MILLIONAIRE'S SHOT: Second Chance Romance by Bev Pettersen

She’d contact them before Rachel had time to spread her poison.
    If the four horses didn’t sell as polo ponies, their worth would be drastically reduced. Unfortunately every player in this area belonged to the Ponhook Club so she would have to go further afield for buyers.
    She trudged around the corner, making a mental to-do list as she walked past the trailer.
    Trailer?
    She whirled, her eyes widening. Yes, her grandfather’s horse trailer was really there, parked in its usual spot beside the barn. And the truck was parked beside it. They weren’t sitting on the back road where she’d abandoned them last night. Her body turned so taut it was impossible to move, and she could only stare as if dropped in some twilight zone.
    She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the trailer was still there, still sitting on its regular patch of dried-out grass. She reached out, cautiously touching its metal frame. It was reassuringly solid. And it didn’t have a shredded tire. In fact, all four tires were sparkling new, white lines gleaming against the shiny black rubber.
    Alex was the only person she knew with enough money and clout to move a locked truck and have four premium trailer tires installed before six am. And he was the only one she’d told about her flat tire. This was the type of thing he used to do for her …before he married Rachel.
    But it didn’t make sense. And while she was grateful, the gesture left her bewildered. She wanted him out of her head, for good this time. Not filling it with conflicting feelings of frustration and gratitude.
    And worse, even a little hope.

 
     
     
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
     
     
    “You’d really enjoy working with the film horses,” Cassie said. She leaned further over the kitchen table, her eyes on Gramps. “And you’d like my boss, Dan Barrett. He’s great with the animals. His training philosophy is a lot like yours.”
    Her grandfather pushed away his plate, his scowl quick and scornful. “But I wouldn’t like living in a trailer, moving around all the time. Different states, different people. Sounds like you’re nothing but a nomad.”
    Cassie flinched. It was an itinerant life. She never was able to memorize the roll of a field, the lay of the land, and the people around her always changed. Some of her jobs weren’t even in North America. But she had learned to like it, and so would Gramps. “I have an apartment in L.A.,” she said, “so I do have a base. But I like to keep busy.”
    “I like to keep busy too,” her grandfather grumbled. “But here. In one spot. And I like to get up and feed horses, not live in an apartment and wait for a phone call about my next job.”
    Cassie took a pensive sip of coffee. She hadn’t realized he’d been listening so closely during their phone calls. She’d tried to conceal her homesickness. And she was used to that life now. But it was obvious her grandfather wouldn’t be happy sharing her apartment, away from the house and barn and the paddocks he’d built. However, it would be awhile before he’d be medically cleared to resume riding, and even then he’d have to slow down. With no pension or savings, a financial buffer was crucial.
    If she were to help him remain in his home, she’d have to sell those horses quickly. And it was vital to obtain a good price. But because of Rachel’s slander their options would be limited. The Internet was vast and far reaching. It might be possible to train the horses to jump but the animals weren’t big enough to make high-level hunters. A polo home would definitely be best—for both the animals and Gramps.
    “I’ll call my boss,” she said. “He recently finished a polo film. Maybe he knows of another one that needs horses. And I’ll check with some out-of-state clubs. But first I’ll ride the other horses so I know what we have.”
    “Ginger’s the best of the four,” her grandfather said. “She’d suit a high-level player. The others are solid, although Tex