Page 12 of A Cowboy to Call Her Own

That would have been near to impossible. Trudy Riggins had always been the heart of the Galloping Fork Diner. It was Trudy who had hired and trained Kelley back when Kelley was a freshman in high school. Trudy had been demanding of her employees and particular about every detail of her diner. However, she’d recognized Kelley’s passion for cooking and never stopped nurturing it.

“You’d been working here less than a week.” Hayes brushed his hand through the air and continued, “Pauline was still in the worst of her grief from her mom’s death and couldn’t see nothing else. It’s been six months.”

“And time heals,” Kelley said mildly. At least it was supposed to.

“That and it’s time to show Pauline what you can really do,” Hayes said. “This place needs a refresh, and you need to be back in the kitchen doing more than rolling out dough for a limited pastry run once a week.”

It had been over a year since her divorce and since the last time Kelley ran a full dinner service. She’d come home and taken a much-needed step back. It was for the best while she and Pauline found their new normal; at least she hoped it was. Otherwise, she might be concerned she was going backward in life. Kelley smiled at the older cook. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. Now, let me finish up some paperwork so I can meet our boss on time.”

“Trudy would tell you that if you see an opening, take it and make your pitch.” Hayes turned and walked out, adding, “Swing for the stars. And you will go places you never imagined.”

That was just it. Kelley had swung for the stars and the moon. And believed she had it all, too. A dream job working beside the man she loved. It was everything her heart ever wanted.

Yet love, she knew now, had an expiration date. After all, she had ended up back where she never imagined she would be. Home in Gold Finch.

So when she swung again, she would use her head and not follow her heart. Surely then she would get everything she needed.

CHAPTER THREE

Back in the saddle. For most of the day. One more thing Asher had not anticipated for his first day home in years. And he could not say he minded all that much. Now, a last dance with a certain cowgirl to close out his day, well, he would not mind that, either. Shaking his head, Asher blamed the heat and his lack of a cowboy hat and proper sun protection for scrambling his thoughts.

He dismounted from Derby Dreamer and complimented the two-year-old thoroughbred on a solid workout then handed the reins to Owen, the stable’s hotwalker. Owen was less than shouting distance away when Derby Dreamer reared, broke loose from Owen’s hold and sprinted out of the pasture. Fortunately, the spirited colt darted in Asher’s direction, and he had the racehorse under control fairly quickly.

Owen jogged over, his cheeks the same flame-colored red as his hair. He exhaled hard, his words coming out in a puff. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

This was the third time that afternoon Owen had told Asher the very same thing. And the third horse who spooked with the twenty-some-year-old groom.

Owen added, “I can take him now.”

“It’s all right.” Asher ran his palm over the colt’s sleek gray neck and shook his head. “Me and Derby Dreamer seem to have bonded. I’ll cool him down and take him to his stall.”

Owen chewed on his bottom lip and eyed Asher. “Are you firing me, then, for too many mistakes?”

“Not today,” Asher said.

Owen’s shoulders lowered. “What should I do?”

Asher checked the walking ring, noted the horses already there cooling down and said, “Come with me. We can hand-walk Derby Dreamer together.” Asher turned the colt toward a path that circled the perimeter of the property and asked, “How long have you been here, Owen?”

By the time Asher led Derby Dreamer into his stall, he knew Owen’s entire history. The kid was working to pay for his classes at the local college. He wanted to be a veterinarian but needed large animal experience on his application. He’d been working at the Blackwell Stables for two weeks, was bright and eager to try. Asher walked Owen through a proper rubdown, left the kid with Derby Dreamer and went to find Joe to figure out how to get Owen the proper training he needed.

He found Joe in the tack room, inspecting a broken bridle. “I know Owen is new around here, but the colts I worked with today seemed more than a little high-spirited.”

“They are,” Joe acknowledged. “They are all on the younger side of two.”

Asher frowned. “But those workouts today are meant for a more mature two.” One that was able to focus and compete.

“We’ve accelerated our training program slightly,” Joe admitted. “The twos have not been sanctioned. We need to get them racing sooner rather than later.”

But Asher’s father was meticulous about every stage of his training program. He had personally curated and designed the program over years of breeding and racing to produce elite racehorses capable of winning. There was no skipping or rushing through any phase. Ever. Asher said, “Dad would not like this.”

“Your father was focused entirely on Sovereign’s Pride. And that is why the twos are behind in their training.” Joe shook his head and continued, “Now we need revenue, and the juvenile races are our chance until the sanctions are lifted on the threes.”

If the sanctions weren’t lifted, the juvenile races were their only chance not just for revenue, but to prove the Blackwell Stables still produced quality racehorses.

A trainer shouted for Joe. He grabbed a different bridle from the wall, then eyed Asher. “Don’t forget to stretch yourself. You need to be back in the saddle first thing tomorrow morning.”

Asher rolled his shoulders against the stiffness already tightening across his lower back from the hours spent riding and said, “Then I proved myself.”