Page 3 of One in a Million

“I won’t. I know my girl needs her beauty sleep.” He pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “’Night, all. If I’m not here in the morning, don’t come looking for me. I’ll just be with the mare or having coffee with the boys.”

“Do you want some company, Dad?” Jasmine asked. But Frank had left the room. In the kitchen, she heard him say a few words to the cook. Then the back door opened and closed as he headed outside. Never mind, Jasmine told herself as she excused herself and left the table. It was early, but she could read or watch TV for a while, then get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow morning, if she managed to catch up with Roper McKenna, things could get interesting.

As she washed her face and brushed her teeth, Simone’s words echoed in her memory.

You’re never going to make it as a movie star . . . Find a man who’ll take care of you. You’re not getting any younger.

Jasmine tried to shrug off the comment. Simone always seemed to be putting other people down. But what if she was right? Not about the man, of course. Jasmine’s marriage, at twenty, had been an eleven-month nightmare that had included an early miscarriage. She wasn’t in a hurry to try again, if ever. But the part about never making it as an actress had stung. True, she hadn’t been offered even a small movie part in more than six months. Even TV commercials, once her bread and butter, had dwindled to two or three a year. The agent call that never seemed to come had become a family joke.

She couldn’t live here and be Daddy’s baby doll forever. Maybe it was time she put on her big-girl panties and looked for other options.

But not tomorrow. Tomorrow, what she needed was a distraction—a tall, dark, and gorgeous distraction.

* * *

At 5:00 on Saturday morning, Roper pulled his battered Ford pickup into the Culhane Stables employee lot. After swigging the last of his coffee, he put the mug into the cup holder and climbed out of the truck to start the workday.

At any given time, there were between fifty and sixty horses on the Culhane Ranch. They belonged to Frank or to clients who paid to have their horses trained and boarded here. Some of the brood mares were pregnant or nursing foals. The other horses were required to be ridden every day.

The quarter horses currently in competition were usually trained by Frank. The rest of them—about forty animals, including the senior stallion, One in a Million—were Roper’s job. He decided which ones should be passed down to the assistant trainers. The rest were trained by Roper himself. By the time he’d exercised them all and put them through the turns, patterns, and slide stops of a reining display, the sun would be low in the sky.

Roper whistled an off-key tune as he strode toward the stable. The first rays of morning were painting the sky above the distant hills. Birds trilled from the pastures. A Mexican eagle flashed white-tipped wings as it swooped down on a rabbit in the yellow grass.

Roper liked his job, for now at least. Frank was a decent boss, and the pay was good. But he missed the clients and horses he’d left behind in Colorado, and he missed the freedom to compete. Frank had hired him on condition that he focus strictly on training and forget about entering contests. Roper had needed a good job close to home. Even more urgently, he’d needed an introduction to the big-money events. For now, he’d accepted the limitation. But he knew that he was good enough to hold his own in reining and cutting. Next year, he vowed, he’d be out there proving it. All he needed was knowing the right people and having the right horse.

As he entered the stable by the front door, Roper decided to start the day with a sharp dun mare at the far end. He would work his way forward, saving One in a Million for last. Riding the seasoned older stallion would be a relaxing way to end the day.

As usual, he was the first one here. By the time he’d wrapped the mare’s legs and saddled her, the stable hands and grooms had shown up—youngsters willing to shovel manure, haul feed, and rub down horses for their chance at a dream. They were local kids who lived in town, unlike the cowboys who tended cattle and slept in the bunkhouse.

Roper left the stall door open for the cleaner and rode the mare out of the barn into the spacious training arena. The dun mare was a client’s horse, three years old and in the early stages of training. Roper warmed her up, then started on circle patterns. She was smart, her hooves steady on the deep layer of sand, loam, and sawdust.

By now the sun was coming up. Giving the mare a pat and a moment’s rest, Roper found himself gazing toward the rear of the Culhane mansion. The patio was empty, sunlight sparkling on the surface of the pool. There was no sign of Frank’s glamorous daughter yet, but then, it was early.

He was aware that she watched him, but they’d never spoken. He didn’t even know her first name—but that didn’t matter because if they were to meet, he would address her as Miss Culhane, and he would keep his hands off her. If ever there was a shortcut to professional suicide, it was fooling around with the boss’s daughter—or worse, his wife.

Enjoy your day, Miss Culhane,he thought. You may be beautiful and sexy as hell, but I’ve been burned before, and it’s not going to happen again.

With that, he put the mare through one more pattern and rode her back inside, where the grooms waited to hose her down and put her away. His next horse was waiting, saddled, wrapped, and ready.

* * *

Dressed in jeans, boots, and a white shirt open to the third button, Jasmine strode down the corridor that separated the facing rows of stalls. The activity at the far end gave her hope that her timing was good. With luck, when Roper finished his ride, she’d be there to meet him. They wouldn’t be alone. That couldn’t be helped. But she had her story—and as the boss’s daughter, she could expect him to be agreeable.

As he rode in from the arena and swung off a filly, she stepped forward. Only then did he appear to notice her.

“Miss Culhane.” He tipped his hat. His eyes were dark gray, like clouds before a storm. His voice was cold to the point of indifference. “Is there something I can do for you?”

She gave him her most winning smile. “I know you’re working, so I won’t take much of your time. I’m just hoping you might be willing to do me a favor.”

“That depends. You’ve got five minutes to tell me about it. But no promises. I’m on the clock.”

“I understand.” She nodded, tilting her face at what she knew to be a flattering angle. “I promise to be on the clock, too. Cross my heart.” Her fingertip traced anXacross her chest, its path meant to draw his gaze downward to the hollow between her breasts.

“I’m listening,” he said. “Go on.”

“I’ve enjoyed riding in the past,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind trying it again. But it’s been a few years, and I’ve forgotten most of what I used to know. I could use your help in choosing a horse, and riding it—it shouldn’t take long, and you’d be paid extra for your time, of course. Come by tonight, after work, and we can talk about it—maybe over dinner. There’s a nice steak house in Willow Bend. What do you say?”

She’d at least expected some interest. But his expression was as icy as ever. “Miss Culhane, I work for your father. You should take this up with him, not me. If he wants me to help you, as part of my job, fine. If not, you’ll have to find another way. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got horses to exercise.”

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