LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Thanks, guys, but I don’t have anything to move besides a few boxes and Pistol. It won’t be any big deal.”

      * * *

      “NO BIG DEAL?” Stella, remembering her earlier conversation with her father, set down her book a little too loudly and whipped off her red reading glasses. Mugsy jumped down from the couch and regarded her with suspicion.

      Buster, who had kicked back in his leather recliner, didn’t stir from his comfortable position. Mitzi was sprawled out across his chest lengthwise, snoring.

      “I can’t believe you think this is no big deal,” she repeated.

      Buster opened one eye and Stella glared into it.

      He closed it quickly, like pulling down a shade.

      “Pops! You should have consulted with me first before offering to let him live here. Instead you let him sweet-talk you. And I’d like to have seen his horse before you said he could board him in our stable. What if the horse is dangerous?”

      “Good grief, woman. We’ve been through this.” Buster raised his head slightly so as not to disturb Mitzi. “He didn’t sweet-talk me. It was practically my idea. And I thought you’d be happy to have some free labor. At least I didn’t sell him any land.”

      “I am happy about that.” Stella shrugged and put her glasses back on. She smoothed her cotton pajamas and tucked her feet up under her. Then she remembered something. “But isn’t there some scandal with the Temple family? I wouldn’t want that to affect my school.”

      Buster sighed heavily. “Anybody who still cares about that scandal is nobody I’d want on my ranch, school or no school.”

      Stella raised her eyebrows.

      Buster continued, “Pap Temple did steal oil, but the big oil companies were so greedy there was no real harm, in my opinion, in Pap taking a few million barrels. Those were different times.” He snorted. “In fact, I admire his gumption for doing it, and his guts in taking his punishment after he was caught instead of filling his wells with cement like some others did to avoid prosecution.”

      “I didn’t know all of that,” Stella said quietly.

      As though sensing the storm had passed, at least for the time being, Mugsy jumped back onto the couch and resumed his post at her side.

      * * *

      WHEN STELLA AWOKE the next morning, she was glad she had a busy day ahead. Maybe the work she had to do to get Star Stables Equestrian Therapy up and running would distract her from Joiner Temple’s invasion of her property. Until he brought his horse into her barn, that is—a high-dollar thoroughbred stallion. Having that kind of horse join her operation was not at all what she had in mind. His presence would probably be as obnoxious as his owner’s. No, what Stella wanted was a few other horses like Daisy, her mother’s old mare, who were gentle enough to be trusted with the special-needs children Stella planned to serve.

      But the agreement had been made, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it now but continue with her own plans. She picked out one of her nicest shirts, a lacy cowgirl-chic top with bell sleeves that was the color of gunmetal. Pairing it with her distressed skinny jeans, she tucked the jeans into a pair of tall, vintage, gray halter boots. The brushed silver amulet she wore, a custom piece by Andrea Edmondson, perfectly complemented the color of her shirt. Her hair was easy—shoulder-length and chic—and she didn’t need any makeup other than a little lip gloss. Her mahogany eyes were framed by dark lashes and brows even though her hair remained the color of a palomino.

      Stella waved at her father, who was out milking the goats, as she climbed into the farm truck. She planned to grab something for breakfast at Common Grounds. A potential donor from a local family well-known for its oil money was meeting her there for coffee. She really had high hopes that she could convince him to donate to her school. Star Stables was the one thing she wanted with all of her heart—everything important to her was tied to it. It was something she could do on her own land, at home with Buster. It was a way to give back to her beloved community. And it was a way to help people—to give them better lives, and especially, to teach them how to be safe.

      * * *

      STELLA ROSE FROM the bistro table where she was sitting with her mocha cappuccino when the man who had to be Clint Cavender walked into Common Grounds.

      “Mr. Cavender?”

      He turned his gaze to her.

      He was wearing Armani and some kind of lizard-skin boots. Nice.

      He held out his hand. “Stella Scout? Call me Clint.” Perfect teeth, dark hair, milk-chocolate-colored eyes. Stella felt as if she was talking to a movie star. She needed to get herself together.

      “Please, have a seat.”

      “Sure, but I think I’ll order first. Can I get you anything to go with your coffee?”

      Stella didn’t want him to buy her food. “I’ll just join you.”

      He set down his Louis Vuitton laptop bag on one of the oak-and-iron chairs at her table and they walked together to the counter, which was just a few feet away.

      “I’d like some steel-cut oats with fruit.”

      The guy at the counter rang her order into the cash register. “And for you, sir?”

      “These are separate orders.” Stella held out her debit card, but Clint Cavender shook his head.

      “I’ll have a ham, egg and cheese panini and a latte with two shots, please.”

      He paid for their order with a twenty-dollar bill, dumping all of the change into the tip jar. They waited while it was prepared.

      “You didn’t have to pay for my breakfast,” Stella said.

      “Oh, no problem.”

      Clint’s phone vibrated and he took it out of his pocket. “Sorry. I always have to check in case it is the school.”

      He carried their tray back to the table, and set her oats in front of her before removing his own order. “That looks good,” he commented, then set the tray on a nearby table.

      Stella straightened her shoulders. “Clint, thank you for meeting with me. I know you have a very busy schedule and I appreciate you taking the time to listen to my proposal.”

      “It’s a pleasure.” His eyes were warm. “Let’s hear about these plans of yours.”

      “Well, I am opening a facility for equestrian therapy on my family farm just outside Kilgore. We will offer hippotherapy as well as therapeutic riding for people with disabilities. My focus is geared more toward children, but I’d like to be able to offer services to all ages eventually.”

      Clint leaned forward, eyebrows knitted. “Wait a minute. You lost me. I thought we were talking exclusively about horses. What exactly is hippotherapy?”

      “Hippo is the Greek word for horse.” Stella laughed. “So hippotherapy is just a term that encompasses all kinds of therapy that uses the horse’s movement. I want to offer physical, occupational and speech therapy using horses.”

      “So I’m assuming you’ll employ professionals in these fields?”

      “Yes. I have a master’s degree in physical therapy myself, and I’ve already contracted an excellent occupational therapist assistant named Daune Holzman and a speech therapist named Jacob Hunnicutt. Of course, the amount of hours they are able to spend at the school will depend on how things work out with funding.”

      “It sounds very interesting.” Clint took a sip of his latte. “Are there any other programs similar to this in the state of Texas?”

      “Ours will be the second, and the first in East Texas. The other one is in Austin and partners with the University of Texas. I trained there and it is very

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