Tempted by a Cowboy
She let this realization push down on the other part of her brain that was still admiring his lovely eyes. Phillip Beaumont represented every single one of her triggers wrapped up in one extremely attractive package. Everything she could never be again if she wanted to be a respected horse trainer, not an out-of-control alcoholic.
She needed this job, needed the prestige of retraining a horse like Sun on her résumé and the paycheck that went with it. She absolutely could not allow a handsome man who could hold his liquor to tempt her back into a life she’d long since given up.
She did not hook up. Not even with the likes of Phillip Beaumont.
“I’m just here for the horse,” she told him.
He tilted his head in what looked like acknowledgement without breaking eye contact and without losing that smile.
Man, this was unnerving. Men who looked at her usually saw the bluntly cut, shoulder-length hair and the flannel shirts and the jeans and dismissed her out of hand. That was how she wanted it. It kept a safe distance between her and the rest of the world. That was just the way it had to be.
But this look was doing some very unusual things to her. Things she didn’t like. Her cheeks got hot—was she blushing?—and a strange prickling started at the base of her neck and raced down her back.
She gritted her teeth but thankfully, he was the one who broke the eye contact first. He looked down at Betty, still blissfully cropping grass. “And who is this?”
Jo braced herself. “This is Itty Bitty Betty, my companion mini donkey.”
Instead of the lame joke or snorting laughter, Phillip leaned down, held his hand out palm up and let Betty sniff his hand. “Well hello, Little Bitty Betty. Aren’t you a good girl?”
Jo decided not to correct him on her name. It wasn’t worth it. What was worth it, though, was the way Betty snuffled at his hand and then let him rub her ears.
That weird prickling sensation only got stronger as she watched Phillip Beaumont make friends with her donkey. “We’ve got nice grass,” he told her, sounding for all the world as if he was talking to a toddler. “You’ll like it here.”
Jo realized she was staring at Phillip with her mouth open, which she quickly corrected. The people who hired her usually made a joke about Betty or stated they weren’t paying extra for a donkey of any size. But Phillip?
Wearing a smile that bordered on cute he looked up at Jo as Betty went back to the grass. “She’s a good companion, I can tell.”
She couldn’t help herself. “Can you?”
Richard had said his boss was a good judge of horses. He’d certainly sounded as if were true it in that interview. She wanted him to be a good judge of horses, to be a real person and not just a shallow, beer-peddling facade of a man. Even though she had no right to want that from him, she did.
His smile went from adorable to wicked in a heartbeat and damned if other parts of her body didn’t start prickling at the sight. “I’m an excellent judge of character.”
Right then, the party girls decided to speak up. “Philly, we want to go home,” one cooed.
“With you,” the other one added.
“Yes,” Jo told him, casting a glare back at the women. “I can see that.”
Sun made an unholy noise behind them. Richard shouted and the blondes screamed.
Jesus, Jo thought as Sun pawed at the ground and then charged the paddock fence, snot streaming out of his nose. If he hit the fence at that speed, there wouldn’t be anything left to save.
Everyone else dove out of the way. Jo turned and ran toward the horse, throwing her hands up and shouting “Hiyahh!” at the top of her lungs.
It worked with feet to spare. Sun spooked hard to the left and only hit the paddock fence with his hindquarters—which might be enough to bruise him but wouldn’t do any other damage.
“Jesus,” she said out loud as the horse returned to his bucking. Her chest heaved as the adrenaline pumped through her body.
“I’ll tranq him,” Richard said beside her, leveling the gun at Sun.
“No.” She pushed the muzzle away before he could squeeze the trigger. “Leave him be. He started this, he’s got to finish it.”
Richard gave her a hell of a doubtful look. “We’ll have to tranq him to get him back to his stall. I can’t afford anymore workman’s comp because of this horse.”
She turned to give the ranch manager her meanest look. “We do this my way or we don’t do it at all. That was the deal. I say you don’t shoot him. Leave him in this paddock. Set out hay and water. No one else touches this horse. Do I make myself clear?”
“Do what she says,” Phillip said behind her.
