by Hebby Roman
She sent Chuy and Ramos back with the charro horses. Then she stuffed her leather-gloved hands into the back pockets of her jeans and rocked back on her cowboy boots.
“What do you think, John Clay?”
He pursed his lips and scooted his Stetson to the back of his head. “Well, it was purposeful. The wire was cut, and someone picked a place that would be hard to find.”
“And led the horses from the inner pasture, too.”
He narrowed his blue eyes. “I remember. You don’t use locks on your inner gates.”
“No, Chuy’s been after me for some time.” She chewed her lip. “I told him to get padlocks.”
“Good idea. It’s a pain for the inner pastures and if someone wants through, you can’t stop them. Just slow them down a bit.”
“You have locks on all your pasture gates?” She wiped her hand across her forehead. It wasn’t even mid-morning, but it was heating up fast. Almost summer in south Texas.
“Yep, we have a lot of illegals, cutting across our land. Especially on my ranch west of Langtry where the terrain is rough, and it’s hard for the Border Patrol to spot them. If we left the gates unlocked, they’d open ‘em and let the sheep wander from one pasture to another.”
“Illegals crossing my ranch—I’m used to that. But why on earth would anyone go to all the trouble to take my horses from the inner pasture and let them loose?” She shook her head. “I’m glad I didn’t lose them, of course, but if someone went to all that trouble, why didn’t they steal them?”
“Hmmm.” He scrubbed his chin with his hand. Then he walked back to the fence break and inspected the brush and the ground, kneeling down and studying the tracks.
It was obvious he hadn’t taken the time to shave or dress properly. Amazing for John Clay, but comforting at the same time. That meant he’d come as fast as he could, putting everything aside to help her. Knowing that, made her even warmer, all over, and turned her insides all gooey, like a just-baked chocolate chip cookie.
“Appears there were two of them.” He pointed at the tracks and then ran his hands over them. “Maybe they meant to steal the horses, but something or someone scared them off.” He rose and dusted off his hands, gazing in the direction of the Rio Grande. “You must get patrols here every night.”
“Probably.” She shook herself, trying to stop staring at the way the denim fabric molded to his rear-end. “You could be right. That would make sense—the Border Patrol happened by and scared them off.”
“It’s logical, and the only thing I can think of.”
She turned back to Pearl and undid the strap on her saddle bag. “Enough speculation. I’m glad I have another hand now. Chuy will install the locks, and I’ll tell Ramos and his son to keep a watch on the horses. Not let them out of their sight, especially toward dark.” She pulled out the roll of wire and wire cutters. “Guess I better fix the fence.”
He was beside her before she could turn around. “Here, let me do that.”
“But you’re not wearing gloves.”
He took the roll and cutters from her. “I’ll be careful.”
She could feel the heat of his body and underneath his usual light cologne, this morning, she could smell the musky scent of him—all man. Wanting him made her dizzy with desire. She licked her lips and tried to stop trembling.
He turned back, and she was up against Pearl’s flank. He let the wire and the cutters drop. His gaze snagged hers and held. His voice was husky when he asked, “Can I kiss you, Leticia?”
He lowered his head and pulled off his Stetson, dropping it, too. “I shouldn’t have run off last night, but my feelings were hurt. I guess I’ve still got a lot to learn.” He tried to smile and failed.
“What is it you need to learn?” She stripped off her gloves, wanting to touch him.
“How to make you trust me, how to be patient, how to court you, so you’ll—”
She put two fingers across his lips. “Just kiss me, John Clay.”
This time, his smile broke through, like the sun after a thunderstorm. “All right.”
His lips closed over hers, and he spent a long time, molding his mouth to hers. He ran his tongue over her lips, and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, nipping the fullness there.
She twined her arms around his neck and combed her fingers through his soft hair. Her lips clung to his, enjoying the feel of his mouth on hers. She stepped closer, and she could feel his excitement. Hard as one of her fence posts.
