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  “No one better than me.”

  “If I can’t work with you, what good is your expertise?” she parried, confident he’d give in.

  “I told you I’d share,” he returned with a sparkle in his eye.

  “I’ll find someone else.” She turned and began to walk away again. She took several steps and thought he was going to let her go when she heard his gravelly whisper.

  “Ten thousand.”

  She turned her head toward him to hear better. “What?”

  His expression had changed. The sparkle had left his eye and the smile, although still there, was not the same. “Ten thousand dollars, in advance, and you can sleep in my bed—alone.”

  Alexandria’s mind raced. His price was outrageous, but he was the best, and being a wheeler and dealer herself, she could appreciate the chance he was taking. But why? Either he was willing to sell himself and his bed or he wasn’t. What difference did more money make when she was already paying dearly to get the best? Like a hawk searching for prey, her keen instincts told her that despite his casual treatment of the deal he offered, Jackson Morgan was not a man to sell himself. He needed the money. It was as simple as that, and in an instant, Alexandria knew she held the upper hand.

  “All right. Ten thousand. You sleep in the bunkhouse.”

  He grinned again. “Nope. I’ll take the couch in the office.” He turned his back to her and began to walk away. “Give me fifteen minutes and you’ll have your room.”

  She’d won, but that invigorating feeling wasn’t quite there, and a tiny voice inside her questioned her success. “I’ll be ready to ride in a half hour,” she announced sharply, intent upon defining her place in this deal.

  He stopped, turned to her, and smiled like he knew something she didn’t. Every bit of confidence she’d just forced disappeared.

  CHAPTER 2

  “I thought Hesperia said you could ride a horse?” Jackson’s voice boomed across the open arena as Alexandria loped down the rail. “You have to use your legs to cue him. That horse isn’t going to work by mental telepathy. Gather him up with your reins and stop.”

  Alexandria’s body cried out in pain, but she tried to squeeze her legs and sit down as she pulled the bay gelding to a stop. The instant she squeezed with her legs, the horse shot forward. To compensate, she used her hand harder and he stopped instantly, on his front end, jarring her to the bone and throwing her over his withers.

  It was useless. There was nothing left of her to make another attempt. She dropped the reins and slumped in the saddle, wishing she could step off into a sauna and then on to one of Girta’s fabulous whole-body massages. Paul was going to owe her big time for this. She was hot and sticky, and of all the things in the world she could be doing, this was not her first choice. Jackson’s voice brought her back to reality.

  “That musta shook every tooth in your head loose. A pile driver kind of stop like that is really hard to ride. You need to get him to sit down and slide.”

  Alexandria managed to turn her head enough to cast a scathing look at her tormentor, who strolled close enough to rest his hand on the bay horse’s shoulder.

  “You’ve been in the saddle an hour, and you’re sloppy as hot bacon grease. How long has it been since you rode?”

  As soon as she caught her breath enough to speak, Alexandria was going to answer, but for the moment, all she could do was suck in the hot San Joaquin Valley air and be thankful she was still mounted.

  “I…well, I…” she gulped for breath.

  Jackson watched her, no sign of mercy in his sour expression. “I know you haven’t been on a horse lately, and by the way you use your hands, I know you’ve never been on a trained, finished horse.”

  Alexandria slid down from the saddle, secretly hoping her jellied legs would hold her weight, and faced him squarely. “I’ll have you know I rode with Olympic hopefuls.”

  “Can I safely assume they’re still hoping, or are they too old to get out of a wheelchair?”

  Alexandria shot him her best steely, knock-’em-dead glare. “Several of them are now eventing in international circles and doing very well, I might add.”

  Jackson shook his head. “OK, so you rode English. Have you ever set a Western saddle before?”

  “Well…” For the first time, Alexandria wondered just what Hesperia had told him. She searched for the appropriate answer. “Of course. I’ve been down into the Grand Canyon—”

  “On vacation,” he laughed a bit more rudely than called for. “I’m talking about working.”