Jo turned back to the paddock to make sure that Sun hadn’t decided to exit on the other side. Nope. Just more bucking circles. It’d almost been a horse’s version of shut the hell up. She grinned at him. On that point, she had to agree.
She could feel her connection with Sun start to grow, which was a good thing. The more she could understand what he was thinking, the easier it would be to help him.
“Philly, we want to go,” one of the blondes demanded with a full-on whine.
“Fine,” Phillip snapped. “Ortiz, make sure the ladies get back to their homes.”
A different male voice—probably the limo driver—said, “Yes sir, Mr. Beaumont.” This announcement was met with cries of protest, which quickly turned to howls of fury.
Jo didn’t watch. She kept her eye on Sun, who was still freaking out at all the commotion. If he made another bolt for the fence, she might have to let Richard tranq him and she really didn’t want that to happen. Shots fired now would only make her job that much harder in the long run.
Finally, the limo doors shut and she heard the car drive off. Thank God. With the women gone, the odds that Sun would settle down were a lot better.
She heard footsteps behind her and tensed. She didn’t want Phillip to touch her. She’d meant what she’d said to the hired hands earlier—she didn’t hook up with anyone. Especially not men like Phillip Beaumont. She couldn’t afford to have her professional reputation compromised, not when she’d finally gotten a top-tier client—and a horse no one else could save. She needed this job far more than she needed Phillip Beaumont to smile at her.
He came level with her and stopped. He was too close—more than close enough to touch.
She panicked. “I don’t sleep with clients,” she announced into the silence—and immediately felt stupid. She was letting a little thing like prickling heat undermine her authority here. She was a horse trainer. That was all.
“I’ll be sure to take that into consideration.” He looked down at her and turned on the most seductive smile she’d ever seen.
Oh, what a smile. She struggled for a moment to remember why, exactly, she didn’t need that smile in her life. How long had it been since she’d let herself smile back at a man? How long had it been since she’d allowed herself even a little bit of fun?
Years. But then the skin on the back of her neck pulled and she remembered the hospital and the pain. The scars. She hadn’t gotten this job because she smiled at attractive men. She’d gotten this job because she was a horse trainer who could save a broken horse.
She was a professional, by God. When she’d made her announcement to the hired hands earlier, they’d all nodded and agreed. But Phillip?
He looked as if she’d issued a personal challenge. One that he was up to meeting.
Heat flushed her face as she fluttered—honest-to-God fluttered. One little smile—that wouldn’t cost her too much, would it?
No.
She pushed back against whatever insanity was gripping her. She no longer fluttered. She did not fall for party boys. She did not sleep with men at the drop of a hat because they were cute or bought her drinks. She did not look for a human connection in a bar because the connections she’d always made there were never very human.
She would not be tempted by Phillip Beaumont. It didn’t matter how tempting he was. She would not smile back because one smile would lead to another and she couldn’t let that happen.
He notched up one eyebrow as if he were acknowledging how much he’d flustered her. But instead of saying something else, he walked past her and leaned heavily against the paddock fence, staring at Sun. His body language pulled at her in ways she didn’t like. So few of the people who hired her to train horses actually cared about their animals. They looked at the horse and saw dollars—either in money spent, money yet to be made, or insurance payments. That’s why she didn’t get involved with her clients. She could count the exceptions on one hand, like Whitney Maddox, a horse breeder she’d stayed with a few months last winter. But those cases were few and far between and never involved men with reputations like Phillip Beaumont.
But the way Phillip was looking at his horse... There was a pain in his face that seemed to mirror what the horse was feeling. It was a hard thing to see.
No. She was not going to feel sorry for this poor little rich boy. She’d come from nothing, managed to nearly destroy her own life and actually managed to make good all by herself.
“He’s a good horse—I know he is.” Phillip didn’t even glance in her direction. He sounded different now that the ladies were gone. It was almost as if she could see his mask slip. What was left was a man who was tired and worried. “I know Richard thinks he should be put out of his misery, but I can’t do it. I can’t—I can’t give up on him. If he could just...” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, which, damn it, only made it look better. He turned to her. “Can you fix him?”
