Luckily Travis put an end to Raider

Luckily Travis put an end to Raider’s late-night feast before he’d eaten much of the bin’s contents. Otherwise he might well have ended up with a life-threatening case of colic.
“He was real good. Now that he’s gotten used to his new home, he’s settling down nicely. We’re working on transitions. He listens well. Smart as anything.”
The affection and pride in Travis’s voice merely added to Margot’s guilt. By all rights the gelding should be Travis’s. The fair thing would be to let him choose Raider as part of her father’s bequest, or prove that she was a serious businesswoman and sell him to Travis. Travis probably wouldn’t even blink if she pinned a hundred-thousand-dollar price tag to the gelding. And the money would come in handy.
But Margot wasn’t going to do either. Raider was a key bargaining chip in keeping Travis at Rosewood. She consoled herself with the thought that while Travis might not own him outright, he had a free rein in training the young horse.
“You still set on my longeing you on Mystique today?” Travis asked.
She nodded. She’d been riding the mare daily, as well as exercising other horses Travis asked her to help with. “I’m still relying too much on my reins and stirrups. I don’t want to be grabbing Mystique’s mouth when we take a wall. Landing in a ditch isn’t the way to win the Hunt Cup—not that I expect to win,” she added hurriedly. “But I don’t think I could bear the smug look on Jade’s face if I don’t acquit myself respectably on Mystique.” Since their return, Jade had embarked on a nonstop campaign to ride Mystique herself. Margot’s refusal—she would have to be a total idiot to reward Jade for getting kicked out of school by giving her a new horse—was just one item in Jade’s long list of grievances against her.
“Don’t worry about Jade. Deep down she really wants to ride Doc in the Hunt Cup. That pony’s a great campaigner and she’s as competitive as they come. They’ll be the junior team to beat. Given how much Jade’s shot up in the last couple of months, this’ll probably be the last event she can enter him in.” He pushed back the sleeve of his sweater to consult his watch and Margot’s insides fluttered at the sight of his sinewed forearm covered with a sprinkling of dark brown hair. “Tito should have Mystique ready for you now. You can take her down to the ring and warm up while I untack Raider. Andy should be finished in the stallion barn by then. He can hand walk Raider while I’m working with you and Mystique.” He patted the colt’s sleek neck. “I want this guy nice and relaxed for Jarvis.”
Frank Jarvis was Rosewood’s farrier. They’d used him ever since Margot could remember. The best blacksmith in the county, Frank was meticulous and careful in sizing shoes and fixing problem hooves. Endowed with a Zen-like aura of tranquillity, he could fit shoes to the most skittish of horses.
But Margot had spent enough hours observing how Travis ran their barn to know that by the time Raider was hooked to the cross ties, a hoof propped against Jarvis’s thick leather apron, Travis would have done everything to ensure the young horse was as relaxed and happy as a woman enjoying a French pedicure. One of Travis’s many gifts as a horseman was his ability to anticipate what Rosewood’s horses needed in any given situation. His method of training required both insight and endless patience. Careful and methodical, he refused to rush a horse. The results were worth the hours he devoted; Rosewood’s horses were willing, confident, and brave.
“What time is Jarvis coming?” she asked as they began walking up to the barn, her stride matching his.
“Eleven o’clock. If we’re not finished, I told Ned to have Frank skip Raider and shoe the other horses first.”
Ten horses were due for new shoes. Margot tried not to think about the cost, one more bill in a never-ending slew that included vet bills, bedding, feed and supplement bills, and paychecks. All the expenses were necessary. But Margot personally considered the check she wrote in Travis’s name the most vital of all. With the number of hours he put in each day, she should be writing a check twice as large … and she shouldn’t be dragging him away from training to help her figure out how to ride better.
“That would complicate things for everyone. I’ll go get Mystique and start warming up right away.” Trying not stress out about the arduousness of the upcoming workout, she drew a steadying breath. “Do you want me to bring the longe line down to the ring?”
“No, I’ll pick one up. Hey”—he angled his head, studying her—“you’re not nervous, are you?”
