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Riding beside them was a woman with a rope halter on what he suspected was the lead mare. She seemed to be leading them to one of the big meadows within the park. He thought both the Appaloosa and the woman’s silhouette looked familiar. Who was she? Was she leading a group of actual mustangs?
Spence shouted at the woman to stop, but she failed to heed his order. Instead, she released the lead mare and yelled, causing a stampede that kicked up a dust storm on the dry trail. By the time the dust had cleared, and he could get around the herd of horses, the woman and her Appaloosa had vanished.
There were only two trails out of the meadow, both of which forked not far from the edge of the grassy field—one into three directions and the other into two. This woman, whoever she was, knew horses. Based solely on her silhouette and her ability to ride, everything about her screamed experience and he couldn’t shake the feeling he knew her. He’d seen her ride somewhere, he knew it. Deciding there were too many variables to actually give chase, Spence decided to let the woman escape and chose to focus instead on the horses now grazing in the meadow.
There was no band stallion, only a lead mare who’d worn a rope halter and followed alongside the Appaloosa mare. As he closed the distance between himself and the pretty palomino mare, she charged him aggressively, warning him back. Each time he tried to get closer, she repeated her actions, indicating she was wild and had no trust in or liking for humans.
Spence had to wonder how the woman had accomplished getting a halter on the mare to lead her and the rest of the herd into the park. It might be worth buying the mysterious woman, who called to a part of him he’d thought never to see the light of day, a beer. He needed to find out who she was. Smiling to himself, he thought that might be something well-worth investigating.
CHAPTER2
Present Day
Harper stood in the massive arena waiting for the show photographer to snap the official picture of her second World Championship win in Ranch Horse Pleasure. It was a fairly new class to the World Championship show, combining elements of western pleasure, the old-time trail class and western riding.
She’d been a three-time World Champion in the Heritage Class, which was a class judged in part on the quality and integrity of the Native American costume worn by both horse and rider. Harper grinned. Regardless of how many times she won at the Appaloosa World Championship Show, it was always a thrill. The photographer was finally satisfied with the picture and the head judge once again congratulated her on her win.
Thanking both the judge and photographer again, she headed back to the stall to get Mattie settled until she was ready to load up and leave. The next stop would be her trailer with its comfy living quarters, where she would take a few minutes to relax. She planned to let Mattie have some time in her stall to do the same and get something to eat and drink before getting on the road home for the non-stop drive.
Harper was just coming out of Mattie’s stall, lugging a full bucket of water to dump in the drain at the end of the breezeway when she all but ran into Colton Spencer, splashing most of the water all over the man.
She hadn’t realized how big he was. He was well over six-feet-tall and had broad shoulders and a well-muscled physique. Harper had noticed before, as had a lot of other women, how well his jeans hugged his butt. It appeared his muscles had muscles. The rolled-up sleeves of his shirt revealed forearms that practically rippled with the things. He kept his head shaved, not so that he was completely bald, but as if it, like his beard, had a perpetual five o’clock shadow. And his eyes. His eyes were a gorgeous shade of blue, the same shade as Paul Newman’s. If it weren’t for what she knew were their opposing views on mustangs, Harper might have been interested in fighting off all the buckle bunnies who seemed to swirl around him to get to know him better.
She hadn’t seen him ride at all during this World Show but had heard that once again he was the World Champion in Roping. Not running into him hadn’t been by accident. Harper had gone out of her way to avoid running into him.So much for that.They didn’t compete in the same arena but still she’d managed to avoid being anywhere in the same vicinity. There was no way to tell if he had identified her and Mattie a year ago up in Yellowstone; there was also no reason to push her luck.
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”
His lips tugged up into a slight grin. “Not to worry, it’s just water. No harm done.” He had a deep voice, but it was far more melodic and kinder than she had imagined it might be. “I’ve been looking for a chance to meet you, Harper.”
“Why is that? Any special reason?”
The grin split into a wide smile, which softened the harsh angles of his face. “Because I wanted to see if I was right about you.”
“Right about me? What does that mean—right about me?” Harper’s spidey senses were beginning to crawl. She needed to shut this down, take care of Mattie, and get on the road. The last thing she needed was to have Spencer make trouble for her. “I can’t stop to chat right now. I need to get Mattie some water.”
Taking the bucket from her, he walked to the end of the breezeway, giving Harper another chance to admire the view of his tight jean-clad butt. She wondered if he had any idea how many women liked to watch his ass when he walked by. Spencer tossed the dirty water down the drain, rinsed the bucket, filled it and brought it back to her. Harper opened Mattie’s stall door, allowing Spencer to enter and hang it on the wall. Mattie flicked her ears at him, but when she realized the bucket held only water, went back to munching her hay.
“So, what can I do for you Mr. Spencer?” Ushering him out of Mattie’s stall, Harper closed the door securely and headed in the general direction of her trailer. “It’s been a long show, I want to let Mattie have a little downtime, get some water and a snack for myself, then load up and get on the road. I’m headed back to my rig; if you want to come along, you’re welcome.”
Harper knew it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to be snarky with this man, but she was tired; it had been a long day, and she hoped that her attitude would discourage him.
* * *
Spence followed along behind her, admiring the view. Harper Logan was the kind of woman who put wicked fantasies into a man’s head. She moved with graceful efficiency and had a feminine sway to her hips. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed her. She was more than easy on the eyes. Taller than average, she had a figure that had curves in all the right places—a true hourglass figure with lovely breasts and a nipped in waist that flowed into generous hips.
Her nutmeg brown hair was streaked with blonde that came from time spent outside in the sun rather than a bottle and fell just past her shoulders—neither straight nor curly. Her face was soft with deep brown eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. The kind of lips that a man could easily imagine wrapped around his dick. She might not be considered classically pretty by all men, but there was something in the way she moved and carried herself that spoke to him.
Last year in Yellowstone, he’d been fairly certain he recognized both the woman and the horse she rode, but it had taken him several months to figure out from where he knew them. He’d spent a lot of his downtime at the show watching the other arenas to see if he could spot the pair. When he saw Harper warming up Mattie, he knew he had found the mystery woman who had brought the mustang herd onto federal land.
As she unlocked her rig, she waved him into one of the two rocking chairs she had set up under the attached awning. “Make yourself comfortable.” She called from inside. “What’ll you have to drink?”
“Whatever you’re having will suit.”
“Water, it is.” Passing him a cold water, she sat in the chair next to his, opened the water and tipped it up to drink about half the bottle in a few deep gulps. “Now Mr. Spencer, what is it I can help you with? How was it you put it—you wanted to see if you were right about me?”
He had to admire her moxie; he was good at spotting tells. It was part of what made him good in an interrogation. Even through her bravado, he could see the signs she was nervous—a change in her breathing, a slight flush to her skin, an unwillingness to meet his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he chose to put her out of her misery.
“I wanted to see if I was right about you being the woman who stampeded the wild mustangs into Yellowstone last year.”
