Page 2 of Captured by the Billionaire Cowboy (The Secret Billionaires #7)

T he horse on the screen was the most beautiful creature Ciara O’Connor had ever seen. With a tan coat that shimmered like liquid velvet, a flawless silhouette and a grace only nature could bestow, the palomino Quarter Horse bespoke equine royalty, tall, proud and serene.

And tomorrow she would be lost forever.

She was destined for a flesh seller, a fiend who sold beautiful, healthy horses across the border for slaughter.

Thousands of horses were transported every year, enduring a horrifying ordeal without food or rest, leaving many injured or worse before even reaching the slaughterhouse.

Many individuals and groups fought to help, yet the practice continued.

Ciara couldn’t save all of them, but she would save this horse.

Binding her long blond hair in a pony-tail, she grabbed a bag already filled with essentials for the vital endeavor.

She spun around the feminine space, a cozy mauve and cream chamber with whimsical whitewashed furniture, dozens of horse knick-knacks and a collection of signs that started with “Save the…” She took a deep breath of lavender-scented air from the fresh bouquet on the dresser, fortified it with courage and strode to the front of the house.

Her sister was in her usual space, a large country kitchen with white cabinets, a rainbow of mismatched vases and a dizzying tangle of gleaming silver modern equipment next to filigree pots and pans from the last century.

Her pin straight dark hair was neat, at stark contrast to Ciara’s own wavy locks, yet they shared a similar petite and curvy stature.

As typical, her sister wore the light scent of gardenias, tinged with a hint of freshly baked cookies.

“Sophia, I’m going on a little errand.”

Her sister glanced up and smiled, wiping flour-dusted hands on a gingham apron, casting a light cloud that coated her from head to toe.

“That’s great timing.” She consulted a handwritten recipe sprawled on the back of a napkin.

“Can you pick up baking soda and flour? I’m using the last on the cupcakes for the charity bake sale. ”

“Sure,” Ciara chirped. “Shopping list: baking soda, flour, horse. Bye!”

She almost made it.

“Wait a minute!”

Ciara stilled halfway outside the door, straddling the safety of her home and the glistening natural world.

Past the threshold, the Irish plains beckoned, a seemingly endless wonderland beyond the boundary of their small, rented ranch.

They lived an hour outside of Dublin, in a tiny rural town where everyone’s intimate details were served with the morning coffee, tea or whiskey .

It was a large change from their Texas upbringing, yet it afforded them proximity to their grandparents, fostering a relationship they wished to explore while time graced it.

They had fallen in love with the lush beauty of Ireland, and the unending kindness of the people who loved to sing, dance and welcome all.

The cottage she rented with her sister was small, with only a thousand square feet shared between three rooms, yet they had a few acres of land, a two-horse stable and a boundless amount of love.

Still, soon their lives would change, with a return to Texas.

Not because of residency restrictions – their parents had been Irish citizens who moved to the United States, thus the sisters enjoyed the benefits of dual citizenship – yet they had always planned their sojourn to be temporary, and both had lives to return to overseas.

When the lease on the home ended in several months, they would pack everything and return from their international trip.

Snowflake whinnied softly, nodding her head over the white lattice fence.

The three-year-old white mare had been with Ciara since birth, and they shared an inherent connection, bound by respect and filled with love.

When Ciara wasn’t at her job at a local ranch, she was with Snowflake.

She hated to leave her, yet another horse needed her now.

A cleared throat snagged her attention back to Sophia, whose crossed arms and lightly tapping foot belied the efficacy of the surreptitious plan.

If only she’d been a little faster, she could have called from the road as she’d planned.

Perhaps not all was lost. “Can you keep an eye on Snowflake? We went on a lovely ride this morning, but–”

“What’s on your shopping list?” her sister interrupted.

Ciara thumped her finger against her cheek. “Baking soda. You said you needed that.”

“Try again.”

“Flour?”

Sophia raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“Fine, a horse.”

Her sister held out her hands, as if beckoning logic and reason to jump into her embrace. After ten seconds in which it became clear logic and reason had fled to a nearby pub (as they frequently did around Ciara), she sputtered, “Explain.”

“Did you know they send horses across the border to meat farms?”

