“Performance is all about cooperation. Just give this guy a few minutes to release some pent-up energy and I promise he’ll be a different animal. Time spent on this kind of activity will pay off in spades once you’re in the saddle.”
The cowboy tossed the lasso he held in his hands toward the horse. The startled animal changed course and began trotting in the other direction. The man’s soft, sexy voice was as confident as his movements. “I don’t care what gait he’s in as long as he’s moving in the direction I send him in. In essence, we’re acting the way a dominant horse would in a herd situation.”
Mesmerized, Miranda watched the interplay between man and horse. She uncapped her camera lens and began filming the cowboy and the horse. Within minutes, the animal was moving in a relaxed, floating gait. Although her personal experience with equines was limited to the working livestock on her grandparents’ ranch, she recognized the expert skill with which this man directed the animal’s movements.
After several more laps, it lowered its head and approached the cowboy. He stretched out his hand and caressed the animal’s muzzle. “You see how little effort that took? Now he’s willing to get to work.”
The cowboy turned in Miranda’s direction. It was only then that she realized he was the man she was looking for. The long, loose hair he’d worn in the videos was plaited in two long, neat braids covered by the cowboy hat. In his jeans, faded denim shirt, hat, and boots, he’d looked far more cowboy than Indian—until he’d faced her. Their eyes met for the first time. His black brows rose as his gaze dropped to her camera. “I didn’t realize we were being filmed.”
The brunette speared Miranda with a haughty stare. “Filming someone without permission. That’s presumptuous, don’t you think?”
“I’m sorry,” Miranda said. “Maybe I should have asked, but I hated to interrupt you.” She lowered her camera and climbed over the fence rail. “I’m Miranda Sutton. I came to film the clinic.” She stepped forward, hand extended. He took her hand in his, flashing a smile so dazzling it made her breath catch. She struggled not to gape.
“I’m Two Wolves,” he introduced himself.
“I kinda figured that out,” Miranda said dryly.
“This is Steffi Hoffman,” he said. “A…client of mine.”
“A pleasure,” Miranda replied, once more offering her hand.
The brunette ignored her.
Shrugging off the snub, Miranda asked, “When you finish here, do you think we could talk for a few minutes? I have some ideas on camera placement I’d like to run by you.”
“Sure thing,” he replied. “But I’m on Steffi’s dime at present. Can you give us about fifteen more minutes?”
“No problem.” Miranda perched on the fence and continued to watch him work with a much more cooperative Picasso. Although she’d found him attractive before, the amateur videos she’d watched didn’t come close to doing him justice. No indeed-y.
“Since you don’t like the longe whip,” Steffi said, “could you show me how to throw your rope?”
The ploy was painfully obvious, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He sidled up from behind and placed his hands over hers to demonstrate the motion of throwing the rope. Steffi shot Miranda a triumphant look. Her possessiveness hinted that there was more to the relationship than simple instruction. No surprise there. Miranda turned away with a pang of envy. Although she couldn’t deny the instant attraction she felt toward him, rich and beautiful always won out over plain with brains.
*
“You worked magic with him,” Steffi gushed after Keith handed the horse off to Steffi’s groom, without the stud chain. “I didn’t realize until I met you how much I need your…services. When can we do another session?”
Ignoring the innuendo in her tone, Keith forced a smile. “I’m a clinician, not a trainer.”
“Maybe you don’t understand,” she insisted. “I can pay you whatever you like.”
“It’s not always about money, Steffi.” Or meaningless sex. But it had taken him a long time to realize it. “I’ve already shown you what he needs. Now it’s up to you to make it work.”
“But what about what I need?” she asked, any pretense of subtlety now gone.
How many times had he heard lines like that from rich women looking for a hired stud? He’d lost count. “I’m sorry, Steffi, but my time isn’t my own.” He nodded at the slim girl with the camera, whose name he’d already forgotten. Melissa? Melinda? Something with an M. He was glad she’d hung around.
Steffi gave the camera girl an icy look. “Another time then. You have my number?”
“Yes. I certainly do,” Keith reassured her. In the beginning he’d been flattered by all the attention and had rarely turned down an attractive woman, but eventually he’d tired of the constant propositions.
After extricating himself from Steffi, Keith returned to find the camera girl leaning on the gleaming white PVC fence rail.
“I guess you must get that a lot,” she said.