she’d provoke him into attacking her and press charges against him. She’d find some way to land Ryder Smith in jail, where he belonged.
No matter how breathtakingly handsome he was.
Then maybe she and her mom could find a modicum of peace.
Stepping over the high threshold in the small door cut into the front of the enormous old barn, Jeri paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the gloom. She walked down a wide aisle beneath the slanted roof, pausing to poke her head into a well-organized tack room. Everything seemed of good quality but utilitarian. She owned thousands of dollars’ worth of fancy tack, most of which she’d won, but like most serious riders and trainers, Jeri preferred simple, top-quality tack for everyday work. It seemed that someone at Loco Man Ranch thought the same way.
Through a wide-open space straight across from the tack room, she could see into the empty cavern of the center section of the barn. What she could see of a third section on the far side of the mammoth structure seemed to contain rooms and storage bins, with an old-fashioned hayrick above. Two doors, closed against the cold, filled the exterior wall at the front of the center section. A heavy, insulated curtain of cloudy, translucent plastic hung across the aisle just past the tack room, stretching to the nearest interior wall.
She heard a deep, warm, masculine voice speaking from behind the insulating drape.
“Steady on, girl. You wouldn’t be so anxious to get out of this stall if you knew how cold it is out there.”
In reply, a horse snuffled and clopped as it shifted its weight. Jeri thrust her arms through the slit in the drape and parted it just wide enough to slip through. The dirt floor of the stable aisle had been deeply raked and amply sanded with sawdust, but the stalls had been matted with rubber and overlaid with chopped flax. Impressed at the level of care, she looked into the first stall, where a tall, silver gray roan stood saddled and chewing its bit.
She moved on to the next stall, where she found a big red dun with a white blaze on its forehead. It, too, had been saddled. Across the way, she found a fat white pony with brown splotches, then two standard brown bays, both of good conformation but unremarkable, followed by an unusually colored gelding. Its coat, sort of a mousy gray-brown, was too dark for it to be a buckskin but lighter than that of a standard bay—a distinctive animal. Finally, in the next to the last stall, she came upon Ryder Smith tightening the saddle girth of an exquisite copper Perlino. Its pale gold coat seemed to pick up a pinkish glow from the fiery copper mane and tail.
“That’s a beauty,” Jeri said, hanging over the sliding, metal pipe gate.
“Yep.”
Obviously, he’d known she was coming, probably tracking her progress by the subtle shifts, blows and rumbles of the horses. This was a man who knew his animals. She tried not to like that about him.
Without so much as a glance in her direction, Ryder stooped to push a shoulder into the horse’s side, forcing it to release air as he tightened the girth. He had removed his gloves to keep them from getting caught in the straps. They hung from the back pocket of his jeans. Jeri snatched her gaze away, focusing on the mare.
“What’s her name?”
“Pearl.”
“Apt, very apt, given the lustrous quality of that coat. Is she fast?”
“Not particularly. She’s Tina’s horse, but she’s not been getting much exercise lately, so I thought we’d take her out.”
Jeri hated to disparage her hostess, but she wanted, needed, to poke at Ryder, see just how touchy he might be—and remind herself that she wasn’t there to stare at handsome cowboys.
“Hmm. Well, lots of people can’t be bothered to ride in the cold.”
He chuckled, the sound a mere rasp of air. “You might’ve noticed that Tina’s pregnant.”
“Sure. But I’ve known lots of pregnant women who rode right up to their last month.”
He spared her a glance then, one thick brow slightly arched, his smile a little crooked. “Were any of them carrying twins?”
“Twins,” Jeri echoed, surprised. “I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who’s had twins.”
“Come to that, I don’t guess I have, either.” He finished tucking the end of the girth and let down the stirrups. A horn tooted outside. Ryder wrapped the ends of the reins around a hook in a recess of the wall and turned to open the stall gate.
Instead of moving, Jeri just stood there, meeting his gaze, her hands clasped around the top rung of the metal. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to figure out what she was doing. The corner of his mouth quirked before widening into a lopsided smile. After a few moments, the horn sounded again.
“That’ll be Wyatt,” he said, the soft rumble of his deep voice washing over her in waves. “Excuse me.”
Jeri stepped back, perplexed and a little shaken. He was not the irritable, antsy, steroid-fueled maniac she’d expected. In fact, he seemed a quiet sort, gentle despite his obvious strength. And much, much too attractive.
He slid the gate open far enough to move through it, stepped around her and strode toward the front of the barn. She watched until he pushed through the slit in the drape. Only after the heavy plastic of the drape clacked and rustled together behind him did she even think to move. Stepping into the stall, she introduced herself to Pearl, blowing softly into the Perlino’s nostrils and gently rubbing between them. Then she pivoted and quickly followed Smith from the enclosure.
She heard the creaks and groans of the great doors as they opened, accompanied by blustery swirls of cold air and an influx of gray light. The sound of an engine followed. Jeri came around the end of the wall to see Ryder motioning a big bronze-colored dualie toward a flatbed trailer stacked with bales of hay. Wyatt got the truck positioned to mate the hitch and joined his younger brother at the trailer, nudging Ryder out of the way.
“I’ll take care of this if you’ll grab half a dozen salt blocks and put them in the bed of the truck.”
“Will do.”
Ryder disappeared into a room in the third section of the barn. Jeri trotted after him and got there just in time to meet him as he carried a fifty-pound block of salt mixed with other necessary minerals through the door.
“Here, let me take that,” she said.
“It’s heavy.”
“I carry them all the time.”
He didn’t argue. “Okay.”
Out of habit, she pushed back her sleeves and made a cradle of her arms. Stepping close, he carefully shifted the block into her arms. The unexpected warmth of his bare hands against the chilled flesh of her inner wrists shocked her. She dropped the block, which hit his left foot. Yelping, he yanked back, grimacing in pain. She braced herself for an explosion, but his only reaction was to gasp in a steadying breath, place his injured foot flat on the floor as if testing it and then shake his head.
She couldn’t stop her apology. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. My middle toes got the worst of it.”
“I don’t know what happened. I—”
“It’s okay,” he repeated, smiling at her. “I’ll be fine.”
Something fluttered in her chest. Confused, Jeri crouched over the fallen block, dug her hands beneath it, lifted it to her body and stood, pushing up with her legs. She had carried these heavy salt blocks many times. She knew exactly how to handle them without injuring herself. Or anyone else. And she knew that if she had dropped that heavy block on her own foot, she would be angry and shouting words she ought not