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“You know what I’d really like to do right now?”
“I can’t wait to hear this,” he said, and her eyes twinkled.
“It’s also been a while since a boy kissed me on a porch swing.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking, Mallory.”
“Actually, I do … oh.” She huffed a sigh then said, “And here’s where I should probably get off your lap and pretend like this never happened. If, you know, I could actually do that—”
“Oh, God, no, honey—” Zach grabbed her hand and pressed it to his chest. “That did not come out the way I meant it. Because trust me, I’ve been thinking about kissing you, too. For some time, actually.”
Her lips curved. “You don’t say.”
“God’s truth,” he said, and she chuckled, low in her throat. “But … it’s been a while since I’ve kissed a girl, too. On a porch swing or anyplace else. And I—”
“Think far too much, is how you want to finish that sentence,” she murmured, then curved her hands around his jaw and brought their mouths together.
And in that instant, he knew kissing her would never be enough.
* * *
Wed in the West: New Mexico’s the perfect place to finally find true love!
Back in the
Saddle
Karen Templeton
KAREN TEMPLETON is a recent inductee into the Romance Writers of America Hall of Fame. A three-time RITA® Award–winning author, she has written more than thirty novels for Mills & Boon. She lives in New Mexico with two hideously spoiled cats. She has raised five sons and lived to tell the tale, and she could not live without dark chocolate, mascara and Netflix.
To Jewel Kats
Who planted the seed.
Thanks, sweetie.
To Kari Lynn Dell
Who answered my horse/ranching/rodeo questions with her usual aplomb, good humor and patience. If I goofed, that’s my fault, not hers.
Contents
“So I gather you know a fair amount about horses?”
With an actual sigh, the getting-up-there Boston terrier slid down on the exam table in front of Zach Talbot and promptly went to sleep. This might take a while, wake me when she’s done.
She being the auburn-haired Texan female of indeterminate age who’d brought the dog into Zach’s clinic three times in the two weeks since she—and her daughter, she’d mentioned more than once—had moved into the old Hufsteter place a ways out of town. Completely renovated, she’d said. Beautiful house. Reminded her of home.
Not that Zach minded chatter, as a general rule. At least it kept him from curling up in a ball inside his own head. However, since he’d yet to find anything really wrong with the little dog, other than a general slowing down due to old age, he was guessing Dorelle Keyes had ulterior motives. Motives that Zach strongly suspected had something to do with this hitherto unseen daughter.
One hooded doggy lid briefly fluttered open as if to say You got it, buddy, before drifting closed again, and Zach met Dorelle’s sharp—oh, so sharp—green gaze.
“As part of my practice, sure.” After gently rubbing the dog between the ears—which got a soft groan—Zach scribbled down a couple notes for Shantelle at the front desk to add to Edgar’s chart, then glanced back at Dorelle. Remembered to smile. “Why?”
“Oh. Well, Mallory—” the daughter “—is thinking about buying a horse for her boy. She’s...” Dorelle glanced around, then practically mouthed, “Divorced. And his daddy has custody at the moment—” Her red-lipsticked mouth slammed shut, as though she’d realized she’d gotten stuck in that narrow wedge between discretion and oversharing. “Anyway, when we noticed the stalls out back, that was the first thing we thought of, how much Landon might like to have a horse to ride when he’s here. So I was wondering if maybe you knew of someone local who might be selling. And you strike me as somebody we could trust.”
His mouth twitching, Zach adjusted his glasses. Although his own mother had always said he had one of those faces. However...
“Horses take a lot of work, ma’am—”
“And while I appreciate that your mama obviously taught you to respect your elders, trust me, no woman past a certain age actually likes to be ma’amed.”
“My apologies, m—Mrs. Keyes.”
“Apology accepted. And second... I know how much work horses take. Mallory’s daddy was a rancher. So we know what to do. We just don’t know who to see. Landon’s eleven, by the way. Far as I’m concerned he should’ve had his own horse long ago. But life had other ideas.”
Not for the