The Cowgirl's CEO. Pamela Britton
need to walk him for too long,” she said. Thumper’s hooves clip-clopped against the pavement. “He hardly broke a sweat.”
“Do you want me to cover his back?”
She was certain Ty must have seen the surprise in her eyes. A cold back might mean muscle spasms. “If you don’t mind,” she said. “There’s a wool cooler in the trailer. Green.”
He nodded before setting off. Caro slumped down on the steps, resting her head against the aluminum door. If she sat for a few minutes, she’d feel better. That’s the way it always was.
I grew up on a ranch.
It’d been fine to think he was handsome when he wasn’t her type—busy, bossy corporate execs weren’t her thing—but now she knew otherwise. He might not know anything about rodeos, but that wasn’t because he came from the city. Obviously, he just didn’t follow the sport. Until now. Until her.
Why did that make her feel odder still? She’d seen the hint of interest in his green eyes that first night. Was that part of the reason he’d agreed to sponsor her? Had his interest in her started before he’d met her?
And maybe your headache’s made you crazy!
“Feeling better?” he asked a few minutes later.
Caro’s head snapped up. Damn. He’d sneaked up on her.
“Uh, yeah,” she said. “I think.” She tried to move, tentatively at first, then slowly stood.
He’d been in the midst of coiling the lead rope, but stopped, one eyebrow lifted.
“Getting there,” she amended.
“Good.” His gaze lingering on her lips, and she froze.
Oh, no. No. No. No. You are not interested in him merely because you’ve learned he’s a cowboy. Cowboys are clowns, remember? Cowboys are to be avoided at all costs.
Remember David?
“Um, thanks,” she said. “But I should get to work.”
“About that,” he said, his mouth tipping into a slight smile.
Oh my.
Ty Harrison with a smile turned the three-alarm bells clanging in her head into an air-raid siren.
“I was thinking while walking old Thumper here,” he said, patting the horse’s neck. “What if I make you dinner?”
She was so busy trying to recover from that smile she found herself saying, “Huh?”
“I have a rental car. I can go out and get some steaks. You have an oven in there, I noticed. Why don’t I broil some up?”
“You want to make me dinner.”
“Yeah,” he said. The smile dissolved like salt in vinegar. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Mr. Harrison, I—”
“Ty,” he corrected.
Didn’t he see? He couldn’t be “Ty.” He could never be, not to her.
“Mr. Harrison,” she said, hoping he’d get the point. “That’s really kind of you, but I’m busy—”
“You need to eat.”
“I know. And I’ll grab something. Just not right now.”
“Actually,” he said, “I’m not giving you a choice, not when I need you hale and hearty for the NFR.” He held out Thumper’s lead rope. “I’ll have dinner ready by seven.”
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