The It Girls

“Hey, you!” A thunderous voice rolled from behind me at the back doors of the stable. I fervently hoped I wasn’t the one in trouble—again. Bart Hind had already found a dozen ways to criticize me. If I wasn’t more careful, I’d end up heading home before I even got to unpack my suitcase.

The black silhouette at the door strode into the light, and I froze when I realized Ross Hardel was stomping his way toward me.

The last time I’d seen him was at a riding lesson at my dressage coach’s stable more than ten years ago—preaccident. He’d been an obnoxious teenage twit two inches shorter than me, all skinny arms and knobby knees. Now look at him. Six feet of hard, lean muscle and brooding bad boy.

And if you believed the gossip rags—every woman’s dream. Yeah, right. None of my dreams involved a one-night stand, but then, I had high standards. I still wanted to believe I had a chance at a relationship that lasted longer than a bump in the night with a stranger.

His Vogel boots, polished to a mirror finish and undoubtedly custom-made, struck the concrete with understated power. He reeked of cool aloofness, yet more electricity flashed from the killer blue of his eyes than a nuclear power plant.

And all that potent energy was directed at me.

Even though he looked as irritable as Nat in full PMS mode, even with everything I knew about him, something in me just kind of gave as he got nearer. Curiosity, undoubtedly. My downfall, I’ll admit. He was probably used to that reaction from women, likely even expected it, and for some reason that irked me. Having my hormones scramble to attention for a guy who was whistling at me as if I were a dog doubled the insult.

“Surely you can’t be whistling at me,” I said, tapping my chest with the tips of my fingers as he stopped in front of me and hitched his fists on his hips like some sort of bloodthirsty pirate.

“What the hell are you doing?”

His voice rumbled like thunder and rolled inside me in a way I found disconcerting. Did everyone pick on the new girl or was it just me?

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I shot before I could stop myself. In my defense, I’d already had a backbreaker of a day and it wasn’t over yet.

His eyes narrowed. “Where’s Mandy?”

“Who’s Mandy?”

“The girl who takes care of my horses.”

“That would be me.”

“You’re not Mandy.”

“I believe we’ve already established that.”

His scowl deepened. “What happened to Mandy?”

“She left?” I raised both eyebrows and widened my eyes in a duh motion.

“Why?” He asked the question as if somehow Mandy’s departure was part of a conspiracy against him.

I dismissed the follow with a half snort. “Do I look like directory assistance?”

“Whatever happened to yes, sir?”

I scratched Magnus’s velvety muzzle. “I believe Lincoln freed the slaves a while back.”

He shook his head. “Where did they find you?”

“Me?” I shot him my best country bumpkin smile. “Why, I’m fresh off the hay truck.”

He scowled again, definitely not amused.

“I don’t want anyone but Mandy taking care of Magnus.” He spoke to me, but his gaze flicked over Magnus as if my mere presence at his side had somehow damaged the horse.

“You’re out of luck, then,” I said, urging Magnus forward, “because she’s gone and I’m it.”

“Magnus is special.” Ross’s hand reached for the lead line, forcing us both to halt and me to let go of my hold.

“So are all my charges.” I stuck my hands in my jeans pockets, puffing out my chest and raising my chin.

Magnus nickered softly and, with nimble lips, sucked up the sugar cube in Ross’s palm.

“You’re going to rot his teeth,” I said, taking in Ross’s mink-brown hair, the stretch of custom-tailored breeches over ripped thighs and the breadth of shoulders beneath the navy polo shirt. A body like that was wasted on someone like him.

“He’s recovering,” Ross said with warmth I hadn’t expected. His big hand cupped Magnus’s jaw and Magnus leaned his head into the caress. “He needs extra pampering.”

“Recovering from what?”

“An accident.”

My ears perked up. Renee hadn’t mentioned a Magnus in her rundown of the Horse Ripper’s victims, but then he was still alive and the others were dead. “What happened to him?”

“You’re full of questions.” His gaze lasered into me, leaving traces of heat where it landed.

Curiosity, as I said, was my downfall, and what Renee counted on to get a lead on the Horse Ripper. I shrugged as if I didn’t care. “If I’m caring for him, I should know all there is to know about him.”

“He needs a consistent routine and extra care. Mandy knew what to do.”

Not rolling my eyes took everything I had. “It’s not rocket science. If you tell me what he needs, I can take care of your horse the way you want.”

His gaze speared me again. The newspaper photographs had definitely missed something. The blue flame of his irises went right through me, causing a slow burn I’d all but given up on ever feeling. Too bad the flamethrower was a shallow playboy. He’d take one look at my prosthesis and move on to leggier pastures. But I didn’t need to get in his pants, just earn his confidence. “I don’t like the way you’re looking at me.”

The slow glide of his gaze studied me from frizzy head to scuffed boot toe. “I’m not sure I like what I’m seeing.”

Of course not. I wasn’t blond or buxom and had a higher IQ than he was used to. The hairs on the back of my neck rose and a growl started to form in my chest. “I’ve been around horses a long time.”

“I’m sure you have. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but—” He shrugged. “I don’t know you.”

“On the other hand, your reputation precedes you.” I don’t know how Renee expected me to charm Ross Hardel when all my best features were hidden beneath Goodwill clothes, a bad dye job and eau de manure.

He shot me a wry smile. “Then you know I expect the best for my horses.”

And a few personal extras from the groom.

He hadn’t exactly hit on me, though, had he? For some reason I found that mildly irritating.

I still had two horses to groom and tack before five. “Magnus is due for his walk. Since I’m below par, he’s all yours.” Saving half an hour of hand walking was just fine with me.

Before Ross could answer, another whistle ripped through the electric eddy already swirling around the stable. Bart Hind this time, standing outside his office door in his usual Napoleonic stance. Was that Katelyn slinking out of his office? I’d bet a week’s pay she’d just finished complaining about my work, hoping she’d take over the horses she coveted.

“Sounds like he went to the same charm school you did,” I mumbled, giving Magnus’s neck a parting pat before starting in Bart’s direction.

“Don’t you walk away from me,” Ross said. “We’re not done here.”

I pretended to give his insipid command thought. “Let’s see. Um. Paycheck or attitude?” I shrugged and pointed a thumb over my shoulder at Hind. “Paycheck wins.”

Ross’s skewering stare as I walked away from him made me feel naked. I tried to ignore the burn of his gaze, but it seared me until I reached Hind’s office.

“What’s all the shouting about?” Hind asked.

Shouting? “Mr. Hardel is upset because I’m not Mandy.” Poor Ross would have to get laid elsewhere tonight.

Hind frowned. “Any questions are to be directed to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’d do well to remember that the owner’s always right.”

Against my will, my eyebrows lifted. “Even when he’s wrong?”

“Especially when he’s wrong.”

That was one hell of a philosophy. Keeping an impassive face and my mouth from dropping all the way down to the spotless concrete floor took all the muscle control I had left. “About Mandy—” I misdirected his glance to the aisle with a sweep of one hand, and with the other scooped up the master key I’d seen him use on an owner’s locker earlier and pocketed it. Easier to search the lockers with a key than attempting to finesse the locks open with a pick.

“I’ll take care of the situation. Leah Siegel is running half an hour late. Make sure Waldo’s warmed up for her five-o’clock lesson.”

Dismissed again. I wasn’t sure I could get used to this cockroach treatment.

As I slid past Ross and Hind discussing Mandy’s departure, Ross’s gaze flashed with potent anger that said he wasn’t through with me. Not by a long shot.

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