“I’m starting to like horses.” She smiled, her posture relaxing in the saddle.
“Yeah, until one throws you,” he said, then nudged the horse with his knees. Zephyr responded instantly, muscles bunching as he surged forward.
“Wait. What?Throws me?” Her voice pitched higher.
Seth grinned as he rode ahead of her, dust kicking up behind Zephyr’s powerful hooves. There was no way he could look backbecause he’d laugh and that wouldn’t go over too well. But he did stop his horse to wait on her, Zephyr pawing the ground impatiently.
“Have you ever been thrown?” she asked when she caught up.
“Darlin’,” he drawled, “if you haven’t been thrown, you haven’t ridden, and I’ve been thrown way too many times to count. Got the scars to prove it. Plus, I do get thrown quite a bit when training and I sure did when I competed.” He nudged the horse and rode ahead of her.
****
“Darlin’?” Ryan murmured, the word catching in her throat like a burr. “Cowboy jargon. He didn’t mean it.” She nudged the dappled mare with her knees and followed the dusty trail behind him. “And this horse better not throw me.” She rubbed the horse’s soft neck, feeling the powerful muscles twitch beneath her fingertips. “Do you hear me? Don’t you throw me. What is your name?” She squinted through the golden afternoon light at Seth’s silhouette up ahead. “Hey!”
He stopped, leather creaking as he turned in the saddle to face her, the brim of his hat casting shadows across his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. What’s this horse’s name?”
“You’ve been riding her a couple of days and you’re just now asking?” His voice held a note of amusement that made her stomach flutter.
“I told you, I didn’t like horses, but she’s growing on me. What’s her name?”
“Pearl.”
“It fits her.” Ryan raked her fingers through the horse’s black mane that shimmered in the sunlight. “You’re a very pretty girl, Pearl.” Then she remembered what else he’d said. “When youwere talking about being thrown, you said you sure did when you competed. Competed in what?”
“Cutting horse competitions.”
“I thought you just trained them?”
“I competed since I was thirteen. I had a compound fracture of my right collarbone when I was thirty-four and had trouble after that, so I decided to train instead.”
“Compound fracture?” She shuddered. “That had to hurt.”
“Unbelievably.”
“How well did you do when you competed?”
Seth looked at her, then waved his hand around. “I paid cash for this spread.”
“What? You earned that much?”
“And much more.”
“Did you ride your own horses?”
Seth shook his head. “No, I rode for people. I was damn good at it and in high demand. I was in the top five earners. I competed with several different owners. When I was forced to retire and began training, a lot of the people I rode for, hired me to train their horses.”
“Unreal,” she muttered as he nudged the horse.
She rode behind Seth, watching his broad back flex beneath his worn flannel shirt as he moved with the horse’s gait, and it was a very nice back indeed. The front, with its chiseled jawline and those piercing green eyes, was even better. She snorted out a laugh, heat rising to her cheeks, but when he glanced over his shoulder at her, she fixed her gaze firmly on the distant mountains.
When he stopped again, she did the same, then lifted her camera and took photos of the area and him. The morning sun cast a golden glow across his face, highlighting the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. He was the essential cowboy, worn leather chaps, dusty Stetson pulled low, and that easy confidencein the saddle that made it look like he and the horse beneath him were one. She knew she’d never have his skills when it came to riding a horse.
He was leading her to the field where the oats were being planted. The rolling Montana landscape stretched before them, a patchwork of emerald and amber under the vast blue sky. When she caught up to him, she looked at him, the breeze tugging at her hair.
“So, oats can be planted in wet soil?”
