Wrangling the Redhead

Wrangling the Redhead by Sherryl Woods Read Free Book Online

Book: Wrangling the Redhead by Sherryl Woods Read Free Book Online
Authors: Sherryl Woods
“Let’s ride.”
    He set off at a sedate pace that Lauren had no difficulty at all matching, but the instant they hit an open stretch of land, he urged his horse to a full gallop. As if that were going to intimidate her, she thought with amusement as she urged her horse ahead of his.
    His grin spread. “So that’s the way it’s going to be,” he shouted, shooting past her.
    The rush of the wind, the exhilaration of the challenge, the taunting of an infuriating man—all of it made Lauren almost giddy with pure delight. She felt vibrantly alive for the first time in months. No, in years.
    Riding had always been that way for her, but this was even more so. Having Wade’s gaze on her, watching as doubt turned to respect, seeing an unwilling flare of heat replace the chilly disdain that he’d expressed in more ways than one, it reminded her of the first day she’d walked onto a movie set.
    Everyone from the director to the cameraman and the grips had assumed that she was yet another of the producer’s whims. Heck, even she hadn’t been convinced that she had any right to be on that soundstage with an Oscar-winning actor and a woman whose every film had been a critical success, if not a box-office blockbuster.
    But Lauren had taken the job seriously. She had her lines down cold, and ignoring the festival the butterflies were having in her stomach, she went to work. She had played that tiny scene with every bit of emotion and passion that she could call upon.
    At the end of the take, the soundstage had been dead silent for a full minute before applause had erupted. Never before—or since—had any applause been as sweet. That her first performance had been recognized with an Academy Award nomination had been the icing on the cake for Lauren. Never had any success felt as hard-won.
    Until today—right here, right now—with Wade Owens slowly beginning to relax, with the judgment in his eyes easing and fire replacing ice as his gaze met hers. He drew back on the reins, and his horse slowed.
    “Ready for some lunch?” he asked as casually as if the last two hours had been no more than a friendly ride in the park.
    So, Lauren thought, he wasn’t going to offer even token praise. That was okay. She knew he’d been impressed. He didn’t have to say the words, not today. One of these days, though, she would manage to coax him into giving her her due.
    “I’m starved,” she admitted, dismounting.
    Once she’d seen that the horse was cooled down andhad water, she joined Wade under the shade of a cottonwood tree.
    “Where’d you learn to ride like that?” he asked as he gratefully accepted one of the sandwiches she’d brought along.
    “My father insisted I learn practically before I could walk,” she told him. “We didn’t have a lot of help around our ranch, so when I got a little older, he also insisted that I do my share. That meant I had to be as good as the men so I could pull my own weight.”
    “How old were you when you were expected to do the same chores as everybody else?”
    “I started helping when I was about eight, I guess. It took a little longer before my dad was satisfied that I wasn’t slacking off.”
    Wade regarded her with sympathy. “Your father sounds like a hard man.”
    Lauren had never really thought of him that way. He was just a man trying to eke out a living for his family and everyone was expected to do their part. Her older brother, Joe, had had it tougher than she had—so tough that he’d left home at sixteen and never returned. She had idolized him, and she’d been devastated when he left without a word. At some point, though, she had been forced to conclude that his love for her hadn’t been nearly as deep as hers had been for him. Even now, after all this time, she had no idea if Joe was dead or alive. She feared he was dead, because he hadn’t come out of the woodwork to ask for a handout once her face had been plastered all over magazines and tabloids.
    “My father

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