Play Me

After that, word spread that I was on a “firing rampage,” and everyone avoided me. My mother had always said, “It takes change to make change,” which was true. But, man, change was painful.

I turned down a long dirt road lined with a pristine white fence. It was beautiful and peaceful—definitely a place to relax and recharge. I would have loved to get away for just a weekend, but with the season only two months away, it was critical I get things under control.

As I followed the dirt road, it occurred to me that it had to be the longest driveway known to man. Or maybe it was still a road. The GPS indicated that I was still on track, though, so I continued on.

Please let this be where Hunter Owens lives. Please. I need just one thing to go right in my life right now.

After ten more minutes of driving, I reached a ranch-style house. It was picturesque with its wraparound porch and breathtaking views of the barn, pastures, and horses. The mountain in the background topped off the view. I imagined the landscape out here was stunning in the fall. It reminded me of my parents’ place in Atlanta. I grabbed the portfolio from the passenger seat and stepped out of the car. A few horses frolicked in the paddock to the right of the house. They looked to be thoroughbreds. Dad had several.

A faint smell of honeysuckle filled the air. If I allowed myself, I could get lost in the moment. The horses played. I smiled as I walked up the steps of the porch and approached the door. After debating whether to call, I’d decided it would be better to drive out here and surprise Mr. Owens. Saying no to someone over the phone was easier than in person. Or at least I hoped that was the case.

I pressed the doorbell and waited.

And waited.

But there was no answer.

I pressed the doorbell again. There was a chance he wasn’t home, but based on the big truck parked in front of the garage, I was willing to bet he was there. If not, I’d work from my car until he came home.

“Motherfucker!”

I jumped at the sheer volume. Maybe that was him; the sound had come from behind the house. I hoped it was him and decided to check it out. Maybe I shouldn’t have come? I questioned my decision. I hadn’t really thought about being out on a farm in a pencil skirt and heels. Carefully, I navigated the grass on the balls of my feet to keep my heels from sinking in.

When I came around the corner, the vision that greeted me brought me up short. A man in chaps and a short-sleeved T-shirt stood with his back to me. He cursed as he dusted himself off, removed his hat, and swiped his brow. It was one of the sexiest things I’d seen in a long time. His voice was a deep, thick rumble. The mare he was working with gave a whinny, and I was able to regain some of my composure.

I’d had a secret weakness for cowboys since I was a little girl.

In a calming, soothing motion, he walked toward the mare. “Settle down, girl. Easy.”

The mare calmed a bit but continued to daintily step around him.

I needed to announce myself before he caught me ogling him. “Hi! I’m looking for Hunter Owens. Do you know where I can find him?”

The man whipped around, and I gave a tight smile to hide my nerves. The tattoo sleeve on his left arm looked exquisite, adding a bad-boy vibe on top of the sexy-cowboy image he had going on. Another secret weakness of mine—tattoos.

Get it together. You have a deal to close.

I took another step forward, clearing my throat. “I’m looking for Hunter Owens.”

His eyes did a quick sweep over my body. I usually didn’t appreciate that kind of assessment from strangers, but something about him felt different, and I enjoyed it more than I should. He tipped his hat and smiled, which set off an explosion of butterflies in my stomach. “Looks like you found him. What can I help you with?”

This is Hunter Owens?

The pictures on the internet hadn’t done him justice. And he’d expanded the sleeve of tattoos. When I’d researched him—which had felt more like stalking, to be honest—there had been one photo from his last game where a tattoo peeked out from beneath his short-sleeved shirt.

I took another step forward, making sure to walk on the balls of my feet. “I’m Kendall Wales. Do you have a minute to sit down and talk?”

“About?”

That brought me up short. I wanted a chance to build up my offer, explain why he should basically take a career demotion and come out of hiding. Maybe if I was evasive, he would listen to my offer. “A job.”

“What kind of job?”

