MILLIONAIRE'S SHOT: Second Chance Romance Read Free

horses. She understood and shared that passion. Her boss had already promised to find him a low-stress job, a spot where he could ride and train when his health allowed. It would all work out beautifully.
    “Filming for that race series I told you about starts in a month,” she said, watching a chestnut mare whose nose was jammed in the air, despite the martingale. The mare was bold and quick, but so out-of-control she cut dangerously across the path of an opposing horse. A mounted umpire blew his whistle, instantly calling the foul.
    “Have you thought any more about working with me,” she went on, “and helping train horses for the movie? It would be like a vacation except you’d get paid a consulting fee. Food and accommodations are free. Best of all, you never have to worry about the selling part. Don’t you think that would be fun?”
    Riders shouted and hooves thudded in the background, but her grandfather didn’t answer. In fact, he was oddly quiet. The most noticeable sounds were the snickers of spectators beside them.
    “Gramps?” She shifted on the blanket, alarmed by his silence.
    He’d looked pale on the drive over, but now his face was parchment white. His mouth twisted and he struggled to breathe. Sweat dotted his forehead. Oh God, he was having another heart attack.
    She fumbled for her phone, frantically trying to remember her CPR training and wondering how long it would take for an ambulance to arrive.
    “I don’t believe it,” he mumbled, his voice so weak she could barely understand the words.
    “What is it? Does your chest hurt? Just lie back, take slow breaths.”
    Gramps leaned forward, craning to see the field. “That’s Ginger, my good mare,” he said. “But that’s definitely not Santiago riding her.”
    “Are you all right?” she asked, holding her phone so tightly she could no longer feel her fingers.
    He didn’t answer, but he was clearly breathing. And obviously just agitated. She loosened her grip on the phone and followed his gaze.
    Four riders wore the purple and white uniform of the Sutherland team. Three appeared like extensions of their mounts. But the fourth rider clung to her horse’s neck, her mallet jabbing precariously close to the animal’s eye. When the ball bounced beneath a cluster of legs, her horse twisted in pursuit, dumping her to the ground. The spectators beside Cassie guffawed.
    Her grandfather, however, dropped his head in his hands and groaned. His breathing was labored but he wasn’t having another heart attack. He just looked completely and utterly defeated.
    “So that’s Ginger,” she said as understanding dawned. “But that rider’s fall wasn’t her fault. She’s just following the ball.”
    “Ginger is too good to be ridden by someone like that,” her grandfather said, jerking to his feet. And now his face was no longer white, but a blotchy red. “I have to talk to Santiago. Right now. We had an agreement!”
    “Sure. But it’s better to talk tomorrow,” Cassie said. “After the game. When you’ve had time to think about what to say.”
    “But my horses don’t get treated that way. And Ginger looks like a bronc. It’s not fair to her.” He shook his head, a tendon in his neck bulging dangerously.
    Cassie couldn’t pull her eyes away from that bulging tendon, imagining the flood of blood his heart was struggling to pump through his body. This was exactly the situation doctors wanted him to avoid.
    “Don’t worry,” she said, trying to keep him calm. “We’ll call Santiago tomorrow and figure out when he can ride Ginger next. How about I look up the schedule of other games? Right now on my phone. There’s probably one here next week.”
    Gramps wasn’t even listening. He twisted away and stomped toward the truck.
    “There’s no sense going over there now,” Cassie said. “Santiago will be busy with the game. It’s best if you talk to him later.”
    “The third chukka is almost over,” her grandfather said. “I