LITMIR.BIZ

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tables where a dark-haired woman who looked about the same age as Alanna stood at the stove, her back to them.

      “Hi, Ellen,” Alanna said.

      The woman turned and smiled, her hazel eyes warm and infectious. “Hello, Miss Colton.”

      “This is Jake McCord. He’s going to be working here taming Zorro. This is Ellen Martin. She’s your cook.”

      Her brows rose, and her eyes went skeptical. “That’s a tall task. Good luck with that. Breakfast is at 8:00, lunch at noon and dinner at 5:00. Coffee is always hot and pie plentiful. Snacks on demand.” She smiled, and Alanna was aware of just how pretty the single mother was. She might have sixteen-year-old Daisy, but she was only thirty-three. She didn’t want to think about Ellen and Jake in any romantic situation, not that it would happen. Why did that bug her?

      Jake tugged his hat again. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

      Alanna stopped at a small office and opened a metal lockbox hanging on the wall. Searching through, she extracted a key. Climbing the stairs up to the third floor of the remodeled barn, she took him through the door to the largest of the apartments.

      “Home away from home,” she said, opening the drapes to reveal a balcony patio. “Fowler requested you be given these accommodations. Parking is in an underground area below the apartments.”

      “This is very generous of you, ma’am. Thank you.”

      Alanna walked back toward the door and Jake stood just inside the foyer. She had to slide past him. “Fowler thinks you should be as close to and have as much access to Zorro as possible. You will need a comfortable place to come back to.” Her voice lowered. “Zorro is...dangerous. He’s been mishandled in the past and, coupled with a fighting spirit, he is unpredictable. I would ask you, for your safety, to be very careful.”

      Jake studied her for a second, then leaned his shoulder against the wall. A heavy measuring look settled on his face, and she got the impression once again that he carried a considerable burden. “Horses don’t live in the past or the future. They live in the moment. People are the ones with an agenda, timetables, time limits, goals. Makes for a major disconnect with their horses. Dwelling on the past brings baggage, and focusing on the future can bring anxiety.” The way he looked was incongruent with his sage response. Awareness churned through her, making her heart jump and she was struck by a paralyzing fascination to know what it was she saw in his eyes. “I work with horses in the present. No need to worry. Zorro won’t hurt me.”

      He could hurt you. She thought without reason or comprehension, and Alanna was very good at protecting herself. She had to in a family with more politics than the US government and just as much backstabbing as ancient Rome. With a father who had been rumored to be a former bank robber, a serial killer uncle, Fowler and Marceline scheming to create trouble between everyone, her stepmother’s histrionics, growing up on guard with an inner layer of steel was warranted. She wasn’t going to find out about Jake. Vulnerability was too risky. She had her own burdens to bear, stress and anxiety to handle. Best to steer clear of anything too complicated when her attention needed to be elsewhere. Even with those thoughts, she felt something had tilted beneath her as if everything had just been thrown out of sync. The bleak look in Jake’s eyes did awful things to her heart, and she shivered, hurting for him. And not even knowing or understanding why.

Chapter 2

      She cleared her throat and stepped back. “Why don’t you get settled?” She looked at her watch. “Buck should be back in about fifteen minutes and will be at the arena. Meet us back there when you’re ready.”

      Ha. Sage advice from him about horses. They did live in the present. Too bad he couldn’t apply it to his own life. Too much of his “present” was mired in stuff that had happened in the past. The loss of his younger brother, Matt, to gangs and drugs, and the loss of the rookie that still made the guilt mount, caused sleepless nights, the heat that had fueled his meltdown and burnout. But he wasn’t here to dwell on baggage. Alanna was waiting for an answer and he nodded. “I’ll be there as soon as I unload.”

      She handed him the key. “You’re expected to handle the daily upkeep, but there will be a maid that comes through every week.”

      “Will do.” She left and closed the door behind her. This two-bedroom apartment was smaller than his modest house, but definitely more expensively furnished. The floor was hardwood and the colors russet, gold with burned orange accents. The small kitchen was compact and complete with a microwave. The living room looked comfortable and inviting with the leather couch and stylish chair and ottoman along with a rugged coffee table, small stand and wide-screen TV.

      It didn’t take him long to walk back to his truck and drive the rig over to the stables and unload his hand-tooled saddle, the saddle pad and bridle. He rolled his eyes at the chandelier. He found a peg in the well-organized and very clean tack room of the barn identified with a shiny bronzed plaque that read Cisco. Looked like all the barns on the property were named after cities in Texas. That was very... Texan.

      He parked his truck, then unhitched and stored his trailer in an area designated for them. Back up in the apartment he brought in his suitcases and unpacked.

      Taking a quick shower to wash the grime of the road off, he put on a clean set of clothes and headed back over to the arena.

      He realized with wariness he was excited to see Alanna again, and it had nothing to do with the case and everything to do with the way she looked in those shotgun chaps.

      It wasn’t lost on him, evidenced by Ellen the cook’s comments and Alanna warning him that Zorro was dangerous, that neither woman believed he would succeed in rehabilitating the stallion.

      “I love Fowler, but he’s wrong about that horse. I don’t believe he can be tamed, and I don’t want any breeding program I’m endorsing to contain genes from a horse with his disposition.” Jake overheard Alanna speaking to a tall man with broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair and eyebrows, impressive handlebar mustache and stubble on his cheeks. The man straightened when he saw Jake walk up, clearing his throat, but Alanna had already stuck her proverbial foot into her beautiful mouth. “Whispering won’t do any good. I think Jake is just a plain old cowboy who knows how to manipulate a résumé and reputation. I don’t believe he’s any more a horse whisperer than I am a ballet dancer.”

      Jake stopped and put his hands on his hips and the man she was talking to cued her that she’d better button her lip and turn around. When she whipped around, she faced his gaze head-on without flinching. Damn but he liked a flinty woman who knew how to stand her ground, and he wasn’t surprised she was skeptical of his skills. He got the feeling she wasn’t too keen he was here, but now he was certain it wasn’t only the crackling sexual tension between them. He couldn’t mistake that for anything than what it was.

      “You better tie up your pointe shoes. I think I hear the opening to Swan Lake,” he drawled.

      The man choked on a laugh, and it was clear not many people talked to Alanna Colton that way, but he didn’t give a damn. There was a small part of him that felt a bit of the ego bruise she’d apparently landed. The rest of him was just much too turned on by this fascinating, contrary woman who ran this stable like a well-oiled machine. He was damned impressed on many levels.

      Too bad he was here to delve into her motivations and reasons for possibly masterminding the kidnapping of her own father. Was this slip of a woman capable of that? She was a Colton, so he would have to say yes, but did he feel it in his gut? He wasn’t quite sure that was accurate. Snap judgments were something he’d honed over his time in law enforcement. Alanna discombobulated him.

      She folded her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. He reached out his hand, “Mr. Tressler?”

      “Yep, that’s me.” His handshake was firm and quick.

      “Jake McCord. The horse whisperer,” he said, and got the expected reaction from Alanna when she stiffened and huffed

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