“No,” she told him. What was left of his playboy mask fell completely away at this pronouncement.
In that moment, Jo saw something else in Phillip Beaumont’s eyes—something that she didn’t just recognize, but that she understood.
He was so lost. Just like she’d been once.
“I can’t fix him—but I can save him.”
He looked at her. “There’s a difference?”
“Trust me—all the difference in the world.”
Jo looked back at Sun, who was quickly working through his energy. Soon, he’d calm down. Maybe he’d even drink some water and sleep. That’d be good. She wanted to save him in a way that went beyond the satisfaction of a job well done or the fees that Phillip Beaumont could afford to pay her.
She wanted to save this horse because once, she’d hurt as much as he did right now. And no one—no horse—should hurt that much. Not when she could make it better.
She wasn’t here for Phillip Beaumont. He might be a scarred man in a tempting package, but she’d avoided temptation before and she’d do it again.
“Don’t give up on him,” he said in a voice that she wasn’t sure was meant for her.
“Don’t worry,” she told the horse as much as she told Phillip. “I won’t.”
She would not give up on the horse.
She wasn’t sure she had such high hopes for the man.
Two
Light. Too much light.
God, his head.
Phillip rolled away from the sunlight but moving his head did not improve the situation. In fact, it only made things worse.
Finally, he sat up, which had the benefit of getting the light out of his face but also made his stomach roll. He managed to get his eyes cracked open. He wasn’t in his downtown apartment and he wasn’t in his bedroom at the Beaumont Mansion.
The walls of the room were rough-cut logs, the fireplace was stone and a massive painting showing a pair of Percherons pulling a covered wagon across the prairie hung over the mantle.
Ah. He was at the farm. Immediately, his stomach unclenched. There were a lot worse places to wake up. He knew that from experience. Back when his grandfather had built it, it’d been little more than a cabin set far away from the world of beer. John Beaumont hadn’t wasted money on opulence where no one would see it. That’s why the Beaumont Mansion was a work of art and the farm was...not.
Phillip liked it out here. Over the years, the original cabin had been expanded, but always with the rough-hewn logs. His room was a part he’d added himself, mostly because he wanted a view and a deck to look at it from. The hot tub outside didn’t hurt, either, but unlike the hot tub at his bachelor pad, this one was mostly for soaking.
Mostly. He was Phillip Beaumont, after all.
Phillip sat in bed for a while, rubbing his temples and trying to sift through the random memories from the last few days. He knew he’d had an event in Las Vegas on...Thursday. That’d been a hell of a night.
He was pretty sure he’d had a club party in L.A. on Friday, hadn’t he? No, that wasn’t right. Beaumont Brewery had a big party tent at a music festival and Phillip had been there for the Friday festivities. Lots of music people. Lots of beer.
And Saturday...he’d been back in Denver for a private party for some guy’s twenty-first birthday. But, no matter how hard he tried to remember the party, his brain wouldn’t supply any details.
So, did that mean today was Sunday or Monday? Hell, he didn’t know. That was the downside of his job. Phillip was vice president of Marketing in charge of special events for Beaumont Brewery, which loosely translated into making sure everyone had a good time at a Beaumont-sponsored event and talked about it on social media.
Phillip was very good at his job.
He found the clock. It was 11:49. He needed to get up. The sun was only getting brighter. Why didn’t he have room-darkening blinds in here?
Oh, yeah. Because the windows opened up on to a beautiful vista, full of lush grass, tall trees and his horses. Damn his aesthetic demands.
He got his feet swung over the bed and under him. Each movement was like being hit with a meat cleaver right between the eyes. Yeah, that must have been one hell of a party.
He navigated a flight of stairs and two hallways to the kitchen, which was in the original building. He got the coffee going and then dug a sports drink out of the fridge. He popped some Tylenol and guzzled the sports drink.
Almost immediately, his head felt better. He finished the first bottle and cracked open a second. Food. He needed food. But he needed a shower first.
Phillip headed back to his bathroom. That was the other reason he’d built his own addition—the other bathroom held the antique claw-foot tub that couldn’t hope to contain all six of his feet.