She sighed and opened her mouth. Like last night, their tongues tangled, and when he lifted his hands and cupped her breasts, she let him. Waves of pleasure washed over her. And lower, the old, familiar ache started. She rubbed herself against him, like a too-friendly cat, wanting more.
He let his hands wander down to her hips and then around her waist. She groaned into his mouth. He cupped her butt and lifted her a few inches, grinding his hips into hers, letting her know how badly he desired her. Her Stetson fell off, but she didn’t care.
Good Lord, it felt so good, so right.
She didn’t know where he was taking her, but she was more than ready to go. Her breasts were hot and heavy, her puckered nipples grazing the lace of her bra, driving her wild with need.
He lowered her feet back to the ground and pulled her closer. He brushed her nipple with his left hand. With his other hand, he cupped her at the juncture of her thighs. So, he was ambidextrous. Better and better.
He stroked her breast and rubbed between her thighs. The friction of her jeans against her most private place was making her crazy. She arched her back, offering herself to him, feeling like a well-strung guitar. And she was dripping wet.
She dug her fingernails into his shoulders and held on… And then she was convulsing. Grinding herself against him without a rational thought in her lust-fogged brain. She shuddered and clung to him. Her long-awaited release sweet as a sugar cube on her tongue.
He smoothed his hands down her back, stroking and caressing, like breaking a wild filly to his touch. Then he lifted his mouth from hers and leaned down, resting his forehead against hers.
“Regrets?” he asked.
She was still dazed, couldn’t believe he’d brought her to climax, standing in one of her pastures. But what about him? She could see the outline of his erection, straining against his well-worn jeans.
“No.” She shook her head. “Yes. Maybe. What about you—”
“Forget about me, this is about you. You feeling guilty?”
“No, should I?” She gulped the golf-ball-sized lump in her throat. “Okay, maybe a little. Part of me isn’t certain if I can—”
“Let Eduardo go?”
“How did you know?”
“When I calmed down last night and sucked up my hurt feelings, I realized.” He stroked her hair, curling one tendril around his finger. “You’re true-blue, Leticia. Always have been. You don’t love lightly.” He kissed her, a whisper only. “I didn’t admit it the other day, but that’s probably the real reason I quit seeing you in high school. Knew you weren’t easy.” He chuckled. “The guys heckled me, sure, but then I felt like I had to prove something. But I knew, even then, knew you wouldn’t—”
“Screw around?”
“Yep, and being a horny teenager, I moved onto greener pastures.”
She slugged his shoulder. “Slime ball.”
“Nah, just typical teenaged boy. Hormone overdrive.”
“Where do we go from here?”
“I’ve got to get back to town today. But I want to see you, as often as our two schedules allow.”
“To wear me down.”
“No.” He frowned and then chuckled. “Yeah, probably.” He stroked her ear. “Just give us some time to be together. I’m a patient man … now. Well, mostly.”
“Camila is coming tomorrow for a week.”
He frowned again. “Guess you’ll be tied up then. My bad luck and timing, too. I’ll be headed to the ranches to make the rounds, finishing up the sp
ring shearing.”
“Yes, bad timing.” She reached up and stroked his not-so-smooth cheek, liking the stubbly feel of his beard against her fingertips. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. June fifth isn’t too far off.”
“You’re sure? I could bring Camila to Del Rio and—”
“No, enjoy your time with your daughter. Once they’re grown, I know how precious that time can be. Will Rusty be with her?”
“No, he’s got to stay in Del Rio and see about his properties. He might come out for one night.”
“You need to give me his number. We could grab a beer before I head out, and I’ll tell him what I told you about Quarter horse racing. Bring him up to speed before Stormy’s trial.”
“That’s kind of you.”
He grinned. “I’m a kind guy. Right?” He shook his head again. “Sometimes.”
He bent down and grabbed his hat, dusting it off. Then he got the roll of wire and the wire cutters. “Let’s get this fence fixed.”
He turned away and then glanced back. “But I won’t say no to an invite for lunch before I head back. I’m hooked on Maria’s cooking now.” He grinned and winked. “You better watch out, or I’ll steal her.”
