Free Harvest at Mustang Ridge by Jesse Hayworth Page A

horse, the two of them moving as one. His body tightened and his hands twitched away from his body, wanting to reach, to touch.
    Reining in the urge, he swallowed hard, trying to wet a throat gone suddenly dry. And as Klepto looked up at him and whined, he said aloud, “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” It didn’t seem to matter that she wasn’t the girl he used to know, because his body seemed to like the woman she had become just fine.
    *
    Don’t telegraph,
Krista told herself as Jupiter entered the arena.
Seat loose, body easy.
Because if there was one thing you didn’t want to do when riding a barely broke horse, it was clamp down. She hadn’t been braced to see Wyatt this early, though. Wasn’t sure she wanted to see him at all.
    “I’m impressed,” he called. “You two look ready for the ride-off.”
    “Thanks. So far, so good.”
    Hello, understatement. She wasn’t quite ready to label Jupiter a wunderkind, but the mare had soaked up her ground training in a few sessions and had taken to the saddle and bridle like she had worn them before. Krista didn’t think the mare was an escaped riding horse, though—it was more that every now and then a mustang came down off the range ready to learn. They watched the other horses being handled and ridden, absorbing the information by equine osmosis, and offering the behavior back without the usual
people are scary
and
ooh, don’t touch me there
reflexes of the typical wild mustang. Knock on wood, Krista was starting to think she had one of those horses on her hands, making her think the possibility of winning the competition wasn’t that farfetched after all. But at the same time, she knew that those savant-stangs could be like pressure cookers, going along at a nice boil until a bad training move turned up the heat too far and
bam
! Meltdown.
    It was up to her to make sure that didn’t happen, which was another reason she needed a top-notch horse trainer on her side. Foster would have been a perfect match for the mare. As for Wyatt . . . She patted the mare’s neck and murmured, “I hope you like him, girlfriend. Don’t get too attached, though. Odds are, he’s already looking for his pickup rider.” If he stayed the day, she’d be surprised. Eight weeks? No way. If he had really wanted to make things right, he would’ve done it before now.
    Note to self,
she thought as she guided Jupiter intothe arena,
keep looking for a new cowboy.
She had to replace Ty anyway. But as she got closer to where Wyatt leaned against the arena fence, watching them from beneath his tipped-down hat, a quiver took root in her stomach and worked its way outward. Because dang, he looked good standing there, surrounded by all the things that were important to her. More, wearing his trademark brown hat, sturdy jeans, good boots, and a work shirt that had seen some miles, he was one hundred percent cowboy. And she’d been programmed from birth to want herself a cowboy.
    Too bad this one came with an expiration date.
    He touched the brim of his hat. “Morning.”
    “You made it.”
Paging Dr. Obvious.
But what else was she supposed to say? It wasn’t like this was a big happy-happy reunion or some “welcome to Mustang Ridge” fanfare. It was business. Not to mention that she’d be darned if she thought about how she used to picture him making a grand entrance at Mustang Ridge, with them riding double on her favorite horse, complete with a brilliant sunset and the theme from
Chariots of Fire
playing in the background. Which was totally cheesy, sure, but she had been young and dumb.
    And now she was totally thinking about it.
Drat, drat, drat!
Trying not to scowl, she shoved the memories away.
    She could still see them in his eyes, though, hear them in his voice when he said, “This is a fine place you’ve got here, Krista. It’s everything you said it would be. Everything you wanted back then.”
    “Not everything,” she said, the words coming out level despite the