Wild for the Girl Page 3

  She tapped the photo in his hands. “The aluminum is more expensive, but a lot lighter weight, and if you have to pull any distance up mountain roads, it could matter.”

  “Why do we need another horse trailer?” Reese asked. He stood too close, looking past her shoulder to see the brochures in his father’s hands.

  His breath hit the back of her neck, and she shrugged off a pleasant shiver, fighting to keep her thoughts straight. “If you ever need to get a couple of horses into or out of the high country in a hurry, a two-horse is a lot easier to maneuver than a six-horse, which is all you have now.”

  “And why would we want to give our horses a ride up the mountain?”

  “Search parties, rescues, resupplying a camping party, any number of reasons. Also, you’ll be dealing with inexperienced riders who might change their minds halfway through the ride, or get sick, or fall off, or have an emergency back home and need a quick ride back. Same with a horse if it gets hurt a few miles from the resort and can’t walk all the way home.” God, did he have to smell like he’d just showered, then rolled in pine needles? It was a masculine, earthy scent, and made her nose tingle, along with one or two other areas.

  Reese was silent for a couple of seconds. “Makes sense. Which one do you recommend?”

  “This one.” She pulled a pamphlet from Mike’s hands and passed it to Reese. He stood close enough to feel his body heat on her arm, and she knew she should move away. Instead she allowed her arm to brush his. It was pretty minor as thrills went, but packed a lot of heat, most of it settling between her thighs. “The extra-tall model, because several of your horses are over sixteen hands and they need the headroom.”

  “Does this price include mats on the floor?”

  So the city boy wasn’t totally ignorant about trailering horses. “No, but I can talk them into it.”

  “How about a tack compartment?”

  “I’d recommend that, too.”

  Reese nodded thoughtfully. Mike cleared his throat. “Since when do you have an interest in horse trailers, Reese?”

  Reese handed the pamphlet back. “I thought I was supposed to be managing until you were back on your feet. You’re incapacitated.”

  “Not mentally.” He shot a curious look at his son, then looked up at T.J. “Now tell me why I shouldn’t save a couple thousand bucks with this one here.”

  T.J. leaned closer and concentrated on talking trailers with Mike while trying to shut out her other senses. They’d gone on high alert when Reese got near, and now her nerve synapses were crackling with anticipation, yearning to touch him again.

  It was infuriating. He was the wrong man to be attracted to. The casual man in blue jeans wasn’t the real Reese Barringer, he was merely playing a role. The real Reese was big city all the way, suits and Porsche and those perfectly polished women Mike had mentioned. He was smooth and sophisticated, too urbane to appreciate Barringer’s Pass, Colorado. Six weeks, and he’d be gone. The man had heartbreak written all over him.

  But her body didn’t care. He stayed beside her despite her feigned disinterest, keeping her nerves prickling with awareness, like a persistent tickle beneath her skin. She couldn’t get out of here fast enough.

  “You can take a few weeks to decide,” she told Mike as she edged toward the door. “I have to run now, but we’ll talk about it later.”

  Mike raised an eyebrow at her quick escape. “I’ll walk you out,” Reese said.

  She walked briskly, anxious to get away from that tingly feeling that made her want to touch him again, but he stuck with her. “Thanks for dropping by. He hates being stuck here, and he likes seeing you.”

  “No problem; I like your dad.”

  “How did you two meet?”

  “I knew his third wife. She bought a horse from me.”

  “Ah, that would be Candy. Whatever happened to her?”

  “Beats me, she left after the divorce. I think she never adjusted to living in a small town.”

  “Can’t blame her for that.”

  She paused at the front door to give him a hard look. “Some of us like it here.”

  “Maybe it’s different when the town’s not named after your family.” He opened the front door, then followed her outside. “Did you grow up here, T.J.?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ever have people make assumptions about who you should be or what you should do with your life, based on what your grandfather and your father did?”

  “No. People here aren’t like that.”

