Page 79 of Christmas at Hart's Ridge

But here, this office, was his place of business. Dad was the owner and manager of Blue Skies Farm, a training facility for ranch and rodeo horses in California. Our house was located on the property, but Dad resisted mixing business and family. A little hard to do, what with me working here. Still, we managed.

I had a good feeling about this.

Six years ago had been different. I was only twenty-four then and not ready for the responsibility of being assistant head trainer at one of the country’s foremost horse training facilities, although I couldn’t see that at the time. To my way of thinking, I’d had twenty-five years of experience with horses in general and Blue Skies Farm in particular.

Horses were in my blood. I was a colicky baby, and Mom swore the only way to soothe me was to strap me to her chest, saddle Redford, the gentlest, calmest horse at the stable, and go for a ride. Growing up, as Dad worked to expand the training facility into the large operation it was today, I spent every spare minute in the stables, shadowing my dad and the other trainers. No one knew this farm or the horses better than me.

But that wasn’t enough to be head trainer, or even the second in command. It hurt to hear Dad say that at the time, but he was right. So I left Blue Skies for quarter horse facilities in Texas and Oklahoma. I learned new techniques and gained exposure to new ideas, working my way up without the benefit—or detriment—of being the boss’s daughter.

A year ago, Dad called me home again, to take the position of assistant trainer. Of course I came straight away. I never said no to Dad.

Then a month ago, Walter, our head trainer at Blue Skies, retired to spend more time with his wife and grandchildren. I loved Walter—he had never shooed me away as a child, unlike so many other employees—but I knew an opportunity when I saw it. And this time, I was ready for it. More than ready. I wasrightfor it.

“I have good news, James.” Dad settled back in his burgundy leather wingback chair and clasped his hands over his stomach. “I think you’re going to be very happy.”

Relief whooshed through me. Even though I knew I deserved this promotion, that I had earned it, a small part of me doubted he would actually give it to me. In the back of my mind was the niggling warning that he had never hired a woman before, foranyposition, other than his own daughter.

“Let’s hear it,” I encouraged, trying to walk the line between confident and smug.

“We’re creating a new position here at Blue Skies. A trainer specializing in women’s rodeo events. That has long been a weakness of ours and I’m looking to change that.”

That wasn’t what I had expected him to say, but it made sense. It was an opportunity for growth, and as head trainer, I would be responsible for bringing the new trainer on board and ensuring the program’s success. My first challenge as head trainer for Blue Skies. I was practically giddy with excitement, but I swallowed my gleeful squeal. Dad didn’t approve of squealing, gleeful or otherwise. At least, not in the stables.

I nodded slowly. “I think that’s an excellent idea. Off the top of my head, I’d consider Allison Fields, Jessica Valdez, or Christy Sullivan as contenders for the position. Should I start making calls? Gauge their interest?”

Dad’s lips twitched. “That won’t be necessary. I already have someone in mind.”

“Oh.” I tamped down my disappointment. Dad was a control freak. I knew that. Convincing him to loosen the reins wasn’t going to be easy or quick. Still, I had thought he would at least want my opinion. “Who were you thinking?”

“You.” He grinned at me, as though he expected me to shout with joy. When I stared at him blankly, his brow furrowed. “I want you to oversee the new program focusing on women’s events.”

“Me?”

He nodded.

“Carl, I—” I looked around the room, my gaze moving across the various photographs of champion horses and rodeo events without really seeing anything at all. My brain whirled. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“Sure, you can. Who better? You were the junior world championship barrel racer in your day.”

I smiled wryly. True, I had competed and won during my high school years. But my heart was in training, not competing, so I had given it up when I graduated rather than go pro, much to the disappointment of both my parents. “What I mean is that—”

“And you have some experience as a trainer, too. I have full confidence that you will make this program a success.”

Some experience. “Thanks,” I said dryly.

Honestly, he wasn’t wrong. I would begreatat the new position. But I had my ambitions set higher than that, and there was no way I could do both at the same time.

“I’m flattered, Carl”—because he was never Dad at work—“but realistically, I can’t oversee the startup of a new program while fully committing to my duties as head trainer. It’s just not possible. There aren’t enough hours in the day.”

“James.” He cleared his throat. “We’ve decided to go in a different direction. Jim Stanford will be taking Walter’s place as lead trainer.”

I must have heard wrong. The room was so quiet all I could hear was the distant sounds of horses neighing. I wasn’t breathing, I realized, and inhaled sharply to rectify that. “What?”

“Jim Stanford. He starts Monday. You’ve met him before, remember? At that rodeo in Oklahoma.”

“I remember.”

“He’s got experience under his belt. Knows what it takes to compete. To win. He’s been working under Harrison at Silver Stables in Idaho, so he knows his stuff. Good guy.”

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