Wild Mustang Man Read Online Free PDF Page B

imagine how her Wild Mustang Man would look without the shirt, all sun-bronzed muscle and flat, washboard stomach.... Her pulse rate shot up, and her cheeks reddened. She slid a glance in his direction. He was looking at the horses, watching them snort and jerk their heads. Didn’t give her a glance.
    So this strange attraction she felt was completely one-sided. It was just as well. If they were going to work together, she couldn’t afford to get involved with him. Combining work and romance didn’t work. Led to disastrous results. If the truth were known, she’d choose romance any day. But she had no choice any longer. Her ex-fiancé, Scott, had found her lacking as a desirable woman and as an account executive. Okay, so he didn’t want to marry her. But he was wrong in saying she was no good at advertising. She was.
    She’d show him. She’d show everyone, because after landing the dream account, she’d just signed the dream man to be its symbol. She couldn’t lose—as long as she kept her wits about her. Deliberately she broke the contact and moved several inches to her left.
    “I don’t understand how you can stand to do this,” she said, keeping her eyes on the horses. “These are wild creatures, right? Used to running free in the Nevada desert. Now they’re trapped behind bars. Like prisoners. They’ll never roam free again.”
    “They’ll also never be attacked by mountain lions again or starve from lack of feed. They’ll get good care, get rid of their parasites and live longer in captivity.”
    She let his words sink in and felt better about the plight of the horses. “I didn’t know that.”
    “Most people outside this area don’t know it They feel sorry for the horses, just like you do. They think we resell them for dog food.”
    “That’s awful. What the Wild Mustang Association needs is better publicity. So the world will know what you’re doing here,” she said. It would be a labor of love for someone. Someone who loved horses, who loved their spirit, who appreciated them for what they were, a throwback to simpler, frontier times. “What do these people want them for?” she asked with a glance at the prospective buyers.
    “Pleasure, riding, packing. You can be sure if they’re willing to take on a horse who’s never even been haltered before, they’re going to look after them.”
    “Then all that talk about selling them to glue factories...” she said.
    “It happened. But that was before the Wild Horse Act”
    “Of 1971.”
    He shot her a surprised glance. “You’ve done your homework.”
    She smiled. It wasn’t really a compliment, but it might be as close as he came. It gave her an unreasonably warm feeling around her heart. Which was spoiled by his next remark.
    “How do you like the smell?”
    She wrinkled her nose. It was the smell of 150 horses penned together—the sweat, the manure, the dirt, all combined.
    “Is that what Wild Mustang cologne smells like?” he asked, nudging her with his elbow.
    She straightened. “Of course not. It’s not quite as...as earthy. But it has all the elements. The pungency... the...you know,” she finished weakly. She couldn’t deny that the smell of the wild mustangs was something no man would want to deliberately apply to his body and no woman would want her man to smell like. But who among the millions of women at the men’s cologne counters would know that? “It’s the image that counts.”
    “And not the reality?” he asked.
    She didn’t answer. She wasn’t going to get into a discussion on the value of advertising. She had a feeling she could never convince him of the validity of her field. But he’d agreed to be a part of her ad campaign, for whatever reason, and that was enough of a victory for one day. She waited a few minutes, letting his question hang in the air, before she asked one of her own.
    “How can you tell...how do you decide which horse to choose?”
    “I look to see if they have a bright