Sutton yelled, “Turn and burn, baby. You shaved it down to twenty-two point nine!”
She whooped and dismounted. Then set to tying Mickey to the fence post.
Fletch walked across the dirt toward her. He’d made it a little more than halfway when Tanna caught sight of him. She didn’t walk, she ran. In an instant he had that squirming, beautiful, elated woman in his arms. Laughing. Squeezing him tightly. And for just a moment, all was right with his world.
“Fletch! Didja see me ride?”
“Several times. How did it feel?”
“Scary. Horrible.” She smirked. “Then wonderful.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’m happy for you, sugar twang.”
“What’re you doin’ here?”
“I told Eli if I was in the neighborhood I’d check a couple of things.”
“Are you done for the day?”
“Nope. I’ve got three more stops.”
Tanna sighed. “I’m in the mood to celebrate.”
“By celebrate do you mean knocking back a few drinks? Or having a quickie against the horse trailer?”
“I’m inclined to take option two. But I’ve gotta deal with Mickey and Sutton, so by then you’ll be off to your next appointment. I’ll take a rain check for the naked celebration.”
Fletch cupped her ass cheeks in his hands and growled, “As long as it’s tonight. Been missing you in my bed, cowgirl.”
“Same.” She pecked him on the mouth. “Call me when you’re done. How long might that be?”
“Gotta stop at Talley’s and Myerson’s. Then Annabeth is bringing her horse to my clinic.”
Tanna’s eyes—a piercing violet today—turned laser sharp. “The cutting horse queen is havin’ another problem?”
“Her dad is out of town. She’s called me three times.”
“Of course she has. She’ll probably show up at the clinic in a negligee and f**k-me stilettos, wearing her tiara.”
He laughed, but it died quickly when he realized she was serious. “Tanna. It’s not like that.”
“But it is,” she insisted. “She wants you and not just as her personal horse doctor. She wants to play doctor with you. Hell, she’s more determined to marry you than little Miss Ellie is.”
“Bull. Annabeth is a client. That’s all.”
Tanna poked him in the chest. “What if I said I didn’t want you to be alone with her tonight?”
“Jesus. What’s gotten into you?”
“Answer the question.”
“Edmunds are good paying customers. I can’t afford to say no.” Fletch stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “And it’s no different from you bein’ out here alone with Sutton all afternoon.”
“It’s very different. Sutton is trying to help me get my career back on track.”
“That’s the same thing I’m doin’ with Annabeth. Speaking of . . . he told me about the folks in Colorado wanting you to try out a new horse?”
That shocked her. “Sutton’s got a big mouth. I’m not sure what I’ll do. I’m nowhere near competition ready.” She scowled. “You’re clouding the issue.”
“And now I’m running behind. So how about if you make celebration plans with Sutton, and I’ll just go do my job? Because most likely any plans we made would get f**ked up anyway.” Fletch turned and walked away.
And Tanna didn’t call him back.
Chapter Thirty-two
She stewed. Cussed. Ranted. Paced. Brooded some more.
Blind and bullheaded. That’s what he was.
He thought she’d rather celebrate with Sutton than him?
Bullshit. The man had nothing to be jealous of and he knew it.
How could he honestly believe that Pageant Queen Barbie didn’t have her manicured hooks hovering above those amazing biceps of his, waiting for the right moment to dig her claws in?
What pissed her off the most was Fletch and Annabeth would be a perfect match. He was gorgeous. She was gorgeous. Miz Maybelle’s society page would read: Local rancher’s beauty queen/professional horsewoman daughter marries local veterinarian. Beautiful, perfect babies to follow.
But Annabeth would probably make him happy—when she wasn’t running him ragged like she did with her dad. She’d pop out a couple of cute kids. They’d build a big house with a big horse barn near—or on—her family land. Everyone would tell Fletch what a lucky bastard he was for landing Annabeth as his wife.
Would Trophy Wife Barbie give Fletch everything he needed in bed?
She’d been with her fair share of demanding guys. But Fletch took it to a whole new level. Not just the rockin’ sex, but his insatiable need for intimacy. If they were in the same room he had to be touching her. Even just holding hands, but more often his fingers stroked any section of her bared skin. Her arm. Her neck. The tops of her thighs if she wore a skirt. He needed a woman who was physically demonstrative in public and private. No doubt Annabeth would pull out all the stops to garner his attention and affection, but once she had that ring on her finger, would Ice Princess Barbie reappear?
Tanna placed her head in her hands. Her stomach hurt imagining that life unfold before her eyes. Fletch deserved better.
Like you? A former barrel racing champion with nothing to offer him except the type of hot sex he craves?
Isn’t that what they’d both signed on for?