LITMIR.BIZ

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cardiac surgeon and my mother was an Olympic dressage champion. I feel like I got the best genes from both of them,” she told him, a warm feeling in her heart for her parents.

      “They still live in New York City?” Slade liked talking with her a lot more than he thought he would. He saw her smile dissolve and her features become sad.

      “They died in an airplane crash five years ago.”

      “I’m sorry,” Slade muttered, meaning it.

      “So am I,” Jordana said quietly. She halted at the showering area. Dropping the halter lead, she slid the door open. Mustering a slight smile, she picked up the lead and asked Slade, “What about your parents? Do they live nearby? I’ve never seen anyone but you and Shorty here at the ranch.”

      As Slade watched her lead Stormy into the shower stall and put the cross ties on her mare’s halter, he found himself wanting to tell her the truth. Walking around the horse and staying far enough away from getting splattered with water, he said, “Red Downing, who was Curt Downing’s father, crashed into my parents’ truck. They died instantly. He was drunker than a skunk.”

      Jordana froze when she heard his words hesitantly tear out of him. She recalled Shorty telling her about his parents but decided to hear his version of it. Looking over, she saw pain in Slade’s face. For the first time, he’d unveiled his armor and she got to see the human in him. There was such grief in his eyes it tore at her heart.

      “I’m so sorry, Slade. I really am. How tragic…”

      “Yeah, it was. In more ways than one,” he muttered, crossing his arms. Leaning against the wall as she began to use the shower hose to wet Stormy down, he added, “Me and my fraternal twin brother, Griff, were orphaned at six years old. My parents had left us the ranch in their will, but we were too young to run it. My dad had two older brothers, Paul and Robert. Griff moved back East with Uncle Robert. I stayed out here with Uncle Paul and Aunt Patty. Together, they took over the running of our ranch.”

      Jordana took a plastic brush and began gently scrubbing Stormy’s neck. She stood quietly, appreciating the tepid water. Looking over her back, Jordana realized that Slade was this way because of the early loss of his parents. She tried to put herself in his place. Wouldn’t she toughen up, too? Would the world look scary and uncertain to Slade and his brother? Very. Gently, she asked, “Is your brother Griff also an endurance rider?” She had never seen him on the circuit.

      Giving her a jaded look, Slade felt helpless to stop from telling her about his painful past. “No. Griff went back to New York City with Uncle Robert and his wife. He’s never cared about the ranch.”

      “Ah, this is where city slicker comes in?” she teased softly and added a smile. Slade’s face went dark, and he refused to meet her gaze. Oops. She’d said the wrong thing. Scrubbing Stormy’s withers with a soft rubber brush where the saddle sat, Jordana made sure to get all the grit and dust washed off her because it could cause inflammation and create a saddle sore if she didn’t.

      Battling his sudden emotions that rose unexpectedly within him, Slade muttered, “My younger brother is a Wall Street broker. He got sent to Harvard and has an MBA. He followed in my Uncle Robert’s footsteps.”

      “I see,” Jordana said, moving the brush and the water down the center of Stormy’s gray back. “Does he visit often?”

      Shaking his head, Slade said, “Griff likes New York. He likes the East, the big money he makes, the power he has, the women who like to follow the money trail. He doesn’t have time for our family’s ranch.”

      The hurt was so evident that Jordana couldn’t shield herself from his sadness. All of a sudden, she wanted to drop the brush and shower wand, run over to Slade and throw her arms around him. In that split second, he looked like the grief-stricken six-year-old who had had his family suddenly torn away from him. Privileged to see the real man, Jordana stood there unable to say or do anything. She couldn’t run over and embrace him. What Slade needed was to be held, rocked, nurtured and kept safe. Now, she was seeing a little of how he saw life. It was a hard life. It took those he loved away from him. And speaking about his brother tore away a new scab that hadn’t really healed at all. Moistening her lips, Jordana said, “Sometimes, life is harsh.”

      He snorted, allowed his arms to fall to his side and glared at her. Scared that he’d opened up to this woman, who was really a stranger to him, had him feeling uneasy. “That’s right. It always is. I’ll see you in three days.”

      Watching Slade leave, Jordana saw how quickly he closed up once more. His eyes, however, couldn’t lie. She saw such anguish in them that it made her want to cry. And he would never allow her close to him. Like the hurt animal he was, he’d bite anyone’s hand offering help. Sighing, she continued to scrub Stormy free of sweat and dust. The first clap of thunder rolled across the land. Looking up, she saw the churning gray and black clouds racing down upon the valley. Soon, it would pour rain in buckets. Was the sky already crying for the pain that Slade McPherson carried daily within him? No parents were here to love and guide him. No one to help him grow up safe and nurtured. No wonder he was a loner….

      CHAPTER FIVE

      AS JORDANA DROVE into the training facility, her heart leaped with surprise. There stood the most famous endurance rider and horse in the country— Slade and Thor. She wasn’t sure who was more masculine, proud and aloof: the stud or the man. Smiling with excitement, she forgot about the stress of hurrying out to Tetons Ranch to arrive on time. As a physician she had unexpected emergencies that she had to attend to before anything else. Jordana lived in continued anxiety that one day, she might be late. Slade wouldn’t tolerate tardiness.

      Climbing out of her truck, she grinned. “Hey, seeing Thor in person, instead of in a photo, is astounding!” Thor had a “cap” of chestnut color splotched across his head and ears. That was known as a medicine-hat pattern. Native Americans considered such a horse as powerful, protective and lucky. Thor had sky-blue eyes, and Jordana knew it made him even more rare and beautiful. His white hair covered part of his face along with chestnut markings down to his pink-colored muzzle and wide, flaring nostrils.

      Pride flowed through Slade. His stallion snorted, his chestnut-colored ears flicking as Jordana approached. The hot July sun beat down on them. “Get Stormy saddled up,” he ordered. “We’re going on a fifteen-mile run.”

      Shocked, Jordana halted. “Really?”

      Giving her a sliver of a one-sided smile, Slade said, “You brought your mare to me in top shape. Shorty said you were riding her fifteen miles twice a week. She’s ready for this.”

      Swallowing her shock and pleasure, Jordana said, “I’ll be right there!” She trotted up to the training barn, her heart soaring with joy. Stormy greeted her with a friendly nicker as she walked down to the end box stall. As she placed her mare in the cross ties to be brushed and saddled, Jordana felt hopeful. Ever since meeting Slade, her days had taken on a new brightness and hope. Not wanting to look at that aspect too closely, Jordana told herself she was drawn to the cowboy because of his rugged good looks and that was all. Clearly, Slade had no women around here.

      As she hurried to the tack room and picked up the thick pad and saddle, Jordana recalled talking to one of her patients who knew Slade. Tracy Border, a thirty-year-old mother of two who was trying to lose weight, had said Slade was called The Loner. That his wreck of a divorce had all but put his ranch into teetering foreclosure with the local bank. Further, Slade had been married to a brat of a woman who had no maturity. With that information, Jordana could understand why Slade was anti-female. He had to have time to get over a divorce.

      The sweet smell of alfalfa hay wafted through the barn. Inhaling the scent, Jordana often wished that some perfume company would make the fragrance. She’d wear it for sure!

      Releasing Stormy from the ties, she quickly placed the hackamore on her mare, clucked to her to follow and hurried out of the facility. Slade was already mounted on the restive, powerful-looking Thor. Jordana knew that the Native Americans felt the medicine-hat pattern, that was sometimes

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