Free The Colton Ransom by Marie Ferrarella Page A

what they would find at the end.
    “That doesn’t have anything to do with it,” she informed him, dismissing his implication. What they were about to do had nothing to do with the way she felt. He had no way of knowing why she was reacting to her surroundings this way.
    He didn’t believe her, but out of curiosity to see just how far she was willing to go in order to sustain a lie, he asked, “Then what does?”
    Her answer wasn’t what he expected.
    “This rodeo.” With no people milling around, the rodeo was stripped down to its lowest level, like an aging, once beautiful prom queen whose makeup had faded and was badly in need of a touch-up. “I really hate rodeos.”
    Trevor laughed, thinking she was making some kind of a lame joke. When he realized she was serious, he looked at her skeptically. “That’s almost un-American.”
    It was her turn to shrug carelessly.
    He took it to mean that she wasn’t bothered by the label he’d temporarily affixed to her.
    “Why do you hate rodeos?” he asked.
    His tone demanded an answer and did not allow her to ignore the question. So she didn’t. It had happened five years ago, anyway—just before he came to be their head of security. “Because Kyle Buchanan, after stealing my heart, decided to leave me for the rodeo.”
    The confession, coming the way it did, caught him by surprise. “Kyle Buchanan,” he repeated, then guessed, “Your boyfriend?”
    She studied a black mark on his dashboard before answering. “My first.”
    Trevor snorted dismissively at the information. “Thought you’d have better taste than to get involved with some guy who didn’t have a brain.”
    It took Gabby a beat to realize just what her father’s head of security was saying to her. That in his own way, Trevor Garth was actually paying her a compliment. Still, she could feel herself growing defensive over his tone.
    “You don’t pick who you fall in love with,” she told him.
    “Maybe not,” Trevor allowed in an off-handed manner. “But you can either choose not to fall in love or to follow through with it.”
    Before she could find her tongue to take a stab at a coherent answer, Trevor had got out of the truck and called out to one of the rodeo clowns he spotted leaving the grounds. The man was still in partial makeup.
    The clown stopped walking and Trevor crossed over to him.
    “You seen Dylan Frick around?” he asked the other man.
    Recognition filled the clown’s brown eyes and his expression beneath the crimson makeup softened. “You mean Doc?” he asked.
    “Doc?” Trevor repeated, slightly confused. “He’s not a vet,” he told the clown. “The guy I’m looking for works with the animals, horses mostly. Kinda has a way with them,” he added.
    Around the ranch, some of the hands referred to Dylan as a horse whisperer, someone who could almost get into a horse’s mind, understand the way the animal thought and somehow manage to get them to do whatever he wanted them to do. For the most part, he assumed that it was a good thing.
    The clown nodded. “Yeah, that’s him. We call him Doc ’cause that’s short for Dr. Doolittle. He communicates with the animals,” he explained. Then, to prove his point, the clown told him a story. “He worked with a horse that had gone lame. Rest of us thought it was the glue factory for Wyoming Pride, but not Doc. He worked with that animal day and night, and damn if he didn’t get that stallion to high step proudly again. The rest of us at the rodeo just took to calling him ‘Doc.’ Seemed only fitting.”
    Trevor wasn’t interested in stories or explanations; he just wanted to get this part over with.
    “Well, do you know where I can find Doc?” he pressed impatiently.
    “Not sure,” the clown answered honestly. “But if he’s not working, he’d be in that trailer over there.” The man pointed out one that was parked close to a corral. Some of the horses were being kept there for the next series of events once