Chapter One
“Bloody hell, it’s hot!” Claire Windsor exclaimed as she stepped into the bright Texas sunshine, out of the San Antonio airport. Where was the rain? The clouds? The damp? The heat pressed against her like a hot envelope. Stunning, really. She’d worn a coat when she boarded the tube to Heathrow, and now she carried that same coat over her arm. Even her long-sleeved shirt with its wide, floppy neck felt too heavy. This was far different from the Stafford that she was used to, or even London. Boarding the shuttle bus for the auto company that housed her rental car, she sighed in relief as the air-conditioning turned on full-blast.
An hour later, she’d signed so many electronic documents she felt like she was purchasing the motor rather than renting it, but she also had possession of the keys for an adorable lime green mini-coupe. Years of traveling through Europe made sliding into the left side of the vehicle to drive bearable.
Though she longed for a stiff cup of tea, Claire was eager to get to the farm—ranch, she amended mentally. They called them ranches in Texas. After inputting the address into the GPS, she got the motor started, and turned the air conditioner up. Welcoming the cool air, she whipped off a text on her mobile. Her mother worried, even more than usual since Claire’s father had passed fifteen years ago.
Safe and sound in the U.S. Will ring once I’m settled.
Not wishing to think too long on her father—not today of all days—she put her sunglasses on and pulled away from the lot. The time for tears had been long ago. She’d run to her horses then, and they’d brought her this far. Her commitment to her work, and the horses needed her attention, not her grief.
The drive took her out of the city and into open land—and there was so much of it. It was different from home, with the colors washed out in some areas and yet wildly vivid in others. The grass along the road edges was scorched yellow, and it reminded her of straw. Swaths of huge flaxen-shaded grass against the brown earth were interspersed with collections of wild flowers planted near intersections. The contrast of native wild and cultivated loveliness was breathtaking.
Arriving in Durango Point, she slid into one of the parking spots along the main street, studying the front of a pub. A brick and wood structure, it matched the rest of the town in all its rustic glory. The brick siding had weathered to a faded red while the wooden frame arched above the covered sidewalk was more pewter than brown. The sign above the pub said Dance Hall, and another advertised live music on Wednesdays and Fridays, but the main doors stood wide open and there were people seated on makeshift tables outside along the sidewalk. Desperate for the loo, she took her chances the interior was open for business as well.
Purse in hand, she made her way inside briskly before she melted. The temperature gauge in her motor might have said that Durango Point was cooler than San Antonio, but she was practically dripping inside her long-sleeved blouse. A big bear of a man stood behind the bar, and he glanced at her when she entered.
“Good afternoon,” she said by way of greeting. “Could I trouble you to borrow the loo, and perhaps order a pot of tea?” Her cousins told her they could never find a proper cup of tea when they holiday’d in the States, but she was willing to take the risk. Often as not when she traveled, if she could get someone to provide her with the boiling water she could do the rest.
The man scratched at his thick salt and pepper beard, his eyes assessing her even while offering her the hint of a welcoming smile. “Restrooms are in the back and to the right—and I’ll put the water on for the tea.”
“God love you,” she said, then hurried to follow his directions. The facilities were clean, and smelled of potpourri. After she’d emptied her overstrained bladder, she washed up. The cool water on her wrists helped bring down her temperature. Refreshed, she returned to the pub’s bar. Though more people seemed to be sitting outside, than in, there was still a handful of customers settled at tables.
The man behind the bar slid a hot, steaming metal pot in front of her. It was rather small for a teapot, but she wouldn’t complain. He also set a mug and a wooden box next to it, opening up the box to reveal a dozen different kinds of tea.
“Would you like something to eat?” the man asked.
Choosing the closest thing to breakfast tea that she could find, she peeled the paper off the tea bag, then set it into the pot to steep. “Would it be a terrible imposition to ask for a cold sandwich?” Her body clock was a bit confused. She’d flown out in the morning, and it should be nearing late evening at home, but it was only teatime here.
“Not a problem,” the man said, nudging a menu toward her.
