A jaded executive needs to save a horse and ride a cowboy instead.
* * * * *
When a careless mistake forces Manhattan financier and champion show jumper Alejandra Barros into a posh Colorado rehab facility as a term of keeping her jet-set...
But unlike before in the bar when he seemed just as surprised as she'd been, this time Hank caught her. And not only were his hands tightly wrapped around her waist, but he also didn't seem to be in much of a hurry to let go. Lifting her gaze, Ali was just about to thank him for the assistance when she looked into his eyes and lost the ability to speak.
Never in her life had she felt such intimacy with a man as she did in that exact moment. There was an aura of comfort and safety that just radiated off his being. Her growing physical attraction to him was also undeniable, making the whole thing feel even more ridiculous.
Ali didn't believe in love at first sight, and she was too mature to allow lust to take over her feelings like this. Yet three days ago she hadn't even laid eyes on him, and now she was standing in the pouring rain, cradled in Hank's arms, and imagining what his lips would feel like on hers . . ..
"Are you okay?" asked Hank, infuriatingly unbothered by the situation.
Still lost for words, Ali nodded and pushed herself out of his grip. Following him to the tethered horse in the downpour took her full attention, so she was unprepared for Hank's plan when they finally got to the agitated horse.
"Hop on," he said, nodding toward the saddle as he held the bridle. The stallion had his ears drawn back and was already nervously shifting from foot to foot, but when lightning struck directly overhead with a huge boom, he reared onto his hind legs.
"Whoa." Hank stepped back while keeping a firm grip on the bridle.
Ali wasn't so calm as she struggled to pace her breathing. Even as the frequency of her gasps increased, she felt as though she wasn't getting enough air.
"Hurry before he freaks again," Hank urged, but she shook her head.
"I thought . . . I thought we were going on foot." She teetered on the verge of fainting and crying. She wanted to get on. It was only reasonable. Yet her body refused. "There's only one horse—"
"We don't have time for this. Do you need a boost?" His expression was stern as he squinted through the rain cascading down the rim of his hat.
Ali searched his eyes for a gleam of sympathy. "I'm sorry, but I can't," she said, her voice cracking through the whisper.
"Why the hell not?" he asked with unmasked frustration. "Just scoot up as far as you can, and I'll lead from behind."
In spite of the protection of the coat, she began to tremble. Snippets of memories flashed in her brain as she relived what she'd been trying so desperately to forget for the last few weeks. She could smell the sweet leather polish she'd used to prep Seneca's tack with Robert by her side and taste the grit in her mouth while she took the first half of the obstacle course with ease, but the visions became overwhelming as she remembered what she'd felt on that fateful afternoon.
Exhilaration at the reckless approach of the obstacle. Helplessness at the sudden realization of not being able to stop. Terror at the impending consequences of the inevitable crash. Consequences she was now living with. Consequences she had no control over. Consequences that were still completely her fault.
"I . . . I'm deathly afraid . . . of riding horses," she stammered. "Have been my entire life."
Hank looked down at his boots and kicked the mud. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered. Shaking his head, he appeared to be having some type of internal debate before raising his eyes again. "I guess we're walking, then."
He untied the horse and led it out from under the trees. Relieved he hadn't forced the issue, Ali bumbled beside him as she tried to keep up in the ankle-deep muck. Glancing at Hank's face, she saw his lips were pulled into a hard line and his gaze focused squarely on the washed-out path ahead.
He was undeniably angry, and he had every right to be. And that was from knowing only half the truth. It was bad enough she'd ignored warnings not to venture into the mountains before the storm, but if Hank found out she was lying about why she couldn't get on the horse, he'd probably saddle up and leave her to fend for herself.
But how would he understand her recent aversion to horses when she couldn't even explain it to herself?
Ali groaned and balled her fists, the fingers of her right hand digging uncomfortably into the fiberglass cast. Distracted, she misplaced her foot and tripped again on the oversized duster.
"Wait. Stop," she pleaded as she removed the garment. "I can't walk in this. Take it."
Instead of doing as she asked, he unbuttoned his shirt. Peeling off the wet flannel, he handed it over in exchange for the jacket. "It won't keep you dry, but at least it's long-sleeved." This left him in just jeans and a white T-shirt that stuck to every inch of his muscular upper body. When he noticed Ali staring, he explained, "In case of flying debris."
Perplexed that he had the foresight to even think of such a thing, Ali silently slipped on the shirt and continued the trek back to Pebble Creek. She had no idea how long it actually took, but she was numb by the time they reached the lodge's stables. Like a lighthouse calling wayward ships back into port, the glow from its windows signaled the safe end to their journey.
Met by a pacing Liz, who looked ten years older from worry, Ali didn't have a chance to either thank or apologize to the man responsible for getting her back down the mountain. As Hank set to tending to his horse while Liz ushered her toward the main building, Ali felt more alone than ever.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