  The man was infuriating, and Alexandria tried to laugh right back at him. “Work? You’re trying to tell me about work?” She propped her hands on her hips to keep from lunging at his throat. “I’ll tell you about work, Mr. Morgan. I have built a reputation for being tough and I didn’t get it by ‘vacationing.’ I work fourteen-, sixteen-, and eighteen-hour days, and I know I can work circles around you. I’m paying you to teach me how to ride a cutting horse. Whatever Hesperia told you, and whatever my personal history is, it is none of your business and it has no bearing on our deal. You say you’re the best, then prove it by teaching me.”

  Jackson raised one brow, but stood his ground under fire. She had spunk, and he liked a woman who could speak her mind. “You act like a green bronc on a cold morning. If you were to ask me, and I realize you haven’t, I’d say you ought to calm down. Even if you had never been on a horse before, I can teach you to ride. I just need to know what I’ve got.” His brown eyes focused on her. “You’ve just been assessed, Miss Payne.”

  Caught in the depths of his soft brown eyes, she narrowed her focus, directed a scathing glare at him, and tapped the toe of her brand-new boot in the dirt. She was unable to decide if he was speaking from a purely business standpoint or if he was toying with her. “And, Mr. Morgan, what have you decided?”

  “You have potential.” His face showed little emotion, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that she read as a challenge.

  “Your hands and your legs need work, and you don’t know much about riding faster than a walk, but you have a natural feel for the horse that will really come alive if you can ever figure out the timing and how to relax and let the horse do what he’s supposed to. The first week we’ll spend toughening you up, and I mean your body, Miss Payne, not your mind or that pretty little mouth of yours.”

  She began to say something, but he held his hand up and stopped her.

  “The second week, we’re going to put you on a few cows and see what you’ve learned. We might get you to a jackpot to let you face a little friendly competition, and the third week, I hope we can fix all the problems that crop up unexpectedly. The last week of your training, there is a pretty good sized cutting at Rancho Temecula and we’ll be working toward that as your goal. If you make it there, in front of our family of cutters, you’ll be able to hold your own anywhere, provided you have a good horse under you. There won’t be a minute to rest, and I can guarantee you that you’ll be glad to hit the sack every night. Do you think you can take it?”

  Alexandria breathed deep and smiled. “I can see why you’ve done well in your chosen field, Mr. Morgan. You get right to the point and I like that, but let me make it clear. I have a limited amount of time, and I’m no stranger to long hours. I may be from the city, but I am used to getting what I want; right now I want to ride a cutting horse.”

  His smile disappeared, and his gaze roved her face long enough for him to see how serious she was. “You’re a tough nut. If you can stand the heat, we’ll get along fine.”

  “Good. We finally understand each other.” Alexandria punctuated her final word by flicking her thick blonde braid back over her shoulder—a childish move, but designed to show the proper amount of defiance. That defiance was calculated to hide the fact that inside, she was trembling from the confrontation. She had faced corporate magnates, bank presidents, and even generals without so much as a flicker of anxiety, but this trainer, this cowboy, seemed to be able to
look right through her and settle somewhere between her very logical mind and her soul.

  So far, she had struggled every moment to maintain her invincible-me attitude when he was around. She stared into his dark chocolate eyes and wondered if she was pulling off her act, infuriated since she was used to being the one who normally kept others wondering and on their toes. “We have a half hour before lunch,” she said. “Do you want me back on the horse, Mr. Morgan?”

  “Yes,” Jackson said matter-of-factly as he nodded his head. “I want you to walk him out and cool him off—”

  “You don’t have grooms to do that?”

  “No. You need to learn everything about how that horse feels, and from what I’ve seen, we’ve got a long way to go. I repeat, walk him out and cool him off good before you put him up. When he’s cool, I want you to strip the saddle and put it back in the tack room, and then I want you to put the horse back in his stall after you brush him down. I also want you to stop calling me Mr. Morgan. Call me Jackson.”