After a glance at the options, she smiled. “I’ll take the roast beef, please. Bread untoasted if you don’t mind, and a definite yes to the horseradish.” She had no idea they would have such a lovely option.
“Sounds like you’re a long way from home,” he commented.
“I am. I’m on my way out to the Round Top Ranch.” She cast a smile toward him and extended her hand. “I’m Claire Windsor.”
“Sully,” he said, agreeable in his manner as his large hand engulfed hers. “Pleased to meet you. I’ll get that sandwich made.”
“Thank you so much—do you think I could also trouble you for a spot of milk?”
“Sure thing.” Sully grinned. “Gimme a sec.”
He disappeared into the back, returning in time for her to pour her tea into the mug. The milk in the small carafe was perfect. The tea wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough. Pleased, she took a grateful sip. Sully made himself busy while she waited for her sandwich. The hum of quiet conversation wrapped around her. The air smelled of sawdust, sweat, perfume, and liquor, with a splash of grilled meats and chips. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine herself at home at Knot and Plough. Or close to it, if she ignored the American accents.
The thirty minutes she spent at the Dance Hall proved to be life-saving. The tea acted like a tonic on her weariness, while the sandwich filled the hole in her stomach. She left a generous tip for Sully, promising to visit again after he offered her simpler directions out to the Round Top than the ones the GPS had given her. His involved a colorful use of landmarks, such as the field of cows and the broken tree. It rather reminded her of Ireland.
Having successfully staved off her fatigue, she grew more eager with every passing mile of fence line. The gates to Round Top were definitely not those of a farm, squared off by a sign at the top with the name hanging from the arch while a metal grating stretched across the opening, likely to deter animals from exiting. The gates themselves were over five feet in height, and wide enough for a large lorry to pass through unimpeded. There was a call box station next to the closed gates. The house wasn’t visible from the road. All she could see was a pasture filled with fat and lazy cattle. She rolled down the window, grimacing as the outside heat rolled in, and touched a finger to the call button.
“Yes?” A woman’s cheerful voice greeted her after a long moment.
“Good afternoon,” Claire said, careful to direct her voice at the speaker. “I’m Claire Windsor, arriving at the invitation of Mr. Tanner Wilks.”
“The new trainer,” the woman replied, a thread of excitement in her voice. “I’m Maria. Mr. Tanner and Dr. Jules are at the barns, but we’ve been expecting you. Please come up, Ms. Windsor. Follow the drive, then go left where it forks. It will bring you right up to the house.”
“Cheers.”
The gate opened, and Claire followed Maria’s instructions. Driving slowly, she studied the surrounding land. Huge pastures, excellent four-board fencing—they did an incredible job of keeping it all in good shape. Beyond the cow pasture, she got her first look at grazing horses. The grass here appeared as yellow as she’d seen by the roads, a testament to the heat, she would imagine. Large, round bales of hay sat in the fields for the horses, though, which meant they had plenty to eat.
Thick trees offered shade in addition to the sheds that lay scattered throughout the pastures. Each field seemed to have at least one, sometimes two, which was ideal for letting the animals get in and out of the weather if they desired. Slowing down, she drank in the sight of the animals.
Most were American breeds—quarter horses and a handful of thoroughbreds. At a fork in the road, she spotted one of the barns. Recalling Maria’s instructions as well as the fact that Mr. Tanner and Dr. Jules were at the barn, Claire turned toward the broad building. Painted red with white trim, the building had stalls on either side—and she would bet a riding arena in the center. The cedar shingles on the roof were wholly intact. Maria had invited her to the house, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to see the horses, and get a glimpse inside the barn and training arena. If Tanner were at the barn, then she could meet him directly.
The more care she saw in the buildings and fencing around the horses, the more faith Claire experienced in Tanner Wilks. Loving animals meant seeing to every part of their upkeep—especially their shelter. Parking in front the barn, she squinted at the huge windows. Most were open—allowing for natural light and ventilation.
Sliding off her shoes, she reached into the backseat for her boot bag. She’d brought three pairs: two pairs of riding boots, and one pair of paddock boots. Easing her seat back, she got her paddock boots on and laced up. No matter how excited she was, she didn’t dare walk in a barn without the right footwear. Safer for everyone involved—crushed toes hurt. As eager to make a good impression as she was to meet the horses, Claire double-checked her appearance in the rearview mirror.
