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Twelve

Unrest roiled in Gabe’s stomach. He hated to be bested. He especially hated to be bested by this slip of a woman. Determination settled in his bones. There was no way he was going to lose a horse race to a woman. Even in her outdated riding habit—that actually fit her better than the other dresses had—she was all woman, soft and desirable. Excitement flushed her face, causing her eyes to twinkle like stars. Lips soft and red, turned up in a smile.

When she laughed, her whole face lit up with enthusiasm. Of course now she wore a panicked expression. Probably because she sensed his irritation. Sighing deeply, he smiled, which made the smile return to her pretty face.

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