  “They are if you’re a Barringer.” He leaned against her car, arms folded. “Ever bend any rules when you were a teenager, stay out late, get a traffic ticket?”

  She played along because she honestly wanted to hear how his life could have been that different from hers. Also, because he looked good with one hip propped against the side of her pickup, and one long, lean leg crossed over the other. “I got a speeding ticket once,” she told him.

  “I didn’t. I should have, more than once, but the cops would take a look at my name, send me off with a warning, and call my dad before I could get home. Dad took care of the punishment. The Barringer name isn’t allowed to show up on police reports or court records.”

  “You’re complaining because you got special treatment?”

  “Not special, different. I went to elementary school here, and it didn’t take long for me to figure out that expectations were different if your name was Barringer. Grades, behavior, everything. Teachers got nervous if they had to give me a C, and they’d keep me after school for extra tutoring. Plus my dad was always in the local paper for one thing or another, including marriages and divorces. Kids don’t like to stand out, and my brothers and I did.”

  His tone was matter-of-fact, uncomplaining, but she could imagine the discomfort a child would feel at being treated differently from his friends. “Did your parents realize what it was like for you?”

  He shrugged. “My dad always liked his fame, even his notoriety. But after their divorce, my mother insisted we switch to private schools.”

  “And you liked it.”

  “It was easier to be a Barringer anyplace but in Barringer’s Pass.”

  That was probably true. It was also a child’s perspective. “I’m sorry you never learned to appreciate it here. It might be different for you now.”

  “You know,” he mused, “you’re right. I’ve already found one or two things I appreciate here.”

  His gaze never left her eyes, but she felt it all over her body. Heat flooded her from the center out, warming to his meaning. Which was not smart. “I have to go,” she said, opening the door and climbing in quickly.

  She thought he might catch the door in his hand. Or grab her arm. The back of her neck prickled, expecting from the way he’d looked at her that he’d reach out and stop her, but he didn’t. She slammed the door, feeling foolish for creating sexy scenarios out of innocent statements. Then she glanced up and caught her breath. He’d stepped away from the truck, hands tucked casually in his pockets, but there was nothing harmless or innocent about the assessing look that followed her as she started the truck and drove off.

  She had little doubt he was interested. That was bad, because she was, too. And she’d learned one thing from living in a tourist town: city boys didn’t stick with country girls.

  4

  Reese couldn’t get her out of his mind. His thoughts kept coming back to the cute little stable manager with her jaunty ponytail and worn jeans. He thought about her through the crashing storm that lashed the mountains that night, and was still thinking of her the next morning as he drove to work. It nearly caused him to drive straight into Elkhorn Creek.

  The creek wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Instead of running alongside the two-lane highway, the water overflowed its banks in a swirling pool, covering a good twenty feet of road. Inching through it would be impossible; Reese knew the dip in the highway meant the water was a good foot deep. Five feet into it he would have Elkho
rn Creek rushing beneath the doors of the low-slung Porsche Cayman, and flooding the engine.

  He swore to himself and looked for a place to turn around as he mentally added up the wasted time. Fifteen minutes to the house to borrow his dad’s big Cadillac Escalade, then fifteen minutes back. He was going to be late for the meeting he’d arranged with the food services staff, who had been very clear about their narrow window of available time between meals. Screw it, he’d just have to cancel.

  He backed up, spotted a dirt driveway between the trees, and pulled in to make his turn. Edging into the sharply curving drive, the Porsche came nose to nose with an ancient pickup truck on its way out. Reese rolled down his window and waved to the driver, who stepped out. “Sorry, I’m just turning around.”

  “Morning,” the man called, as if simply passing the time of day. “You’re Michael Barringer’s oldest boy, ain’t you?”

  Shit, another nosy resident of Barringer’s Pass. Now he was going to have to waste more time while the guy caught up on the latest news. “Yes. Reese Barringer, nice to meet you.” He didn’t really care if his impatience showed, it might get him out of there faster.

  “Cliff Murchison. Thought it was you; I recognized your car.”

