Page 41

I sip the rest of my coffee, then stand to clean the kitchen mess.

Poppy jumps up and shoos me away. “You cooked; I’ll get this. You guys go relax, maybe take Butch for a ride.”

“Butch?” Hattie asks, her eyes alight with humor.

“Butch is a Hoedown champion, and kind of a big deal around here,” Owen answers, flourishing his statement with a wink and walking his plate over to the sink.

Hattie brings a pretty hand to her chest. “I had no idea. I apologize.”

“They educated me on Butch’s illustrious history when I moved here, as well,” Jackson adds dryly.

I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms. “We have to keep you city slickers up to date.”

Hattie quirks her full lips to the side, glancing at Jackson. “You’re not from here?”

“I’m from D.C.,” he says. “Moved here for a fresh start.”

Hattie hums curiously, clearly wanting to ask more questions, but she doesn’t.

I clear my throat. “Let’s head out to the barn, boys.” The prospect of reacquainting myself with Butch sounds pretty damn nice.

“Can I come, too?” Tripp asks, jumping up from his seat.

I grab my nephew and toss him over my shoulder. “Hell yes, you’re one of the boys.”

He giggles all the way to the front door as Owen and Jackson trail after us.

CHAPTER 15

Hattie

After helping Poppy clean up the kitchen and wash the dishes—how do they survive without a dishwasher?—I convince her to have a second cup of coffee with me on the front porch.

I saw the barrels in a paddock attached to a quaint barn, and I want to see Lincoln ride. Poppy doesn’t seem to notice my ulterior motives, or maybe she just doesn’t care. With our coats and boots on, we settle in the rockers on the front porch. Steam from our hot coffee billows in the cool autumn breeze.

Tripp sits on the fence between Owen and Jackson, cheering loudly when the barn door opens. Lincoln leads a giant, black stallion out the door and into the paddock. The horse nudges his shoulder playfully and Lincoln grins at him like they’re old friends. It’s the first time I’ve seen Lincoln truly smile, and my heart skips a beat. The broad, white smile makes his whole face come to life. He has slight creases around his eyes, and faint smile lines disappearing beneath his beard. Even Lincoln’s broad shoulders relax when he smiles.

I take a sip of my coffee to cover up the blush creeping up my neck.

“Enjoying the view?” Poppy asks with an innocent expression.

I sit back in my chair and glance at the horizon. “Yes, beautiful land you have.”

She snorts a laugh.

I tap her boot with mine. “I’d just never seen him smile before. I didn’t think he was capable.”

Poppy turns to study me. “You do seem to bring out his grumpy side,” she admits. “But that’s only because he’s terrified of you.”

“Why would he be terrified of me?”

Poppy smirks. “Because he likes you.”

I huff out a breath and shake my head. “No. He does not.”

The steady tread of hoofbeats draws our attention back to the paddock, and I turn to find Lincoln sitting astride the stallion. The black horse trots around the perimeter of the wooden fence in a quick trot, but not quite a gallop. Tripp claps, enjoying the show. After a few laps, Lincoln uses his heels to prompt the steed to quicken his pace. Lincoln looks sure and confident, leaning his sturdy frame slightly each time they round the bend of the fence. Then he pulls at the reins and takes Butch quickly around the three barrels at one end of the paddock. Dirt skitters around them, but they’re just warming up. Lincoln takes Butch through the barrel routine repeatedly, getting faster each time.

I’ve never watched barrel racing, but I can tell this takes skill and practice, just like show jumping. Where show jumping is intricate and methodical, barrel racing is fast and furious.