Page 18 of Captured By the Billionaire Cowboy
It was a rare admittance of sentimentality, an admission of meaning beyond logic and reason. Was that why the ranch was empty, when it could garner a small fortune in boarding fees? Whatever his motivation, a place like this would be perfect for the rescue, if she could afford it. “This place is ideal in every way but one – it’s a good 31 lengths out of my price range.” No doubt he would recognize Secretariat’s record-breaking win at the Belmont Stakes in 1973. “I’m certain of that without even calculating my price range. I need to find somewhere far more modest.”
“What if I make it in your price range?”
She blinked at the all-too-alluring offer from the all-too-alluring man, as he studied her with inscrutable focus.Resist.Once she’d allowed herself to get lost in those sapphire eyes; she couldn’t afford to do it again. “Even if I was successful, most of the money would go back to the animals. A place like this is unrealistic.”
He stood straight and tall, presiding over the ranch that had been in his family for generations. “I’ve been looking for a worthy cause to support. I could make a price that would work for you.” He held her gaze. “I can afford it.”
Of course, he could. He had more money than a thousand prize purses. Yet how could she accept after all that happened? If she agreed, it would mean seeing him regularly for the next few months, allowing him back into her life. Could she take that risk?
And yet why did leaving seem so wrong?
“It would also smooth the transition if you returned to America. I’ll be close enough to ensure the operation continues.”
Ifshe returned? They both knew it was inevitable. Rowan made her long for things that could never be, desire the impossible. He wasn’t just another ranch hand. She’d searched the Internet, and found a hundred news stories of his successes, both professionally and personally. He was as popular as an Irish Derby winner, and just as influential. He had wealth, power and countless business associates, and, if rumors were correct, ladies with whom to enjoy those successes.
Yet he was offering to help horses, save them. If she accepted, she’d stay in contact with him, see him regularly. That felt… right. Still, if her feelings were already this strong, what would happen if – when – she saw him more? “Can I think about it?”
“Of course.” Was that disappointment in his eyes, for a sliver of a second, before it vanished? He touched her shoulder, a light pressure that ignited every sense. “You’ll find a way to make it work.”
She had better – for the horses she’d saved, the ones who still needed her. With or without the man who had once been her world.
“That’s the last of them.” Rowan swiped through the photographs, a collection of quasi-professional shots that was sure to attract attention. The afternoon had been long but successful, and they’d attained all they needed to craft the listings. The final shots depicted King, a Thoroughbred that held himself like royalty, with a regal moniker that reflected his personality. He’d maintained the best shape of all the horses, his glossy midnight coat like velvet over sculpted muscles. Rowan hadn’t yet told Ciara he planned to adopt him.
“How did they turn out?”
He turned into the scent of gardenias, fought not to show how tempting it was. “Not bad.” He angled the camera so Ciara could see. “These should entice potential buyers.”
She studied the tiny screen, her plush lips turning up at the sides. She wore no makeup, but her cheeks were pinkened from the sun, and her eyes shone in the dappled sunlight. He’d seen models gussied up with two inches of makeup, designer clothing and multiple cosmetic enhancements, yet none were as beautiful as Ciara.
He was in trouble.
He still couldn’t believe he’d offered the ranch for her horse rescue. He didn’t regret it, but such decisions usually involved long and careful thought, hours of internal dialogue and consultation with accountants and other professionals. Undoubtedly it would involve a huge output of money, which he was unlikely to recover. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t about money.
It was about Ciara.
He’d also admitted to keeping the ranch for sentimental reasons. As usual, Ciara had barreled straight through his defenses, exposing the secrets he kept hidden. He’d all but shared his true reason for the offer: the chance to keep Ciara near.
Yet it would only be temporary. She planned to return to America. Even if he wanted… more… it would be impossible with an ocean separating them. Unless–
“She’s here.”
Rowan looked up from the tablet as Quinn led Sweetheart into the stable. Satisfaction rose, then seized, as the mare jerked skittishly, prancing on the ground like an amateur firewalker. Clearly terrified, nearly panicked, the distraught creature resisted his brother’s efforts to lead her.
Lowering the tablet to a table, Rowan slowly edged forward. “Easy now, girl.” He reached into his pocket, retrieved the bag of apple slices. She sniffed and hesitated, scooting away.
“You remember me, don’t you, darling?” He offered the fruit once more, exhaling as she finally nibbled the sweet treat. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’ll never hurt you.”
How could anyone hurt such a beautiful creature? But actually, he had once hurt someone just as beautiful. He swallowed a lifetime of remorse. Regrets and recriminations did nothing to negate what had been necessary. A small measure of hurt to spare a lifetime of pain.
“Who is this pretty lady?” Ciara, as always the object of his ponderings, edged to stand beside him. No doubt the perceptive lady was well aware of the horse’s discomfort.
Rowan smoothed the horse’s velvety flank with feather light touches. “This is Sweetheart. She’s the friend I was telling you about. I didn’t want to be away from her for too long.”
Ciara appeared as startled as Rowan felt. Had he actually admitted he missed a horse? Her regard was far too knowing. “She’s very sweet.”
“I assume that’s why she’s named Sweetheart.” Quinn looked at him suspiciously. “And you said Old Man Darton named her that?”
“That’s the rumor.”