He hopped over the fence in one swift motion, the way they do in movies, and if I’d been the swooning type, I would have audibly gasped. Instead, I held my smile and ground my teeth while my heart beat double time. I might be mostly all business, but I was still a woman. And Hunter Owens was all man. I needed to get him in a more relaxed situation. I gave a sweet smile. “Can we sit down and go over the particulars?”

As he stepped closer, I began to sweat, which was insane. Remain calm and in control.

“Give me the highlights.”

Think. Think. Think.

“That would ruin the surprise. Why don’t we sit on your front porch and we can talk about it? I won’t take much of your time, Mr. Owens.”

“Just Hunter.” The left side of his mouth quirked up as his eyes roamed down my body yet again. Maybe my form-fitting pencil skirt hadn’t been the best idea. “Just a sec. Let me get something, and we’ll talk.”

“Perfect.”

He disappeared up onto the back porch and came down with some muck boots. “Put these on. I’ll listen while I do my chores. But I can tell you, if it’s another coaching job, I’m not interested.”

Oh hell, this was going to require a different approach. He raised an eyebrow at me, challenging me to put on the boots. Without hesitation, I put them on and placed my heels on the porch step. As I turned back to him, the horse came up to the fence. “That mare is beautiful. Is she an Akhal-Teke?”

He stared at me, clearly surprised I knew horses. I’d grown up with them. My mother had taught me to ride. As a child, I’d learned to ride on Gingersnap, the horse my father gave my mom on the night he proposed. The horse had originally been a gift from her parents before they died, but Mom had sold her when she had to move. I loved how Dad was, and had always been, Mom’s knight in shining armor. Theirs was one of those love stories that made you swoon.

I stuck my hand out for the horse to sniff me.

Hunter patted the side of her neck. “She is. I’ve never owned a Golden Horse, or as you so accurately stated, an Akhal-Teke, before. I bought her last month for a small fortune, and she’s stubborn as shit. But she’ll break at some point. Just have to keep getting back on her. Can’t ever be bucked off and not climb back on.”

Hunter gazed at the horse with an almost loving appreciation. “I do enjoy a challenge every now and then. We’ll build trust over time.”

The coloring of the horse was breathtaking. Her cream coat had a metallic shimmer to it, which made the pale blond hair nearly glisten in the sun. The horse took off in a victory lap, knowing she’d won this round against Hunter. He definitely had his work cut out for him.

I asked, “What do you need my help with since now my boots are on?”

I got a sexy smirk. “You know my answer is going to be no, right?”

So he knew. Well, hell, it was obvious why I was here. I put on a businesslike smile to cover up my attraction to this man. If he took the job, I would find a way to control it. Once we entered into a business arrangement, any attraction I felt would likely be gone. It always had been that way. There was not time for a personal life. It was business. All business.

“If I’m not slowing you down, what does it hurt to hear me out? And you’ll have a free hand. Win-win.”

He shrugged. “Just as long as you know what my answer is going to be.”

“How do you know I’m going to offer you a coaching job?”

He leaned against the fence and looked me over. “Because I know ho

w to read people. It’s what made me successful as a coach—being able to predict what the other coach was going to do.”

Damn it. He was reading me too easily. “Lead the way to where the chores are.”

“Suit yourself.” By the tone of his voice, it was clear that he doubted I would actually do anything. What he didn’t know was that I could muck out stalls with the best of them even in a pencil skirt.

We entered the barn, which was rather impressive with its tongue-and-groove walls and ceiling. The main aisle down the barn had a stained-concrete floor and reminded me of my parents’ place in Atlanta.

“I need to brush the mare down.”

“She doesn’t have a name?”

“Not one that suits her yet besides pain in the ass.”

I chuckled. “Well, I don’t think that would be very fitting for a Golden Horse.”

“Probably not. You want to comb her down while I muck out her stall? She’s actually calm when she’s being brushed down.”

“Sure.”

It was obvious by the cleanliness and organization of the barn that he took pride in what he did. It was something our team desperately needed.