Page 2 of When a Cowboy Falls Hard
“And he’s likely passed those tips on to his niece.”
“Makes sense.” He let out a sigh. “What’s her name again?”
“Zinnia.”
“Like the flower?”
“Like the flower. Graham says she really knows her stuff.”
“He’s her uncle. He might be prejudiced.”
“Yes, but he loves this family. He wouldn’t saddle us with a farrier who doesn’t measure up.”
“Something just occurred to me. Graham’s brother died years ago. Is Zinnia?—”
“Yeah, that was her dad. He crashed the family’s small plane. Her mom died, too.”
“Ouch. When was that?”
“Let me think. You were a senior, so ten years ago. They lived in Great Falls. The girls were in college. He’s kept in close touch with them ever since.”
“Then this could be about giving his niece a boost instead of him needing a hand.”
“Possibly. I don’t know all the details, but Zinnia has a—” At the sound of a truck, she paused to glance toward the road. “That’ll be them.”
“Yep.” Seconds later a four-door pickup with a deluxe red paint job appeared around the bend. It cruised slowly down the rain-dampened dirt road, its grill shining in the sun. “Looks like he doesn’t want to get mud on his fancy truck.”
His mom laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day when he worried about that.”
“I still can’t believe he bought a bright red one.”
“He blames it on a mid-life crisis.”
“Oh? Do you think he’ll start dating?”
“Huh.” His mom paused. “I didn’t think of that, but maybe. When Adele left he said he was through with women, but I guess anything’s possible.”
Monty heaved a sigh of relief. When he’d been obsessing about Graham’s decision to cut back, he hadn’t taken the new truck into account. He should have. A dying man wouldn’t buy himself a lipstick-red Cowboy Cadillac.
But if that man had healed from a nasty divorce and hankered for some company, he might decide a snazzy new truck was in order.
By the time Graham had backed into his usual spot near the barn, Monty’s headache was gone. He and his mom walked toward the truck as Graham hopped out with his usual vigor and rounded the hood.
He didn’t look the least bit sick. The guy was in his prime, still in good shape….
Uh-oh. Speaking of good shape….
Zinnia.
Her descent from the passenger side put pressure on his eyeballs and glued his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He’d never been face-to-face with a more voluptuous woman, especially one wearing steel-toed boots.
She’d chosen the same kind of outfit as her uncle—plaid long-sleeved shirt tucked into sturdy jeans and a baseball cap tugged low over her eyes. But the clothes he’d seen Graham wear hundreds of times produced a totally different effect on an hour-glass figure that nearly brought him to his knees. Holy moly.
She was tall, at least five-ten in those boots, and she moved with the grace of an athlete. Toned muscles flexed beneath her shirt and jeans as she came toward him. His dazed brain processed her stride in slow motion so he wouldn’t miss a thing.
Was he already mentally undressing her? Seemed like it. She’d pulled her blonde curly hair through the back of her Anvil Brand cap. Hoping she hadn’t noticed him ogling, he focused on her ponytail swinging in time with each step.
He itched to tug off that cap and set those ringlets free. Then he’d?—
