"Well, Look what the cat dragged home," Tyler Ross muttered from the saddle of his horse when he noticed the vehicle speeding along the gravel road leading to the Oak Ridge Ranch.
He spurred the horse, making it move forward, cantering steadily across an open field. Smudge just loved to run. "Here’s your chance, boy." Tyler loosened his hold on the reins, a signal to which the stallion always responded. Hooves pounding the sun–baked rocky Texas terrain, the distance between them and the car increasing. Veering right, the stallion jumped the white rail fence, bursting onto the road just yards in front of the vehicle.
Smudge reared, pawing the air with both hooves flailing. All Tyler could do was sit tight to remain in the saddle, and wait for the stallion to stop rearing. The driver hit the brakes sharply, sending the shiny red Ford Mustang sideways and into a spin before skidding to a halt just ten feet from the horse.
Tyler patted the stallion, “Good boy," he said, praising his horse that’d stood his ground assertively. If there was one thing in his life that he could depend on, it was Smudge. The stallion never let him down — unlike the woman venting her fury from behind the car’s steering wheel.
The car door flew open. An ankle, encased in a sleek black high–heeled stiletto, appeared beneath the door. A blond head popped into view. Sunglasses concealed her eyes but not her pursed red lips. He didn’t need to see the bright green eyes behind the shades to know that Tiffany Reed was pissed. "Nice stop, bitch," he complimented her. There wasn’t a shred of country girl left in this thirty–year–old woman, whom he had known since she was a young girl with pigtails. Her expertly applied makeup hiding her freckled cheeks, her long blond glossy hair blowing gently in the warm breeze, reminding him of the long flowing mane on his Palomino mare.
With shoulders stiff and back straight, she marched forward, her stride shortened by a tight, short skirt and her inability to walk in such high stilettos. The strong breeze plastering her mauve–colored silk blouse to her breasts — breasts he could remember all too well….
She halted, stumbling in front of his horse, waving her red–tipped finger wildly. "How’s my beautiful Smudge?" she squealed, giggling with delight, before gently pushing aside the forelock to reveal a white star on the animal’s forehead.
Her Smudge? It was his damn horse! The way the stallion was snorting at her, you’d believe Tiffany had been the one to spend hour upon hour training the animal. She lifted her head and slid her glasses up onto her forehead, where they held back her flowing locks, revealing dark green eyes, glinting like emeralds in the bright sunlight
"Well, I don’t see that you’ve changed much," she hissed.
"And what’s that supposed to mean?"
"Still like a good race, I see."
His mind wandering back some fifteen years to the day, when they’d raced horses along this very road. He never expected her to be so fearless. In her determination to win, she’d pushed her horse too hard, almost causing it to fall. His heart had stalled and he rode his horse harder to catch the reins, slipping from her grasp. That was the day he’d realized he was falling in love for the boss’s daughter.
Refusing to give this woman a reason to assume he’d pined away for her all these years; he forced his face to remain impassive. He hadn’t pined, nor had given Tiffany more than a second thought for the past twelve years. Angry that she’d riled him, he snapped, "You took your time coming home."
Her gaze shifted east to the gently sloping terrain surrounding them. "I was in Europe — you know that."
Yeah, he did. He’d been the one tracking her halfway around the globe, to leave a message with the desk clerk at the Savoy in London informing Tiffany that her father had died of a heart attack, just two days later. When she finally managed to return Tyler’s call, her beloved father Ben Reed was already dead and buried.