His bathroom had a walk-in shower, a separate tub big enough for two and a double sink that stretched out for over eight feet. He could sprawl out all over the place and still have room to spare.
He soaked his head in cool water, which got his blood pumping again. He’d always had a quick recovery time from a good party—today was no different.
Finally, he got dressed in his work clothes and went back to the kitchen. He made some eggs, which helped his stomach. The coffee was done, so he filled up a thermal mug and added a shot of whiskey. Hair of the dog.
Finally, food in his stomach and coffee in his hand, he found his phone and scrolled through it.
Ah. It was Monday. Which meant he had no recollection of Sunday. Damn.
He didn’t dwell on that. Instead, he scrolled through his contacts list. Lots of new numbers. Not too many pictures. One he’d apparently already posted to Instagram of him and Drake on stage together? Cool. That was a dream-come-true kind of moment right there. He was thrilled someone had gotten a photo of it.
He scanned some of the gossip sites. There were mentions of the clubs, the festival—but nothing terrible. Mostly just who’s-who tallies and some wild speculation about who went to bed with whom.
Phillip heaved a sigh of relief. He’d done his job well. He always did. People had a good time, drank a lot of Beaumont Beer and talked the company up to their friends. And they did that because Phillip brought all the elements together for them—the beer, the party, the celebrities.
It was just that sometimes, people talked about things that gave the PR department fits. No matter how many times Phillip tried to tell those suits who worked for his brother Chadwick that there was no such thing as bad PR, every time he made headlines for what they considered the “wrong” reasons, Chadwick felt the need to have a coming-to-Jesus moment with Phillip about how his behavior was damaging the brand name and costing the company money and blah, blah, blah.
Frankly, Phillip could do with less Chadwick in his life.
That wasn’t going to happen this week, thank God. The initial summaries looked good—the Klout Score was up, the hits were high and on Saturday, the Beaumont party tent had been trending for about four hours on Twitter.
Phillip shut off his phone with a smile. That was a job well done in his book.
He felt human again. His head was clearing and the food in his stomach was working. Hair of the dog always does the trick, he thought as he refilled his mug and put on his boots. He felt good.
He was happy to be back on the farm in a way he couldn’t quite put into words. He missed his horses—especially Sun. He hadn’t seen Sun in what felt like weeks. The last he knew, Richard had hired some trainer who’d promised to fix the horse. But that was a while ago. Maybe a month?
There it was again—that uneasy feeling that had nothing to do with the hangover or the breakfast. He didn’t like that feeling, so he took an extra big swig of coffee to wash it away.
He had some time before the next round of events kicked off. There was a lull between now and Spring Break. That was fine by Phillip. He would get caught up with Richard, evaluate his horses, go for some long rides—hopefully on Sun—and ignore the world for a while. Then, by the time he was due to head south to help ensure that Beaumont Beers were the leading choice of college kids everywhere, he’d be good to go. Brand loyalty couldn’t start early enough.
He grabbed his hat off the peg by the door and headed down to the barn. The half-mile walk did wonders for his head. The whole place was turning green as the last of the winter gave way to spring. Daffodils popped up in random spots and the pastures were so bright they hurt his eyes.
It felt good to be home. He needed a week or two to recover, that was all.
As he rounded the bend in the road that connected the house to the main barn, he saw that Sun was out in a paddock. That was a good sign. As best he could recall, Richard had said they couldn’t move the horse out of his stall without risking life and limb. Phillip had nearly had his own head taken off by a flying hoof the one time he’d tried to put a halter on his own horse—something that Sun had let him do when they were at the stables in Turkmenistan.
God, he wished he knew where things had gone wrong. Sun had been a handful, that was for sure—but at his old stables, he’d been manageable. Phillip had even inquired into bringing his former owner out to the farm to see if the old man who spoke no English would be able to settle Sun down. The man had refused.
But if that last trainer had worked wonders, then Phillip could get on with his plan. The trainer’s services had cost a fortune, but if he’d gotten Sun back on track, it was worth it. The horse’s bloodlines could be traced back on paper to the 1880s and the former owner had transcribed an oral bloodline that went back to the 1600s. True, an oral bloodline didn’t count much, but Philip knew Sun was a special horse. His ancestors had taken home gold, the Grand Prix de Dressage and too many long-distance races to count.
