Tempted by a Cowboy - Vicki Lewis Thompson Page 0,2

nose, a neck, and finally, the entire baby horse, all wrapped in a glistening, semi-transparent membrane.

Eleven months of effort culminated in one glorious miracle. She and Fletch had worried about this event for weeks, but the foaling, as with most equine births, took less than twenty minutes.

“Beautiful,” Astrid murmured.

“Are we good down there?”

“We’re good. We’re so good.” Astrid’s chest tightened with gratitude. “Janis has a beautiful baby.”

“Thank God.” Fletch’s voice was thick with emotion.

Astrid glanced up and caught a moment he might not have meant her to see. He buried his face against the mare’s neck and murmured something she couldn’t hear. Not wanting to embarrass him, she returned her focus to the foal, which seemed perfectly formed and healthy.

Janis had been Fletch’s first brood mare, and the horse had obviously won his heart with her gentle disposition. He cared about the foal, too, but his biggest concern had been for Janis. Convinced that neither mare nor foal were in distress, Astrid scooted away to let Janis attend to her baby.

Fletch also sat back on his heels as the horse maneuvered so that she could lick her newborn clean. He gazed at the foal. “It’s a colt.”

“Yep. The ultrasound was right. You never can know for sure with those.”

A grin lit his face. “And four white socks, like his mother’s.”

“He’ll look a lot like her.”

“I’d hoped for that. And now it’s official. Buddy Holly is in residence at the Rocking G.”

Astrid laughed. “Yes, he certainly is. They both seem to be doing great.”

“I can order the nameplate for his stall now. I was too superstitious to do it before.” Fletch’s glance sought hers. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But after all, it’s my job.”

“I know, but you don’t treat it like a job. My previous vet did, which was why I stopped using him. I’ve watched you work with these animals. You put your heart and soul into it.”

She couldn’t imagine higher praise than that. “I love my work. That makes me a lucky lady.”

“And I’m lucky to have found you.”

Dear God, there was something more than friendship in those warm brown eyes. She swallowed. “Fletch . . .”

“I know.” His jaw firmed. “You’re my vet. I’m a client. I understand that could get complicated, but damn it, Astrid, does that mean we can’t . . .”

Her heart beat as if she were a wild creature suddenly trapped in a net. “I think it does mean that. My personal policy is not to date clients. Others might feel differently, but I don’t think it’s professional.”

“I could fire you.”

“You could.” That wouldn’t remove all the barriers. She’d still be a very rich woman and he would still be a financially strapped rancher. But he didn’t know about that issue.

“I don’t want to fire you.” He got to his feet. “You’re a fantastic vet, a thousand times better than the guy I had before. I can’t imagine having anyone else now that I’ve seen how you work.”

She took a deep breath and stood up, too. “I don’t want you to fire me, either.” She looked into his eyes, which mirrored the frustration she felt. “I love having you as a client.”

“But I don’t like the barriers that places between us. Couldn’t we keep our personal connection on the down-low?”

“Okay, let’s say we’re discreet.” She picked up her bag and walked out of the stall. “What if we discover somewhere down the line that we’re not right for each other? What happens to our client-vet relationship then?” She put down the bag and turned to face him as he stepped into the aisle.

His stance was wide, his expression calm—the epitome of confident male. “We wouldn’t discover that. You and I get along great.”

“In this setting we do, but . . .”

“But what?”

She pictured dragging him to some charity ball hosted by her wealthy friends, or coaxing him to attend the opening of a show by some new darling of the Dallas art community. She’d been inside Fletch’s home. He liked Western artists like Remington and Shoofly. He also didn’t seem like the tux-wearing type, but now wasn’t the time to reveal the difference in their lifestyles.

“Are you worried that we might not get along in bed?”

Oh, boy. Her hesitation had led him to the wrong conclusion. She wasn’t worried about that at all. “I—”

“Lady, we would burn up the sheets.” He smiled as he took a step closer. “And you damned well know we would.”

“Maybe.” The nearer he came, the faster her heart beat. It