* * *
Leticia put her arms on top of the wooden, white-washed fence of John Clay’s private race track. Rusty did the same. He’d joined her at John Clay’s Double L Ranch, driving west from Del Rio. After observing Stormy on the track, he planned on heading back to College Station and Camila, who’d left for college, the day before.
Hanging over and gazing at the starting gate, they watched while Stormy fought being led into the iron-stall contraption.
Once inside, Stormy snorted, tried to back up, his rear-end hitting the closed gate. His eyes bulged and he snorted again, tossing his head up and down. The he reared and plunged, shaking his head and pulling against his bit. The jockey John Clay had put on him almost slid off his back.
Leticia started down the fence line, calling out, “I didn’t know it could be so bad, so hard on a horse to learn how to use a gate.”
Rusty touched her shoulder and inclined his head. “Let’s see what John Clay can do. Give him a chance.”
She didn’t know who they were giving a chance—John Clay or the horse—but she stopped and rocked back on the heels of her boots.
Thinking about the other way she was giving John Clay a chance, she flushed and pulled down the brim of her cowboy hat, hoping Rusty would miss her tell-tale blush. “I guess you’re right.”
John Clay had the jockey dismount. He held Stormy’s bridle and stroked his forehead, running his hand up and down the horse’s white blaze. Then he fed him a tidbit from his jean pocket and walked the gelding around and around behind the starting gate. They walked for a long time, circling and circling, and executing figure eights.
After a while, John Clay led the horse to the starting gate and let him smell the steel bars. Stormy snorted and tossed his head, but then he steadied and stood still. Under his handling, the gelding appeared to have calmed down.
John Clay nodded to the teenaged boy. The boy, who Leticia hadn’t met yet, approached Stormy and hoisted himself into the saddle.
Stormy snorted and tossed his head, sidling and backing up. The young jockey tried to urge him toward the gate, but the sorrel kept backing up, whinnying and tossing his head, trying to tear the reins from the jockey’s hands.
John Clay said something, and the teenaged boy dismounted again. John Clay swung into the saddle and managed to get Stormy to the gate but just as he was guiding the horse inside the metal slot, the gelding reared, pawing the air.
Panic pummeled Leticia, making her heart race and her stomach clench. She screamed and started running. Almost afraid to look, she watched from the corner of her eye as horse and rider struggled against each other.
John Clay managed to get him down, but Stormy was bouncing off the steel bars of the caged slot like a badly-behaved billiard ball. Finally, John Clay got control again and carefully backed Stormy out. His bright sorrel coat was lathered, and his wide nostrils were flared.
Leticia brought her fist to her mouth. She was glad it was over … or hoping it was. She didn’t want to see John Clay or her horse hurt. Rusty approached, walking steadily toward her.
John Clay dismounted and led Stormy to them. The teenaged jockey trailed after the horse. They joined her and Rusty at the fence.
He inclined his head and motioned to his jockey, “This is José Zapatero.”
José extended his hand and shook their hands through the rails of the fence. Then John Clay introduced them in turn, saying, “José, these are my good friends, Leticia Villarreal and Rusty Douglas.”
“Pleased to meet you, Señora y Señor,” José said.
“José, go and fetch Sheesa Diva. You got her saddled before we came out. Right?”
“Sí, Señor, I will bring her.” José turned and trotted toward the horse barn at the end of the track.
Leticia ran her hand down Stormy’s nose. “Seems like racing is out for him.” She shook her head. “And I should have known, getting him loaded into the horse trailer was a three-man chore. He obviously doesn’t like enclosed spaces. Good thing we have big stalls at home.”
Rusty cocked back his Stetson and glanced at John Clay. “Is that right? If he’s afraid to load then …” He shook his head. “I remember you explaining how important the starting gate is in Quarter horse racing.”
“Yes, that’s true. It’s probably the most important thing. But horses can be trained to accept the gate.” John Clay patted the gelding’s muscular neck. “He’s one of those who will take time. A few weeks or so, but if we get him into a daily routine, I know I can overcome his fears.”