She had worn her blonde hair in a braid for the trip, more to tame the long mass than to prepare for a professional introduction. Thankfully, the wisps that had come loose during the flight looked more artful than messy. No cosmetics, which meant no smudges.
Perfect.
Once outside the car, she made a face at the heat. Even pushing up the sleeves on her shirt didn’t help with it. A breeze simply moved the hot air around her, a tease if there was one. At least when she stepped into the shade of the barn, the temperature seemed to drop a couple of degrees. The wind was still hot, but thankfully the brutal weight of the sun was off of her.
The stalls opened into their own paddocks, but several of the horses were inside dozing. She didn’t blame them—she’d rather be indoors napping herself. Hands clasped behind her back, she made a slow stroll down the barn aisle. The sandy dirt floor had been raked, the tack and tools stored neatly on pegs. A lot of love went into the care and keeping of these animals.
A horse nickered at her, and she stopped at the stall and ran her fingers down the chestnut’s nose. The card on the side of the stall read, “Sugar”. “Hello, Sugar,” Claire said in a murmur. “Aren’t you a lovely girl?”
“She is,” a deep-timbered, masculine voice with a touch of a drawl said from down the aisle.
Turning, Claire squinted through the shade to find a large man moving toward her at a slow, purposeful step. At around 6’2 with broad shoulders, the man had skin the color of teakwood, and long black hair pulled back into a ponytail. He wasn’t wearing a cowboy hat, much to her personal disappointment. Didn’t all cowboys?
“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asked. It was only when he paused in his walk that she caught sight of the way he held himself—stiff as though the movement had cost him.
“I’m Claire Windsor,” she said, giving the mare one last stroke on her nose before heading towards the gentleman. Extending her hand, she grinned. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I can’t begin to say how excited I am to pursue the therapy project here at the Round Top. I’ve brought everything I need, and I’m ready to get started. Have you already selected the horses you want me to evaluate for the training program?”
Though he’d gripped her hand, he stood frozen as she prattled on. Claire couldn’t contain her enthusiasm, however, and rushed to fill in the silence.
“I’ll be honest, the success we experienced in Stafford is nothing compared to what I imagine can be done here, and it’s such a tremendous opportunity. I’m chuff just to be here.”
Releasing her hand abruptly, he studied her with a consternated frown.
“I know you explained the operation and the facilities to me, but I had no idea how much there was for me to work with. It’s going to be perfect. From the photos you sent, I think that the indoor arena is ideal for initial training—as I mentioned, bomb-proofing the horses is always the first step. Their absolute calm is paramount to working with PTSD patients in particular, but especially anyone with an injury—yourself, for example. Forgive me, I couldn’t help but notice the limp. Injuries can make it that much more difficult for men such as yourself to feel comfortable around large animals, so their calm can promote yours—not that I’m say you have any issues. Just an example.”
Curling her fingers into her palms, Claire hesitated a moment. The man in front of her hadn’t moved, though his jaw had tightened and a muscle in his cheek began to tick. Having made a career of overcoming obstacles made not getting ahead of herself difficult.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Wilks. I think my mouth got away from me—not usually a problem. Though I admit, after the flight—arriving here is like fulfilling a promise I made to myself.” Brilliant, she’d gone from blathering to becoming maudlin. The last thing her employer wanted to hear was her sob story. “Anyway, I’m here.” It was a rather unimpressive finish to her introduction.
After a long pause where he scrutinized her, the man scowled. “Ms…Windsor was it?”
She nodded slowly, there wasn’t an ounce of recognition in his eyes or his manner.
“I’m afraid you’ve made some mistake.” Nothing friendly inhabited his tone.
Claire’s stomach bottomed out, and her heart beat rapidly. Her father occasionally got that blank look and lack of intonation right before one of his rages began. She’d never known which was worse—the anger or the stupor that followed when he tried to drown his sorrows. The last thing she wanted to do was draw similarities between her father and her employer. Not when she wanted this to work so she could help more people like her dad.