  There is more than one way to skin a cat, Jackson thought as he declared himself the winner of this round. And Alexandria Payne was certainly a cat he’d enjoy skinning.

  He watched her haul herself into the saddle even though her legs shivered in utter exhaustion. When she moved the horse away, he couldn’t help but be more than a little impressed with her tenacity. She had a lot to learn, but she was gamy. If he’d pushed any other student as hard as he had pushed her in a couple of hours, they would have fallen apart and given up. He couldn’t afford to spend a month with an airhead from the city with so many big shows coming up. Jackson folded one arm over the other. He also couldn’t afford to lose money from his regular customers.

  Alexandria walked the horse while Jackson went to the barn office to catch up on billing and veterinary records. After a few minutes, he glanced out the door and saw the bay horse tied in the alley and caught glimpses of her brushing the gelding’s back and rear. Alexandria was tall. He saw her shoulders and whole face above the horse’s back and noted the soft glow of her heat-moistened skin. She had one of those square faces produced by great-looking cheekbones and a strong chin and jaw. No wonder she did so well in business, he thought as he propped his chin on one hand and continued to watch her. This was his first opportunity to examine Alexandria Payne without having to deal with her at the same time.

  She moved to the left side of the horse, and he could see her well through the doorway.

  Her rear fit nicely in the Lucky blue jeans that were obviously brand new, and when she brushed across the horse’s back and side, the view as she wiggled into her job was pleasant if not impressive. Pulled back in a neat, functional French braid, her blonde hair moved gently across her back. She had a rider’s figure: slender, not too busty, and very athletic for a person who spent most of her time in an office. There was no reason she wouldn’t do well. He was curious to know why she had only thirty days “to learn everything he knew,” but sensed she wouldn’t tell him even if he asked.

  It didn’t matter anyway; in fact, all that mattered was that her check was good. As he tapped his pen on the desk and pondered his good timing, the phone rang.

  “Morgan Training Stable,” he answered automatically.

  “Hey there, young fella. How’s come you’re not on a horse?”

  “Ev.” Jackson’s face lit up. “Good to hear your hang-dog old voice. Are you going to get up here to see me?”

  “Maybe in a couple of weeks. I have to deliver horses to Oklahoma City first. I sold that nice little Doc Bar mare to a high school girl and want to get her settled in right.”

  “Sounds like you’re busy as usual. I just finished a lesson,” Jackson said.

  “I thought you weren’t giving lessons, just training,” Everett said quietly.

  Jackson drew in a deep breath, leaned back in his chair, and hoped he could avoid the truth. “Well, this one kind of intrigues me. She’s hell-bent on learning to cut.”

  “She, huh. I bet she’s pretty as a heifer in a flower bed and has a pretty-please smile.”

  “I haven’t noticed either one,” Jackson lied.

  “Uh-huh.” A long silence followed. “Well, I guess you’re old enough to know what you can handle.”

  “Stop playing father, Ev,” he said as Alexandria stepped into the open doorway. She leaned on the jamb, as alluring a picture as Jackson had ever seen, and smiled. “I do know what I’m doing,” he said, eyeing her carefully.

  “Guess old habits die hard, Jackson; you know you’re like a son to me. Ya need anything?”

  “Nope. Just looking forward to your visit. We’ll get a good game of dominoes going.”

  “Well, all right. See you at the end of the month.”

  Jackson hung up and arranged the paperwork and pens on the desk before saying anything. “All your chores done?”

  “Of course,” she answered.

  “Hungry?”

  “I thought meals weren’t included.”

  “Ordinarily they’re not, but I’m going to eat and I thought you might be hungry too. Besides, for ten thousand, I’ll throw in meals.”

  Alexandria chose to ignore his jab and replied, “I could eat a horse.”

  He stood, sobered, serious. “Not around here.” He moved toward the door. “Peanut butter and jelly is on the menu today.”

  Alexandria’s involuntary shudder brought a smile to his face. She swallowed and he suspected she was swallowing her high-priced tastes in dreaded anticipation of peanut butter.