He needed to highlight Sun’s confirmation and stamina—that was what would sell his lineage as a stud. Sun’s line would live on for a long time to come. That stamina—and his name—was what breeders would pay top dollar for. But beyond that, there was something noble about the whole thing. The Akhal-Tekes were an ancient breed of horse—the founder of the modern lines of the Arabians and Thoroughbreds. It seemed a shame that almost no one had ever heard of them. They were amazing animals—almost unbreakable, especially compared to the delicate racing Thoroughbreds whose legs seemed to shatter with increasing frequency on the racetrack. A horse like Sun could reinvigorate lines—leading to stronger, faster racehorses.
Phillip felt lighter than he had in a while. Sun was a damned fine horse—the kind of stud upon which to found a line. He must be getting old because as fun as the parties obviously were—photos didn’t lie—he was getting to the point where he just wanted to train his horses.
Of course he knew he couldn’t hide out here forever. He had a job to do. Not that he needed the money, but working for the Beaumont Brewery wasn’t just a family tradition. It was also a damned good way to keep Chadwick off his back. No matter what his older brother said, Phillip wasn’t wasting the family fortune on horses and women. He was an important part of the Beaumont brand name—that more than offset his occasional forays into horses.
Phillip saw a massive trailer parked off to the side of the barn with what looked like a garden hose and—was that an extension cord?—running from the barn to the trailer. Odd. Had he invited someone out to the farm? Usually, when he had guests, they stayed at the house.
He took a swig of coffee. He didn’t like that unsettling feeling of not knowing what was going on.
As he got closer, he saw that Sun wasn’t grazing. He was running. That wasn’t a good sign.
Sun wasn’t better. He was the same. God, what a depressing thought.
Then Phillip saw her. It was obvious she was a her—tall, clad in snug jeans and a close-fit flannel shirt, he could see the curve of her hips at three hundred yards. Longish hair hung underneath a brown hat. She sure as hell didn’t look like the kind of woman he brought home with him—not even to the farm. So what was she doing here?
Standing in the middle of the paddock while Sun ran in wild circles, that’s what.
Phillip shook his head. This had to be a post-hangover hallucination. If Sun weren’t better, why would anyone be in a paddock with him? The horse was too far gone. It wasn’t safe. The horse had knocked a few of the hired hands out of commission for a while. The medical bills were another thing Chadwick rode his ass about.
Not only did the vision of this woman not disperse, but Phillip noticed something else that couldn’t be real. Was that a donkey in there with her? He was pretty sure he’d remember buying a donkey that small.
He looked the woman over again, hoping for some sign of recognition. Nothing. He was sure he’d remember thighs and a backside like that. Maybe she’d look different up close.
He walked the rest of the way down to the paddock, his gaze never leaving her. No, she wasn’t his type, but variety was the spice of life, wasn’t it?
“Good morning,” he said in a cheerful voice as he leaned against the fence.
Her back stiffened but she gave no other sign that she’d heard him. The small donkey craned its neck around to give him a look that could only be described as doleful as Sun went from a bucking trot to a rearing, snorting mess in seconds.
Jesus, that horse could kill her. But he tried not to let the panic creep into his voice. “Miss, I don’t think it’s safe to be in there right now.” Sun made a sound that was closer to a scream than a whinny. Phillip winced at the noise.
The woman’s head dropped in what looked like resignation. Then she patted the side of her leg as she turned and began a slow walk back to the gate. Betty followed close on her heels.
The donkey’s name was Betty. How did he know that?
Oh, crap—he did know her. Had she been at the party? Had they slept together? He didn’t remember seeing any signs of a female in his room or in the house.
He watched as she walked toward him. She was a cowgirl, that much was certain—and not one of those fake ones whose hats were covered in rhinestones and whose jeans had never seen a saddle. The brown hat fit low on her forehead, the flannel shirt was tucked in under a worn leather belt that had absolutely no adornment and her chest—