“There’s no job and you’re not going to be doing a damn thing with these horses. Do us all a favor—and get the hell out of here.”
Anger filled Mateo Lopez like hot shrapnel bursting with every word the gorgeous blonde issued in her cultured British accent. White, hot lances of pain radiated along his spine. All he’d done was move a few damn bales of hay, and it had left him sweating and gasping for breath. Accepting his limitations and giving in to weakness were not in his wheelhouse, although he’d elected to make the walk to his truck for the prescription the doctor insisted he fill. If he could avoid taking the pain pills he would…now her.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, and he could practically feel the stiffness of her tone as though a riding crop were delivering a fresh welt of pain across his back. “Mr. Wilks?”
“I’m not Tanner,” Mateo admitted. As grating as her pronouncement had been, his mother would tan his hide if he didn’t dispel the misunderstanding. “I’m Mateo Lopez, ranch manager.” Technically, he was the assistant ranch manager to his father. They split the ranch tasks between them. “I handle the trainers, as well.”
He was the trainer.
The horses were his.
This—woman was not going to just walk in and take over like she owned the place.
“Please accept my apologies, Mr. Lopez. I thought you were Mr. Wilks.” Unease left her manner stilted, and a tiny frown line appeared between her eyes. The cornflower blue of her eyes gleamed with intensity even in the barn’s shade. Sugar nickered again and stomped her feet, disturbed by their nearness and likely offended by the lack of attention. The filly was lovely, and a diva in her awareness of it.
With a light cough to clear her throat she recaptured his attention, Claire continued, “If you could point me in Tanner’s direction, then, I’ll excuse myself.”
“I have no problems excusing you, but the ranch is private property and as I already stated, I oversee all the horses here. We don’t need of a new trainer.” It went against the grain on every level. A spasm worked its way along his spine, and he gritted his teeth. Yes, Tanner had mentioned the potential plan—keyword potential. He hadn’t mentioned actually hiring anyone. Mateo attributed it to keeping the Colonel focused on his recovery. That was why, right?
“Mr. Lopez, I’m not sure what I’ve done to offend you, but my contract is with Mr. Wilks.” The stress of the word contract couldn’t be missed, nor the way her chin lifted and her shoulders went back. Even her nose seemed a little higher, as though she physically held herself back from fighting with him.
“Lady, I don’t know what you think is going to happen, but no trainers touch these horses without my approval.” He was the trainer. The horses were everything to him. There was no way Tanner was going to usurp his work to bring a Brit.
“I know exactly what is going to happen. I left a very lucrative and successful training program in Stafford to travel several thousand miles to make a dream come true. I apologize if I’ve offended you, but until Mr. Wilks decides to buy out my contract, I’m not going anywhere.” Stubborn defiance flashed in those willful eyes. Red flushed her cream complexion, which drew his attention to the scatter of freckles across her nose and upper cheeks. They contrasted against her sharp look, and he couldn’t look away.
“What you left or didn’t leave is not my concern,” he said through his teeth. The spasm in his back was continuing to lash at his spine like blazing hot barbed wire. The need to collapse weighed on him, but he refused to give in. Not when he faced an opponent in better physical condition than he. Even if she was overdressed for the heat. Giving into weakness in front of her would concede he couldn’t do his job.
Despite the rigidity of her posture, she couldn’t disguise the concern flickering in her eyes. The last thing he wanted was her sympathy. Not when she stood there with clenched fists. “I’ll leave you to whatever it is you’re doing and seek Tanner out myself.”
Though she turned on her heel and began walking away, Mateo couldn’t just let Claire leave.
“You have no business wandering around the ranch by yourself.” Not dressed like she was—she’d get heatstroke. “The ranch covers several hundred acres, and that doesn’t count the outer pastures.”
Halting, she still had her hands clenched tight as she turned to face him. “Mr. Lopez, was it?”
A shiver of humor evaded the pain storming his system. There was something about the way she framed his name in her perfectly sensible, clipped accent. Melodic and insulting all at once. “You can call me Mateo.”