  Reese drew his brows together. Was he supposed to know this guy? “You did?”

  “Yeah. Heard you showed up here in a fancy little sports car.” Cliff paused to give the sleek black Porsche an appreciative once-over as he approached the open window. “Nice. How fast does it go?”

  “Uh, I’m not sure. The company says one seventy-three, but I’ve never really had it up that high.” Not yet, anyway.

  “Ride good?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sharp-lookin’ thing. Bet it’s fun to drive. Not so good to have in the mountains, though. Wrong car for B-Pass.”

  Hell, was Cliff one of those guys who wanted to make a Barringer feel bad for having so much money? Reese wasn’t going to engage in ten minutes of polite chitchat just so some local could make the Barringer kid feel stupid for driving the wrong kind of car. “You’re right about that, Cliff. Especially today. That’s why I really need to get going.”

  Cliff pointed over his shoulder. “Sure thing. Just pull up next to that big rock by the pine tree.”

  “Sorry?”

  “That’ll keep your car in the shade all day. Don’t want to damage that shiny paint. I can see you take real good care of her.”

  Reese squinted harder, as if that would help him figure it out. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand why you want me to park my car here.”

  “So I can give you a lift to town, of course. Been watchin’ for you to come by, ’cause I knew you wouldn’t make it across that flooded patch, and I was headed into town anyways. I’ll drop you at the resort—that’s where you’re going, ain’t it? Or did you want to go somewhere else?”

  “Uh, no, the resort is fine. But I don’t . . .” He shook his head, puzzled. “You were watching for me?”

  “Yeah, see you come by most every morning. Zoom!” Cliff chuckled. “Bit of a blur, but I knew who it was. You sure must have yourself some fun in that car.”

  Cliff had already turned, walking back to his truck. “Hey!” Reese stuck his head out the window. “Thanks for the offer, Cliff, but I don’t have a way to get back here. I think I should just get my dad’s SUV.”

  Cliff waved off that option. “Heck, anyone’ll give you a lift back here. Small town like this, we all watch out for each other. Come on, park that thing and hop into old Betsy. There ain’t been a flood or a snowdrift yet that got her stuck. Not as shiny and fast as your little toy there, but downright dependable. Just what a man needs, in his truck and in his woman.” Cliff chuckled to himself again as he strolled back to Betsy.

  Reese shook his head again and grinned, then eased the Porsche off the drive and onto the scrub grass where Cliff had directed him. He’d put Cliff’s claim to the test and see if he could get a ride back here at the end of the day. Maybe there were some advantages to living in a small town that he hadn’t been aware of. He was open to learning.

  Advantages other than sexy little stable managers. He was eager to learn more about her, too.

  * * *

  Reese made the meeting, but missed Tad’s riding lesson. He figured that was okay, Beth didn’t need him to check in every day, although he still wanted to be there. He’d developed his own anxiety about throwing T.J. together with the handsome, highly sexed movie star. T.J.’s good-natured brush-offs had only made Tad more persistent, and the possibility that he’d wear down her defenses was a nagging itch in the back of Reese’s mind. What T.J. did on her own time was none of his business, but the truth was inescapable—he hated the idea of her going out with Tad Prescott.

  Reese worked at putting the actor out of his mind. It proved impossible when Beth tracked him down near the man-made waterfall that fed the outdoor swimming pool. She marched around a large slab of granite, mouth set and one arm swinging with each stride while the other clutched a phone.

  “You weren’t at today’s lesson,” she accused him while still twenty feet away.

  Reese grimaced and turned to the head of their grounds department. “I’ll have to get back with you later, Bob.” Bob snickered and wasted no time scooting off before Tad’s assistant could include him in her purposeful glare.

  Beth stopped uncomfortably close to him, her face turned up aggressively, reminding Reese of the way his mother’s Boston terrier greeted him each time he visited. If Beth had yapped and shown her teeth, he wouldn’t have been surprised.

