Wild About the Wrangler by Vicki Lewis Thompson Page B

out of hand. But let’s table it until after I say hello to your horses, especially Prince. I have a long overdue apology to deliver.”
    â€œHe doesn’t hold grudges.” Georgie slid the bar aside that held the barn doors closed.
    Easy for an adult, Anastasia thought. Not for a six-year-old. “I wasn’t very nice to him.” She expected to feel at least some anxiety as she walked into the small barn with her sister, but instead the scent of hay and horses made her think of Mac. He’d been so patient with her. And so damn sexy. That was the thought that made her shiver.
    Georgie noticed. “You okay?”
    â€œYes.” She took a deep breath and looked around. The barn was much narrower than Ed’s. His had stalls on both sides of a wooden aisle, but in this setup all four stalls were in a row down the right side.
    Both horses stuck their heads out to see who’d come in for a visit. Prince was in the first stall and Storm Cloud was in the last one. Georgie went over to Prince and stroked his nose the way Mac had stroked Jasper’s. “No treats, but I brought you a friend,” she murmured.
    Anastasia studied the horse that had carried her into the night in a terrifying race across the field. In her imagination he’d been gigantic and he’d breathed fire. She’d seen him since then, of course, but only from a distance.
    Slowly she walked toward him. “I remember him as being bigger.”
    â€œProbably because you were smaller.” Georgie turned to her. “Do you want me to bring him out?”
    â€œNo, no, that’s okay. Maybe the next time I come over.” Once she was close enough, she reached out the way Mac had taught her and scratched Prince’s neck.
    â€œYou’re not hyperventilating. That’s good.” Georgie moved away to give her plenty of room to maneuver.
    â€œI did at first with Jasper, but then I got over it.” Mac’s soft breathing and his masculine scent had made her forget to be afraid. But she’d been so distracted that she hadn’t spent much time observing the horse she’d been touching.
    This time she could. She’d heard Georgie describe Prince as a bay, which meant he was brown with a black mane and tail. But Prince wasn’t just brown. If she decided to paint him someday, she’d have to mix in red to enrich the color, and maybe a smidgen of yellow. His coat reminded her of polished cherrywood, except wood was static and his coat was not.
    As he shifted his weight, the ripple of muscles underneath his coat gave it subtle shading. Getting that down, either using watercolors or acrylics, would be tricky, but she could do it. She’d studied the skeletal and muscular structure of several animals, including horses, in one of her classes.
    When drawing the horses in class she’d made it a purely intellectual exercise to keep her emotions in check. She’d done the same thing when drawing the Ghost. But sketching Jasper today, she’d let herself engage. She did that now with Prince even though she wasn’t drawing him.
    Her face, reflected in his large brown eyes, was distorted as though seen through a peephole in a door. She edged to the left so she could really look into Prince’s warm gaze. And it was friendly, too. She saw nothing but goodwill there.
    Getting braver, she stroked his nose the way Georgie had. “Do you think he remembers me?”
    â€œHe might have a vague memory of your smell. If you screamed, he might remember.”
    â€œI think I’ll skip that part.” She combed his forelock with her fingers. “I’m sorry I screamed at you, Prince. That wasn’t respectful and I promise not to do it again.”
    He responded with a gentle snort. Startled, she drew in a breath, but he continued to look at her calmly as if to say that she didn’t have a single thing to be afraid of. She went back to stroking his