Free Knight in a White Stetson by Claire King

this Idaho desert. He should flee to California and his ordered life as soon as possible. But that was impossible, for more reasons that just this wild-driving, belly-laughing, chestnut-haired cowgirl.
    “You were such a jerk tonight,” she said. She had finished dabbing at her eyes and had turned back to face the stall. She reached out a long, suntanned foot and scratched Bubba’s back with her toes.
    “I know. Sorry.”
    Calla looked at him, surprised, suspicious.
    “I didn’t expect such a quick apology,” she said.
    “Disappointed, I’ll bet.”
    “Oh, funny.”
    “No, I’ll bet you had a good hour’s worth of scolding all saved up, didn’t you?”
    “I don’t scold.”
    Henry grinned. “The heck you don’t.”
    They were silent for a moment.
    “You drove Clark to it, you know. He’s really very nice.”
    “Well, that must be exciting.”
    Another minute passed. Henry breathed steadily beside her. His heart had slowed somewhat, but the tension in him was intense. He was glad it was dark in the barn. He would have been somewhat embarrassed if she’d been able to look down and see just how little control he had over his libido these days.
    “You didn’t have to make all that stuff up about Harvard and MIT. You’re not in competition with Clark.”
    “No?”
    “Come on, Henry. It was one little kiss.”
    “I may have had a lot to drink tonight, but I remember a lot more than just one little kiss. I remember everything, in fact. Down to the very finest detail.”
    His voice was calm and serious. Calla shifted away from him a bit, her toes still on the warm back of Benny’s horse.
    “Whatever. It was no excuse for lying.”
    “I wasn’t lying.”
    “Henry, please. I don’t care. You’re a good hand. I’m happy to have you.”
    “Thanks. I’m happy to be had. But I’m still not lying.”
    She peered at him through the dusty gloom. “You’re a doctor?”
    “Well, of chemical engineering. I couldn’t have done anything for Lester if you’d hit him any harder tonight.” He smiled at the memory of Helen fussing over her bald, rummy lover. He wondered what Calla looked like fussing over someone. “The best I could have done was come up with a good formula for encasing his head in polypropylene-based membrane until the paramedics arrived.”
    “Don’t laugh at me.”
    “I’m definitely not laughing at you, Calla.”
    She dropped down into the stall with Bubba and walked slowly around him, her hand on his wide rump. Henry frowned at her bare feet and considered whether he should rescue her before the old horse crushed her toes. He decided against it.
    “What are you really doing here, Henry?” she asked after a long minute.
    “I’m really working for you.”
    “You have a Ph.D., if I’m not mistaken. And it’s not in riding fences.”
    “Changing sprinklers,” Henry corrected.
    Calla closed her eyes, gathering patience. “He didn’t mean that. He was just upset. You certainly drove him to it.”
    “You always fight his battles, Calla?”
    “No.” She shook her head. “I mean, I’m not fighting his battle.”
    Henry ignored her. “Because if you do, it’s going to be a long life for you.”
    “You didn’t answer my question.”
    “That makes us even.”
    “What?” She twisted her head in honest confusion. Sweet Calla. Henry wanted to lie down with her right in that straw-filled stall. It had taken him a while to see past the unbelievable body and the unflinching toughness, but this woman, for all the responsibility she carried on those lovely shoulders, was about the most naive person he’d come across in years. He thought he could fall in love with her for that alone.
    “You didn’t answer my question this afternoon in the stack yard. About Dartmouth.”
    Calla put her forehead on Bubba’s flank, hiding her flushed face. “As I recall, I didn’t have much of a chance.”
    “You’ve got one now.”
    She was quiet a moment.
    “Yes,” she said