  “Why weren’t you there?” she demanded. “That woman has Tad on a different horse now, and he’s actually running around the arena.”

  “Bareback?” he asked, surprised.

  “Of course not, with a saddle.”

  “Then I’m sure he’s perfectly safe.”

  “Of course he’s safe,” she snapped, as if she’d never asked with a straight face if some saddles came with air bags. “Tad’s very proficient at everything he tries. That’s not the point. The point is, he could use a new instructor. Someone skilled at more advanced riding techniques. You don’t expect a kindergarten teacher to instruct you in high school courses, you know.”

  Reese cocked his head, studying the heated simmer in Beth’s eyes. That much passion didn’t come from dedication to a job. This was about more than T.J.’s skills at horseback riding, but since that’s what she’d brought up, he addressed them. “T.J. happens to know far more about riding than Tad will ever need to learn. A more accurate analogy would be a high school teacher being forced to start with a remedial class.”

  Beth scowled. “I’ve found no evidence of that in my research, and I can’t simply take your word for it.”

  “You don’t have to. Look her up. But you won’t find her under T.J. Do a search for Theodora Grady and championship reining.” It had required checking payroll records to find her real name, but armed with that, an online search had been revealing. And pretty damned impressive. “While you’re at it, watch a few videos. Anyone who can train and ride like that is overqualified to teach basic riding techniques to Hollywood actors.” He’d almost said pampered Hollywood actors, but knew she’d take offense. Beth’s concern for Tad obviously crossed over professional lines and into the personal.

  No wonder she didn’t want Tad working with T.J. She couldn’t stand the competition.

  Beth’s brow furrowed as she thought for a moment, then asked, “Do you have a rule against your employees fraternizing with the guests?”

  He almost laughed at the euphemism, but the idea was far from funny; it was obvious what Tad’s idea of fraternizing would be. “T.J. isn’t an employee. She’s more like an outside contractor.”

  “I wasn’t talking about her.”

  Right. “Look, I’ll be there tomorrow to make sure the lesson is everything your studio is paying for. Anything else, like fraternizing, is outside my control.” As much as he hated to admit it.r />
  She gave him a disgusted look. “Never mind, I’ll take care of it.”

  He frowned. “Take care of what?” he asked, but she pivoted and walked off with her usual brisk steps. He was glad she didn’t expect him to do anything, whatever it was she thought needed doing. She seemed more than capable of handling things on her own.

  * * *

  Cliff had been right about finding a ride home—Reese had several volunteers, and hitched a ride back to his car with one of the desk clerks. The flood had nearly receded by then, and by the next morning, the Elkhorn was back to rushing downhill within its banks. Feeling less like cursing the water, he drove slowly, admiring the flash and sparkle as the stream tumbled over rocks on its long course down Two Bears Mountain.

  Reese had forgotten how much there was to admire about the scenery around Barringer’s Pass. Boston was a vibrant, exciting city, but the high blue skies of the Rockies and the pine-scented air touched something deep inside him, going all the way back to his childhood. Something he thought he’d left behind. He lowered the Porsche’s windows and inhaled deeply as he followed the winding drive to the resort.

  His phone rang and he thumbed the earpiece absently, expecting the assistant manager at the resort. “Hello.”

  “Hi, sweetheart.”

  The softly purred words jolted him out of his pretty daydream. “Caroline?”

  “Of course, silly. Did you forget me so soon?”

  “No.” Not exactly. He just hadn’t thought about her during the past several weeks. Maybe longer. That’s sort of what breaking up entailed. If they were truly broken up—he had a bad feeling that Caroline didn’t think so. He should have listened to that nagging voice that told him to skip the polite phrases and put it bluntly.

  He pulled the car over and parked on the narrow shoulder between the road and the heavily treed mountainside. He was almost at the resort, and didn’t want to have this conversation there, not even in the parking lot. Sleek and cultured Caroline Teague Milbourne clashed in his mind with the rustic-themed Silver Ridge Resort.