Pain. Horror. Devastation. A million synonymous emotions, in a millionth of a second, transformed her sister’s expression, the same that shattered Ciara when she first read the exposé on the gruesome practice.

“I did not.” Quiet anguish laced her sister’s voice.

“But what does that have to do with you?”

Everything . “A rescue website just shared the horrific plight of a young palomino mare. Apparently, the owner inherited the ranch and wants to turn it into a strip mall. He has no interest in spending the time to find her a responsible owner and is planning on selling her to a meat farm. They’ll transport her across the border and then… ” She swallowed unfathomable words.

Sophia’s features mirrored her own sorrow. A moment later, they dissolved into horror. “You’re not planning to steal her, are you?”

“Of course not.” Ciara patted her purse.

“I’m going to buy her.” She didn’t wait for her sister to respond before edging to the door.

“Please don’t try to talk me out of it. Think about our family.

Mom and her charity work with the hospital, dad and his work with veterans.

You’ve donated more baked goods than a nationwide donut chain.

I’ve tried to help, but things haven’t always worked out. ”

“Like the skunk rescue?” Sophia offered helpfully.

Ciara wrinkled her nose. “That didn’t turn out, or smell, quite as I’d hoped.

But now I have the chance to make a difference.

” She turned and paced in the small entryway.

“My life hasn’t gone according to plan. Not with professional matters, not with personal ones…

” Her dream of owning a ranch had morphed into a low-level job as an assistant at someone else’s ranch.

Her romantic endeavors had fared even worse.

She’d found Mr. Wrong, Mr. Really Wrong and Mr. I-thought-Neanderthals- were-extinct wrong.

And her dreams of one day starting a family…

She stopped and faced her sister. “I just need to do something.”

Her sister held her gaze, no doubt formulating a dozen valid arguments outlining the irresponsibility of spending her meager earnings on a horse she’d never seen, the danger of driving hours for a social media story.

Yet instead Sophia sighed softly. “Hold on.” She pivoted and strode from the room.

In seconds, she was back – with a slim pink checkbook covered in both printed and actual sprinkles, the rainbow variety.

Well, how about that? “No.”

“Let me help.”

“You can’t.” Ciara gently pushed the checkbook away. “You need your money to start that bakery you’re always talking about, and I need to do this on my own. But thank you. And don’t worry.” She embraced her sister in a tight hug. “I’ll be fine.”

Sophia grasped her shoulders. “Promise me you’ll be careful. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Ciara took a deep breath. Her sister’s kindness was everything . “It’ll be easy. I’ll drive a couple of hours, save the horse, and Snowflake will have a friend. No problem.”

There was a problem.

Twelve problems to be exact.

“A dozen horses?” Ciara blinked at the animals, just in case she was seeing double… and double… and double. Yet the image remained, an egg carton’s worth of offerings when she expected a single horse.

The man’s face twisted in contempt, beady black eyes narrowed, as he glared at the animals as if they had no right existing.

The man who led her to the filthy barn wore torn flannel, a perpetual scowl and a disgusting cologne reeking of alcohol.

He coughed, then spit a wad of tobacco at the horses.

They jerked and backed away, their wary eyes pinned on the glowering brute.

“I never said there was just one,” he growled.

“But the webs–” At his harsh glare, Ciara stopped. “I thought there was one.”

“Nope.” He spit another putrid glob of tobacco, casting nausea deep into her stomach. The scent of rotted eggs tangled with the odor of hardened manure. “There’s twelve of the wretched creatures. So just tell me which you want. Price is the same for all of them.”

“And the rest…”

He shrugged. “I got a buyer. They’re coming tomorrow.”

No.

The website made clear who that buyer was, and what he planned for the horses.

She couldn’t leave the beautiful animals to their horrific fate.

“Can I have a little time? A few weeks to get the money together?” She could ask around, look for sponsors and hopefully locate good homes for the animals before it was too late.

The gnarled man scrunched up his face. “I don’t have time for that. The rate per pound is excellent today. You buy the horses, or they go tomorrow.”

Rate per pound?

Do not yell. Do not scream. Do not grab every horse and escape from this monster.

Even at the relatively low price, they still cost thousands, not including the money to care for them. She would have to empty every account she had, break into her piggy bank and exclude the cents, and it would just be enough to buy them. The money left to care for them?

The cents.