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The rider closest to me gives me a look. His nostrils flare, and I can tell he’s pissed. He hops down off his horse and strides over to where the stallion is fighting, hands up. He’s going to die. This man is going to get himself trampled to death, right in front of me. I sure hope I won’t be held responsible.
“You idiot! What on earth?—”
A freaking miracle happens. The stallion settles four feet on the ground. It’s still panting and pacing but staring at the man. He inches closer, hand out. When his hand makes contact with the stallion’s nose, my eyebrows skyrocket.
What the heck is this horse whisperer shit?
One of the other guys chuckles. “That shit’s creepy, man.”
“Fuck off,” the man mutters, glancing up at the stallion. He looks back at me, glaring. “He was probably upset at you hollering at him.”
“I was hollering at him because he was scaring my horse, asshole!” I snap. The stallion makes a nervous noise, and I throw my hands up. “Whatever. For the love of god, just get him off my property.”
“Your property?” the third cowboy, who I haven’t heard speak until now, chimes in. He’s got a deep voice, and the bass of it resonates from where he’s sitting. “I thought this was the Foster Ranch.”
“And I’m a Foster.” I throw my shoulders back and lift my chin. “So, get out.”
“A Foster, huh? Then you need to fix the goddamn hole in your fence,” the horse whisperer snaps at me.
I glare at him, rage swirling through me. “And you need to learn some goddamn manners!”
All three men blink at that. They’re close enough now that I can see them. One of the cowboys, the one with the deep voice, has dark black hair and the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s lanky and leans easily forward in his saddle. The other one, who had initially roped the stallion, is big. Built like a linebacker, he has brown hair and brown eyes, and studies me with a little smile on his lips that I want to wipe right off of it. The third one, the horse charmer, is blond. Dirty blond, with a beard and dark blue eyes that are narrowed at me in anger.
“Get. Off. My. Land,” I spit at them.
The guys exchange a look. “Are you the kid?”
“Doesn’t matter who I am. All you need to know is that I’m a Foster, and you’re on my property.”
“Did your dad tell you about us?” the one with blue eyes and black hair says.
In that instant, I know exactly who they are. These are the cowboys. The hotshots, the ones my dad had nothing but contempt for.
They’re the freaking Wild Spur boys.
And they’re all staring at me like I’m the steak that’s been slapped down for dinner.
CHAPTER 3
Landon
This is the girl.
I swear, we’ve been hearing about her for what seems like an eternity. I thought this town was too small to house a celebrity, but no.
You can’t throw a stone without hitting someone who has a story about Nora Foster. How nice she is. How smart. How she made it to CU Boulder down in Colorado on a full academic scholarship, and how she’s back now to help out her dear old daddy, just like a good daughter should. You’d think that she was some kind of saint, the way folk talk about her around here.
However, the little hellcat hissing at us right now seems anything but saintly.
Objectively, she’s attractive. Fine as hell, even. She’s petite but clearly packed with muscle from the way she scooted over here to chase off Storm from her old gray horse. She’s got on a worn flannel, a baseball cap, and her brown hair pours out the back in a thick, don’t-fuck-with-me single braid. Her blue eyes spark with all the energy of a lightning storm, and even though she’s squared up like a UFC champ, I sneak a peek at her ass.
I resist the urge to whistle. She is pushing those Wranglers to the absolute limit of their seams.
“Look, is the stallion yours? Or should I add horse thief to your already crappy reputations?”
Crappy reputations… “Yeah, Storm is ours. He seems to want to get over here pretty much constantly, and he sneaks right through the hole in your fence.”
“That explains Joan and Thunder,” she mutters.