  Once inside the mobile home on the hill, Alexandria immediately went to the bathroom and washed up. Despite the small, cramped quarters, it was heavenly to wash the mud and sludge off her face and hands. There was no washrag available and nothing but Lava soap, so she was forced to stick her face in the sink and splash plain water all over until she felt revived and almost fresh. She grabbed a towel from the rack and buried her face in it.

  “What are you doing in there?” Jackson called out from the kitchen. “You haven’t fallen in, have you?”

  Alexandria opened the door and stepped out, feeling better, but still not entirely clean. “I can see I should have brought my own linens. That towel is…” She rethought the direction she was headed. “Well, I don’t want to dirty your only towel.”

  He rolled his eyes. “There are lots more in the closet between the sink and shower, and I have a wonderful, new-fangled thing called a washing machine.”

  She smiled politely. “Yes, well, be that as it may, I’m sure it will be better if I bring my own.”

  Earlier, when she had hurriedly thrown her bags in Jackson’s bedroom, she hadn’t had the chance to look around much. Now she seated herself at the small breakfast bar in the kitchen while he busied himself with lunch and casually examined her home for the next twenty-nine and a half days. All the walls were paneled in that cheap faux wood that mobile homes were famous for, but here and there a nice, framed western print broke the monotony. The kitchen was plain, with no decorations other than a set of hideous sunflower canisters and a small stoneware crock that held utensils. The fact that the sink was immaculate and there wasn’t a trace of dirt anywhere except on the floor was impressive for a bachelor, she thought.

  Behind her lay the dining room, which sported a reproduction oak pedestal table and four chairs. On the outside wall was a sideboard, obviously an antique, that was topped with a lace doily that looked completely out of place in a residence that indicated no other sign of a feminine touch. Beyond the dining room was the living room. Native American rugs were strategically placed as throws to hide slightly worn furniture.

  Alexandria settled back in the bar chair, satisfied she’d seen worse places to live. Besides, she told herself, it was only a month, and for a deal the size of COMJET, she could put up with anything for thirty days.

  “Want a soda or lemonade?” Jackson asked as he dug in the refrigerator.

  “Is the lemonade fresh?” she asked.

  He picked up
a cardboard can and read from the label. “Fresh made from frozen concentrate. Yup, it’s fresh.” He turned the label so she could see it and smiled.

  “I’ll have a soda, please,” she returned with an overly polite tone.

  “Suit yourself,” he said as he reached back into the refrigerator. “Me, I don’t like all that sugar and chemical additives, and I’m sure it’s been bottled longer than this lemonade has been frozen, but who am I to tell you how to eat?” He ceremoniously set a can of soda in front of her.

  Alexandria looked at the can without touching it. “I’d like a glass, please.”

  Jackson was now absorbed in building his peanut butter and jelly masterpieces. “Left-hand cupboard to the right of the fridge.”

  She sighed and got up. Perhaps she’d underestimated how tedious the next month would be.

  After lunch they returned to the arena and Jackson mounted her on an older gray mare. “This is Hattie, the babysitter,” he said, trying to hide a smirk as he adjusted Alexandria’s left stirrup. “She knows more than you and me put together. You’ll be riding her until you have a good grasp of what you’re supposed to be doing up there.”

  He grabbed her ankle and shoved her foot all the way to the heel of her boot into the stirrup. “I saw you riding on your toe.” He looked up, mischief in his eyes. “That’s for those sissy English riders you used to hang out with. Cutters put the stirrup home, like this, right in front of your heel. Less chance of your foot coming out when your horse moves fast.”

  He was about to continue when her cell phone rang. Alexandria took it from her belt and answered. “Payne here.” She listened for only a few seconds, then barked instructions. “I told them it had to be done by noon today; they failed to comply, so go with another bid. I don’t care what the excuse is.”

  Jackson walked to the other side and adjusted her right stirrup.

  “Well, you’ll have to handle this, but don’t back down. We can’t afford to—”