Chapter 1 - Winning Ways

Terrified whinnies echoed through the cavernous rafters of the huge show barn. Liz Barnett leapt to her feet and listened intently, trying to determine the location of the cries that could be nothing other than a horse in pain. She hurried toward the sound and, a moment later, cautiously lifted the latch on the heavy wooden stall door. She moved slowly toward a panic-stricken young horse in the corner.

Offering a hand, Liz kept her tone soft. "Easy...Whoa."

The wild-eyed filly nickered nervously, then resumed struggling to free her foreleg trapped between the thick bars of an old-fashioned iron hayrack mounted high on the wall.

Liz frowned at the ancient contraption.

"I can't believe anyone still uses these damned things."

Placing her right hand on the horse's slender back, she inched her left hand toward the head. Thank God, she's wearing a halter. Seeming to sense that help had arrived, the filly stopped thrashing for a moment. Liz lightly stroked the sleek neck and considered the situation. The horse wouldn't be able to free herself without rotating her hoof sideways into an unnatural position. Looking closer, Liz saw blood pulsing through a deep gash in the tender flesh across the top of the foot.

I can't let go of the halter. How'm I going to do this with one hand? She quickly reached through the bars, grasped the small foot, and twisted it sideways just as the horse pulled back. The trim hoof slipped through the narrow opening.

The adrenaline crashing through Liz's body began to subside, making her legs weak and shaky. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling, she concentrated on the filly's gushing wound. She needed to quickly stop the bleeding.

She spotted a tack room across the aisle, and darted into it, thinking about what she might use as a tourniquet. A shirt and tie hung on a hook in the corner. She snatched the tie, grabbed a towel from a stack by the door, then sprinted back across the aisle.

The little mare trembled visibly, and Liz knew time would be critical. A glaze began to move over the filly's dark eyes, as her blood flowed into the straw bedding.

Liz stroked the smooth neck, murmuring, "It's okay, baby...it's okay."

She kneeled beside the injured leg, winding the tie twice around the fetlock joint, then securing it tightly just above the cut. The bleeding dwindled, and then stopped. Liz examined the deep laceration. This'll need stitching. I'd better go find the show vet.

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

Liz gasped, nearly toppling into the straw at the unexpected nearness of the angry voice. She scrambled to her feet, and whirled around. A dark, scowling man towered over her.

"Answer me!"

He stepped forward, and Liz automatically moved back, her breath coming in short puffs as she attempted to gain control of her thoughts and explain her presence. A second later, indignation bubbled up and she returned his hostile frown.

"Your horse's leg was wedged in that old hayrack, and..."

The man stepped past, brushing her off like a bothersome fly. Her skin prickled with anger and she glared at his back.

You arrogant jerk! A nasty comment formed on her lips, then she took a deep breath. No. This isn't the way. Her professional persona took over.

"The wound is deep, but I don't think the artery was damaged." She drew herself up to her full five feet. "And, by the way, you don't need to come barging in here acting as though I'm doing something wrong."

The man didn't respond to her challenge. He tenderly smoothed his hand over the animal's neck, murmuring reassurances to her. Then he looked down.

"Damn! You used my best tie."

Liz blinked. He's worried about the tie?

He dropped to one knee. The filly stood quietly, her muscles quivering beneath her satiny coat, her breathing shallow, as he probed her injury. A minute later, he shook his head and stood up, turning to pin Liz with the darkest eyes she'd ever seen.

Her heart stumbled in its path at his exotic appearance. Skin the color of olivewood kissed by the Mediterranean sun. Gleaming blue-black hair sculpted against his skull, accentuating strong cheekbones and a wide forehead. An elegant moustache shadowed an aristocratic mouth. She took a deep breath, now aware of a new, stirring odor in the close quarters-the scent of a male ready to do battle for his territory.

His jaw relaxed, and he spoke gruffly. "Okay, thanks for your help. I need to get a vet."

A flash of heat warmed Liz's neck. "I am a vet." She looked him directly in the eye, her tone patronizing. "Now...would you like me to go find the show vet while you stay here with the horse?"

The hard lines on his face softened a little and the corners of his moustache twitched with the beginnings of a smile. His gaze dropped to her chest, and Liz's heart thumped behind her ribs, a surprising and infuriating reaction.

The moustache curled enticingly around a charming smile.

"Nah, she'll be fine. I'll keep an eye on her for awhile, then get her stitched up."

Liz said nothing, but turned and walked quickly away from the man who was making her pulse jump with something other than irritation.