MILLIONAIRE'S SHOT: Second Chance Romance by Bev Pettersen Page B

wrapped all the horses’ legs, and also found a hammer and nails so he could hang the ribbons.
    “Don’t you want to keep your ribbons?” she’d asked. “You won them.”
    “They mean more to your grandfather,” he said, tousling her hair. “I’m glad I could help with the sale though. Did you see that kid’s face? He was sure happy with his new horse. I think your grandfather will have enough money to go out for ice cream tonight.”
    She’d been ten years old and that was the day she realized Gramps didn’t sell the horses to be mean. It was how he paid their bills. And that blond kid only wanted to buy the horse because Alex looked so cool, and everyone knew the Sutherlands were great riders. The kid might not have wanted anyone to know that a little girl could ride the horse over jumps too.
    “My dad rode horses at shows?” Grace’s surprised voice yanked back Cassie’s attention.
    “Sure,” Cassie said. “When he was young. Before he switched to polo.” She paused. Grace was staring up at the wall, a wistful expression on her face.
    “Do you want your dad’s ribbons?” Cassie asked. “You can take them home with you.”
    “No, thanks. They’re not mine.” Grace wrapped her arms around her backpack and turned away. “I’ll just groom Ginger while you ride…if that’s okay?”
    “Sure,” Cassie said. She hesitated a moment then headed toward the bay gelding’s stall. She’d worked with lots of children on film sets, but she’d never met one who was so polite. Or maybe Grace was just insecure. Whatever, there was something different about her. And it made Cassie want to hang around and try to make the kid relax. Which was a little surprising because she’d been prepared to resent Alex and Rachel’s child.
    She tacked up Digger, grabbed a helmet and led the gelding outside. She had more important things to worry about, like helping Gramps sell his horses so he didn’t work himself into an early grave.
    An hour later, she kicked her feet out of the stirrups, leaned forward and patted Digger’s sweaty neck. He was a lovely horse, responsive, keen and willing. His turns weren’t as crisp as she’d like, but tomorrow they’d go to the south field with a ball and mallet. A lot of horses woke up when they had something to chase. Either way, he’d make a solid polo pony. He wasn’t as fiery as Ginger but he’d be great for an intermediate player. As usual, Gramps had done an excellent training job.
    “Did you ride looking like that?”
    Cassie swiveled in the saddle, surprised to see Grace standing by the barn door. She’d thought the girl would be long gone by now.
    “What do you mean?” she asked.
    “You ride in jeans?” Grace stepped closer, her eyes wide with horror. “Not breeches? Not real riding clothes?”
    “I sure do,” Cassie said. Sometimes she added chaps to keep her legs from chafing, but only for strenuous gallops or rough brush rides.
    “But Mom says I always have to wear breeches.”
    “It’s good to follow the dress rules of every discipline.” Cassie chose her words carefully. “But I work with different horses all day. Both on the ground and in the saddle. So it’s more important to be practical.”
    “You mean when you work around famous movie stars, you still wear jeans?”
    Cassie nodded, hiding her amusement. The girl looked aghast at the thought of appearing in public without formal riding clothes. But Grace was the daughter of a multi-millionaire. Grooms did all her dirty work and no doubt she owned rooms full of designer clothes. However, she’d already made it clear she preferred to work with horses from the ground, so breeches seemed overdressed.
    Maybe Grace wasn’t afraid to ride. Maybe she’d just never had much fun with a horse. When Alex had first shown up here, he’d worn crisp white breeches and fitted shirts. It hadn’t been very long before he switched to blue jeans and T-shirts. And it was her grandfather who’d taught him to