All-Time Leading Cutting Sire.
Trace said, “She looks a little long in the back to me.”
“A little,” Callie agreed, eyeing the horse critically. “But her hocks are nice and short. I saw her working earlier this morning. She can turn on a button and never scratch it.” She bit her lip, suddenly realizing that she was sharing information Trace might use against her, if he decided to bid on the animal himself.
The filly jumped when the auctioneer’s microphoned voice began its patter, and the handler turned her in a circle to show her off and calm her down. “What am I bid for this two-year-old filly? This little lady has the very best bloodlines.”
Callie caught Trace staring at her. “What are you looking at?” she asked irritably.
He eyed the frayed ends of her collar. “If you’d been my wife, I’d have taken better care of you than Nolan Monroe apparently did.”
“In all the ways that mattered, Nolan took excellent care of me,” she replied scornfully.
He gazed at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Was he good in bed, Callie?”
A quiver of sensual need rolled through her. “I won’t dignify that with an answer.”
Their eyes remained locked in a battle of wills, Trace demanding a carnal response from her, and Callie refusing to give him one. Abruptly she turned away, focusing her gaze on the ring, where the bidding was underway. “I have work to do,” she said curtly.
“Callie—”
“No, Trace.”
She heard the desperation in her voice as she answered the question Trace had not been given the chance to ask. There wasn’t going to be a resumption of their love affair. Not when all that remained between them was lust.
“I like the looks of that filly,” he said.
She glanced at him warily. “She’s going to cost a pretty penny,” she said neutrally.
“I can afford it.”
Callie braced her shoulders, as though for a blow. Surely he wasn’t going to bid on Hickory Angel just to keep her from getting the animal. “Why would you want to buy this horse?” she asked. “She’s been bred for competitive cutting.”
“I’ve decided to start my own breeding operation at Bitter Creek,” Trace said.
She stared at him in dismay. He couldn’t be planning to go into business in competition with her. “There must be a million other investments that would give you a better return on your money. Why cutting horses?”
“Riding a really good cutter is about the biggest rush there is,” he said. “Almost as good as sex,” he addedwith a provocative smile. “I got a hankering for it when I competed on the cutting circuit as a teenager. Guess you never outgrow it.”
“And you Blackthornes are rich enough to gratify your every whim,” she said contemptuously.
“Yes,” he said. “We are.”
The bidding on Hickory Angel had slowed until there were only two other bidders. Callie raised her index and middle finger to bid $35,000.
“Now thirty-five,” the auctioneer said. “Do I hear thirty-five-five? Now thirty-five-five-do-I-hear-thirty-six? Now thirty-six-now-thirty-six-five.”
The rancher from Dallas dropped out. Callie was now bidding against a well-known California cutter.
“Now thirty-seven. Now-thirty-seven-five-thirty-seven-five.”
The California cutter dropped out. Callie had the high bid at $37,500.
“This little lady is a beauty. Don’t let her get away. Now thirty-seven-five.”
Trace touched the brim of his hat.
“Now thirty-eight,” the auctioneer said.
Callie’s eyes went wide with alarm. She lifted a finger and the auctioneer said, “Now thirty-eight-five-thirty-eight-five.”
“Forty,” Trace said, jumping the bid to the limit Callie knew he must have seen written in her brochure. She met his gaze. His eyes were cold and hard and uncaring.
“I need that filly, Trace.”
“So do I.”
“Looks like the gent wants this little lady,” the auctioneer said. “Now forty-now-forty-now-forty.”
Callie turned away, lifted her finger, and bid
Trace said, “She looks a little long in the back to me.”
“A little,” Callie agreed, eyeing the horse critically. “But her hocks are nice and short. I saw her working earlier this morning. She can turn on a button and never scratch it.” She bit her lip, suddenly realizing that she was sharing information Trace might use against her, if he decided to bid on the animal himself.
The filly jumped when the auctioneer’s microphoned voice began its patter, and the handler turned her in a circle to show her off and calm her down. “What am I bid for this two-year-old filly? This little lady has the very best bloodlines.”
Callie caught Trace staring at her. “What are you looking at?” she asked irritably.
He eyed the frayed ends of her collar. “If you’d been my wife, I’d have taken better care of you than Nolan Monroe apparently did.”
“In all the ways that mattered, Nolan took excellent care of me,” she replied scornfully.
He gazed at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Was he good in bed, Callie?”
A quiver of sensual need rolled through her. “I won’t dignify that with an answer.”
Their eyes remained locked in a battle of wills, Trace demanding a carnal response from her, and Callie refusing to give him one. Abruptly she turned away, focusing her gaze on the ring, where the bidding was underway. “I have work to do,” she said curtly.
“Callie—”
“No, Trace.”
She heard the desperation in her voice as she answered the question Trace had not been given the chance to ask. There wasn’t going to be a resumption of their love affair. Not when all that remained between them was lust.
“I like the looks of that filly,” he said.
She glanced at him warily. “She’s going to cost a pretty penny,” she said neutrally.
“I can afford it.”
Callie braced her shoulders, as though for a blow. Surely he wasn’t going to bid on Hickory Angel just to keep her from getting the animal. “Why would you want to buy this horse?” she asked. “She’s been bred for competitive cutting.”
“I’ve decided to start my own breeding operation at Bitter Creek,” Trace said.
She stared at him in dismay. He couldn’t be planning to go into business in competition with her. “There must be a million other investments that would give you a better return on your money. Why cutting horses?”
“Riding a really good cutter is about the biggest rush there is,” he said. “Almost as good as sex,” he addedwith a provocative smile. “I got a hankering for it when I competed on the cutting circuit as a teenager. Guess you never outgrow it.”
“And you Blackthornes are rich enough to gratify your every whim,” she said contemptuously.
“Yes,” he said. “We are.”
The bidding on Hickory Angel had slowed until there were only two other bidders. Callie raised her index and middle finger to bid $35,000.
“Now thirty-five,” the auctioneer said. “Do I hear thirty-five-five? Now thirty-five-five-do-I-hear-thirty-six? Now thirty-six-now-thirty-six-five.”
The rancher from Dallas dropped out. Callie was now bidding against a well-known California cutter.
“Now thirty-seven. Now-thirty-seven-five-thirty-seven-five.”
The California cutter dropped out. Callie had the high bid at $37,500.
“This little lady is a beauty. Don’t let her get away. Now thirty-seven-five.”
Trace touched the brim of his hat.
“Now thirty-eight,” the auctioneer said.
Callie’s eyes went wide with alarm. She lifted a finger and the auctioneer said, “Now thirty-eight-five-thirty-eight-five.”
“Forty,” Trace said, jumping the bid to the limit Callie knew he must have seen written in her brochure. She met his gaze. His eyes were cold and hard and uncaring.
“I need that filly, Trace.”
“So do I.”
“Looks like the gent wants this little lady,” the auctioneer said. “Now forty-now-forty-now-forty.”
Callie turned away, lifted her finger, and bid
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