Terrified was more like it. She shrugged. “I haven’t ridden without reins and stirrups since I was a kid.”
“We’ll start out nice and easy on the flat. And you only have to jump if you’re feeling up to it. Mystique’s got a sweet jumping style.”
It was nice of him to try to reassure her. She did her best to smile. “Okay. But if I do decide to jump, don’t set the rail too high. I have another shoot coming up with Charlie. He’d never forgive me if I messed up my face.”
It was impossible to miss the way Travis tensed at the mention of Charlie Ayer. Could he actually be jealous? Any such hope was quickly dashed.
“I’d kind of thought you were beginning to understand how much work there is to do here. You can’t afford to keep dropping everything to go off and be this guy Charlie’s glamour girl.”
Was this really how he saw her, as some party-loving socialite who couldn’t wait to hightail it off to the city? Couldn’t he see any worth in what she did as a model? It cut her to the quick that after spending all this time in her company, he continued to be prejudiced against her career. But why should Travis care about her career when he didn’t care about her? Obviously the only part of her life that he cared about was whether she was doing everything he considered necessary in making the farm successful.
Hurt sharpened her voice. “You may have an encyclopedia’s worth of knowledge about horses, Travis, but you don’t understand the first thing about my life as a model or how much I owe to friends like Charlie. I’ll see you down at the ring.”
Travis watched Margot walk away, stiff-backed with anger, and resisted the urge to go after her and apologize. What could he say without sounding like an idiot? That he didn’t want her to go to New York or any other place Charlie Ayer might be? Sure. She would think he’d lost his mind, which he probably had.
These two weeks, he’d made himself back off, knowing that Margot had her hands full dealing with Jade. He’d been tying himself in knots, acting the perfect gentleman. And what had it accomplished? Squat, that’s what.
How could his explanation of a pregnant mare’s worming schedule compete with Charlie Ayer’s fancy, sophisticated world? How could the endless cycle of grooming, training, and feeding horses—backbreaking, dirty, exhausting labor—compare to the posh life she had in New York? How could he ever get a chance to spend time with her outside of the barn when, on the verge of suggesting that maybe she’d like to have dinner with him at the Coach House, that damned cell phone of hers would ring with Charlie Ayer on the line? If Travis continued to be all businesslike, how in hell was he supposed to let Margot in on the fact that he, like Ayer, might get a little upset if she were hurt riding Mystique? But his distress would have nothing to do with the earning potential of her beautiful face being jeopardized and everything to do with what happened to him when he looked at it.
It was a face Travis couldn’t get enough of.
He loved how the autumn sun made her skin glow with health, how an hour’s ride on Mystique or Colchester brought a flush to her cheeks. He loved how the soft light from the desk lamp in the office enhanced the drama of her high cheekbones and shadowed her eyes, making them deep and mysterious. When he made her smile, it was the stuff of dreams.
He could explain a hundred different things pertaining to her horses, but he hadn’t a clue how to describe the feelings he had for her. Truth was, he didn’t want to explain or talk at all. He wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her, and keep right on kissing her. That would show Margot what she meant to him, and to hell with the fact that she was his boss and that it was broad daylight and they were standing in the courtyard for any and all to witness.
He couldn’t take it anymore. He was going stark raving mad from the need to taste Margot again, to plunge his fingers into her thick, silky hair and pull her close until their bodies were fused. He needed to hear her sweet moans of passion and know that he’d made Margot forget the rest of the world. That there was only him. Loving her.
And she thought Charlie Ayer was the only one who would care if she injured herself?
Travis would never forgive himself if she got hurt riding.
Luckily Margot’s skills were returning quickly because while Rosewood Farm would certainly benefit from having her represent the family in the open division of the Hunt Cup, there was no way he would allow her to enter if she wasn’t ready to tackle the course. He’d lock her in the main barn’s grain room the morning of the Cup rather than risk her safety.
In the meantime, the best shot Travis had at keeping her safe in the saddle was to help her train as thoroughly and rigorously as possible.