Page 7 of Wild and Wanted

CLAY

An hour later Clay was in the main stables saddling up Gertie. The building was long with a pitched roof housing ten roomy, straw-strewn bays – five each side, which were all empty now thanks to the trail ride that had left twenty minutes ago.

A wide central concrete thoroughfare separated the boxes, and terminated at the large sliding doors situated at each end. The doors were open, letting out the earthy smells of horse and manure and letting in streams of sunshine.

Clay was mentally lecturing himself as he sensed rather than heard the arrival of his one-on-one.

Smile, dude. Be nice.

Taking a beat to cinch the saddle strap tighter, he glanced over the horse’s back to find her standing in the middle of the open doorway, nothing but a shape wrapped in a halo of sunshine. The backlight transformed her outline into an anonymous neon angel even as it cast her face into shadow.

But the way his gut lurched? It couldn’t be anyone else.

She stepped forward, out of the sun’s reach, her stride hesitant as she took form and shape. She was in jeans, he absently noticed, which put a tick in her column. It seemed counterintuitive in such hot weather to be wearing jeans – too many of the trail riders this morning were in shorts – but full-leg denim would be protective of delicate skin should she end up on her ass.

Not that she would. Not on his watch, anyway.

As she continued slowly towards him, Clay noticed her wavy hair flowing out from the strictures of her hat to stream behind her, and he wondered if it would feel as good as it looked. If it smelled as good.

If it would look just as good wound around his fist.

Blinking that thought away, Clay’s gaze caught the swing of the fringe detailing around her shirt pockets and the rhinestones that decorated the side seams of her jeans.

Jesus…

‘Hi there.’

Clay’s brow furrowed at the welcome that had not come from Stephanie Everhart’s lips because he’d been watching her face intently and that delectable mouth hadn’t moved. Flicking his gaze to the side, her mother came into view, striding with much more purpose and confidence than her daughter.

Smile. Be nice.

‘Howdy,’ Clay said, rounding Gertie to greet the women.

The howdy earned him a huge smile. ‘You must be Clay.’ Cindy Everhart – yeah, he’d been googling – extended her hand as she drew to a stop. ‘I’m Cindy.’

Clay shook the proffered hand, impressed by the firmness as he murmured, ‘Ma’am.’

‘And this’ – Cindy gestured to her daughter – ‘is Stephanie.’

Extending his hand first, Clay said, ‘Nice to meet you.’ It was painfully polite but she was a guest and he was going to be professional if it killed him. He wouldn’t screw this up. He’d show his parents he could be a team player.

And then her hand slid into his and it felt like he’d been plugged into an electrical socket as their gazes met, her cool blue-grey eyes widening slightly as if she was feeling it too. Her mouth parted slightly and, God help him, he couldn’t help but stare at the lush pillows and wonder how good it might be to kiss them.

‘Stephanie?’

She blinked then at the obvious prompt from her mother, which led Clay to believe they’d been staring at each other, hands clasped, for longer than was polite. ‘Likewise,’ she mumbled just as politely as her fingers slid from his, her eyes averting to the horse waiting patiently behind him.

‘Your father tells me you’re the best?’ Cindy said.

Clearly Cindy Everhart – Stephanie’s manager according to his research – didn’t believe in small talk. Clay allowed a ghost of a smile as he transferred his attention to Cindy. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

What was the point in modesty when it was the truth?

‘Are you any good at teaching, though? Being good at something doesn’t mean you can always teach it to someone else.’

Cindy was a straight taker, Clay liked that and he couldn’t agree more with her statement. But he’d taught plenty of people to ride over the years so he didn’t doubt his ability. ‘I’ve not had any complaints, ma’am.’

She nodded briskly as if satisfied. ‘Can she be ready in a month?’