as to Mr. Daguerre’s whereabouts, and they’ve informed me he has left for a series of commitments in France. I have a Grand Prix hopeful standing in my barn, Mrs. Daguerre, and when your ex-husband saw Altair last year, he said he’d campaign him.” He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Fortunately, you haven’t left the States and your credentials are well respected in this country. I don’t care who fulfills the commitment.” His voice, husky and low, hardened. “But one of you will. I haven’t spent thousands of dollars on this stallion to see him wasted in the hands of some second-class amateur.”
Dany shook her head. “I’m a trainer, Mr. Reese, not a show rider. There’s a big difference.”
His face was darkly tanned, chiseled as if sculpted by the sun and wind. He looked as though he would be at ease with any element that nature could conjure up. There was a faint look of surprise in his challenging gaze. “You can double as both.”
Dany uncrossed her arms, holding them stiffly at her sides. She wasn’t going to honor any commitment signed by Jean! “I’m too tall, Mr. Reese! Most of your riders are five-five to five-seven. Even the male riders are usually around a hundred and forty pounds. I’m one forty and my weight will cause the horse to tire on a long and demanding cross-country course. And my height would interfere with the horse’s movement, especially if he’s sixteen hands or less. You can’t mix and match something like this, you know.”
He relaxed against the door jamb, oddly out of place in his western attire. “I wouldn’t change one inch or pound on you,” he murmured appreciatively, making a thorough appraisal of her body.
Dany colored fiercely, getting ready to unleash a blast of anger at the lazily smiling westerner. “How—”
“Now calm down,” he defended. “I meant it as a compliment. You eastern women all seem to be a little uptight. Anyway, Altair is seventeen hands high and can easily carry you. Even with your height, you have that grace and flexibility which can only contribute to some of the more intricate jumps that have to be scaled. So you see, there’s no problem there.”
She stood rooted to the spot, her body drawn into a stiff posture. She didn’t realize that it made her look elegantly classical in her black knee-high English riding boots, white long-sleeved blouse and canary yellow riding breeches. The blouse set off the rich, shining blackness of her hair and accented the natural ruddiness of her complexion. Her thin brows knitted in displeasure. “Your horse could be eighteen hands tall, and I still wouldn’t ride him!” she hurled back, her voice quivering with anger. “And you can keep your low opinion of easterners to yourself, Mr. Reese. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m handing over the reins of this place to my new partner, who’s due to arrive any minute now.” She walked determinedly up to him, angrily holding his amused gaze.
“I don’t think he’ll mind waiting,” he drawled, remaining between her and the door.
She planted her hands on her hips, glaring up at his ruggedly handsome face. If they had met under other circumstances, she would have found him devastatingly intriguing She had still not gotten over her anger at Jean’s impulsive departure, and her life had no place for a man. In fact, she found herself agitated at men in general since the divorce. She wanted to slap his rugged face for the open expression of enjoyment that she saw there.
“If you don’t move, I’ll—”
“You’re worse than a female mountain lion that’s been woke up too early in the morning and is starving for a fresh kill,” he drawled. “And before you cock that fist at me I think I’d better inform you that I’m your new partner, Mrs. Daguerre.”
Danielle’s lips parted, and she took a step back, staring up at him in shock. “What? But…the contract was signed by Mr. Jack Ferguson. I don’t understand. I thought he bought…”
Sam Reese straightened up and slipped