“What are you saying, John Clay?” Leticia asked. “I can’t expect you to train my horse for free. You’re a busy man and—”
“I won’t be training him daily. José knows what to do, but I’d supervise his training. If you’ll let me keep him for a few weeks.”
“I would have to pay you,” Leticia said. “I can’t take advantage of your kindness.”
He glanced at Rusty.
Rusty touched her arm. “I told you we met and talked in Del Rio. Just hear him out. Okay?”
She folded her arms and looked at the two men. “What did y’all cook up? I want to hear it.”
“Well,” John Clay lowered his head and kicked at a clod of caliche dirt with his pointy-toed cowboy boots.
“I want John Clay to try and train Stormy,” Rusty interjected. “And Camila and I want to see him race, at least once, before we give up the idea of having a Quarter horse stable. John Clay has agreed to help us.”
“But that’s not fair,” she said.
She wondered what John Clay was thinking, what he would be wanting in return. Not that she hadn’t missed him the past week. Not that she didn’t want him in her life. But to be beholden to him didn’t sit well.
She knew the cost of boarding and training a horse. Not that John Clay didn’t have the money to do it. He was a millionaire, for Pete’s sake, but then so was she and Rusty.
“Oh, he’s come up with a proposition that is plenty fair,” Rusty declared.
“Well, since y’all decided this without me, I guess you might as well tell me what it is.” She couldn’t keep the hint of hurt from her voice.
“I want to train him over the next few weeks and enter him in a trial race at Retama Park in San Antonio,” John Clay explained. “Their Quarter horse racing season starts during the second week of June and extends into the middle of August, Friday and Saturday evenings.” He patted Stormy’s neck again. “Plenty of time to get him ready for a maiden trial race.
“If he wins his first trial, the decision is yours and Rusty’s, keep the horse and start a stable. If you decide not to start a stable, then you sell him to me for what you bought him for. If he loses, you’re on your own. Start a stable and keep racing him or train him for whatever you
want.”
“What do you think?” he asked.
“That’s a very generous offer,” she said. “Either way, I get your expertise and the decision is mine. But it still doesn’t seem—”
“Just say yes, Leticia. Please.” Rusty put his arm around her shoulders.
She almost wanted to punch Rusty. How had these two men managed to connive behind her back? But even though she felt left out, it was more than a fair offer. And Rusty, her partner, wanted to do this.
She sighed and recited, “Yes, Leticia.”
“Very funny,” Rusty said.
“What did you expect? Y’all ganged up on me.”
José had reappeared, leading Sheesa Diva.
She inclined her head toward the sleek mare. “What’s this?”
Rusty patted her shoulder. “John Clay promised me I could see Stormy up against his best racer.”
“But Stormy won’t go into the gate. How—”
“We won’t use the gate. Like Chuy was doing, I’ll line ‘em up in front of the gate and let ‘em rip,” John Clay said.
She glanced around to see if there was another jockey. “Who’s going to ride Stormy?”
“We thought you might want to,” Rusty said. “You’re light and a good rider. Don’t you want to feel what he’s got?”
She pulled free of Rusty and stared at him. Then she glared at John Clay.
He met her stare and winked. “You know you’d love to race him.”
Conniving wasn’t the word for what they’d cooked up. Nope, they’d constructed a whole damned battle plan to get her to go along.
“All right.” She tossed her head. “I’ll do it, but I don’t think it’s fair to Stormy. Sheesa Diva has raced before and she’s fresh and has a proper jockey. And…” She paused and threw up her hands.
Resigned, but at the same time, strangely excited, she scooted between the wooden rails and took Stormy’s reins. She vaulted onto his back, putting her feet in the short stirrups that went with the English-styled racing saddle. She was used to riding western, but she knew how to post.
Eduardo had been very thorough in his training when he’d taught her how to ride. Thinking of Eduardo, her heart constricted, an almost painful-pang pierced her chest, making her wonder what she was doing?