Harvest at Mustang Ridge Read Online Free Page A

gray mare!”
    “Whee!” They high-fived, hugged, and did a little seated wiggle-dance to celebrate the lottery win.
    Jumping down off the fence, Krista beckoned. “Come on. Let’s get her loaded and hit the road!” She turned for the barn and started for the nearest open door, but then hesitated, remembering the cowboy in the brown hat.
    She didn’t see him, but he was back there. Somewhere.
    “Hang on. Call me stupid, but I’m just putting two and two together and getting ex-boyfriend.” Jenny grabbed her arm and pulled her close. “You don’t think that was—”
    “No.” Krista said, cutting her off before the name got out there in the universe, tempting the foam finger. “As far as I know, he’s never set foot in Three Ridges. It was seeing Sam that made me think of him, that’s all. The power of suggestion.”
    She hoped.
    It didn’t take them long to get the rig into position—they had both pretty much learned to drive with atrailer in tow, and the aluminum gooseneck was one of the nimblest in the Mustang Ridge fleet. It also had the bonus of being open inside, with padded walls and not too much room for the mare to hurt herself in the panic of being separated from her herd and chased into an unfamiliar metal box.
    “The minute she’s on board, I want you to get moving,” Krista told Jenny, who was behind the wheel of the big white dually. “She’ll be less likely to bounce around in there if she has to focus on her balance. Keep it slow and I’ll catch up.”
    After swinging open the trailer gate and fastening it in position, she headed for where Mel and the two younger wranglers were gathered beside the loading chute, muttering over clipboards. As she approached, another figure stepped out of the barn—big guy, brown hat, shoulders that went on for a mile.
    Krista didn’t let herself slow down.
    The cowboy kept his back to her as he gestured toward the horse pens. She caught a glimpse of dark brown hair that had a touch of red to it, making her think of a black horse that had bleached in the sun. Just like he-who-shall-not-be-named. This guy was taller and broader, though, his center of balance high in his chest rather than low on his hips. More like a calf wrestler than a bull rider.
    Exhaling a relieved breath, she approached the huddle just as it broke up, and Mel and the two younger men headed into the barn. “Hi there,” she said to the big guy’s back. “I’m here for hip number forty-one.”
    “Figured you might be,” he said, and turned.
    Krista. Stopped. Breathing.
    Because after all that it-couldn’t-possibly-be-him, it totally was. Wyatt Webb, her one-and-only ex, was standing right there in the flesh. And the bastard looked good.

3
    A thin trickle of oxygen seeped into Krista’s lungs as she took in the familiar dark brown eyes, angular jaw, and the nose that carried a pronounced bump from one too many face-first landings off a bucking bull. There were those extra inches of height and breadth, though, and a layer of heavy muscle outlined beneath his work shirt. Even his hands were different, wider and thicker, with heavy calluses that didn’t come from reins or ropes.
    He had grown up and done it well.
    Annoyed by the sudden urge to tug at her logo’d polo shirt and wish that she had gone for something more in the makeup department—she looked good, too, dang it—she forced air into her lungs and refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her surprise. Because he had clearly been expecting her.
    Jerk.
    “I need hip forty-one,” she repeated, forcing everything to be level and professional—her expression, her voice, her body language. “The gray mare in the far pen.”
    “She’ll be along in a minute.” He paused, searching her face. “You looked good out there.” A nod to the arena, where a cheer said another name had gotten picked. “Happy.”
    Heat stirred at the knowledge he’d been watching her. As metal gates clanged and unshod hooves thudded