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“Sorry to disappoint you. I’ve been ranching on a four-wheeler. Danny’s trying to set me right, though. He claims I’ll get some things done in half the time on a horse.”
“He’s probably right. A four-wheeler can’t react nearly as well as a horse. It would save you a lot of time and trouble.”
Austen shrugged and grinned. “Only if a fellow knows how to ride. I mean, beyond the basics of staying on. Dusty started teaching me how to rope, though.”
“Really? He and Luke are some of the best around, everyone always says. You should see if he’ll sell you a horse while you’re at it.”
“Yeah. Hey—” His expression changed, the flirtiness vanishing and the businessman returning. “I just remembered that journal. Do you still have it? I sort of need it back.”
“Ah, yes.” I fished around in the deep pockets of my coat and produced it. “Thanks for letting me read it. It was… it was really special.” I let myself drift, my balance swaying toward him as my hand slid up his shoulder again. I wouldn’t mind kissing him one more time, just to show him how much I meant it. I loved seeing the person behind the mask.
But for once, Austen wasn’t looking at me. He thanked me for the journal, tossed it on a chair just inside the house door, and reached for his hat. “Better get going, huh?”
I fell back to flat feet. “Sure.”
Chapter 13
Dusty
“Thanksforcomingtohelp out, Dusty!” Morgan called over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I have to run!”
“No problem,” I replied, though I didn’t think she could hear me. She was already halfway out to the arena, slightly out of breath and more than a little harried. She was trying to do the jobs of three people today since one of her usual volunteers had taken a part-time job on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and another had called in sick. I thought she would kiss my feet when I showed up and asked her to put me to work.
I expected to be given a pitchfork and an aisle of stalls to clean or some hay bales to buck. I was fine with hard work; the heavier, the better. It took my mind off Jess Thompkins.
The job Morgan gave me, however, was going to be a heck of a lot harder. Darn near impossible. I blew out a breath and set my hands on my hips.
Five fresh young faces stared back at me, eyes wide and trusting and cheeks rosy from the nip in the air. These were the test pilots, the first of a new breed of client for White Pines: the after-school program.
I was in over my head.
The program was a brilliant idea, birthed out of the sudden growth White Pines had seen since their benefit auction. Morgan felt there was a need for something fun and constructive for latch-key kids to do in those hours before their parents got home, and she felt like White Pines had a lot to offer. In exchange, the program found another source of funds to cover feed expenses for the horses. This week, between Christmas and New Year’s, was all part of a test to gather feedback from families before Morgan opened it up to the general public. And somehow, I’d been tagged with the job of making it work this afternoon.
By myself.
I clapped my hands together and rubbed them as if eager to get to it. “Okay, has anyone ever brushed a horse before?”
Five pairs of eyes blinked and looked around at each other. Finally, one little girl in the back cautiously slipped her hand up, just even with her ears. “Mister Dusty, we all did that yesterday.”
I nodded. “Right. Morgan said this was your second day here, huh?”
“Not me!” piped up a boy in the back. “My mom just heard about it today and signed me up. I wanted to play video games with Connor, but she said I had to come here. Are we going to ride a bronco?”
“I’m afraid not. What’s your name, son?”
He crossed his arms. “Aedyn, and I’m not your son.”
“Everyone is someone’s son, and don’t forget it. Now, let’s—”
“Are you Miss Morgan’s son?”
I squinted and tried to find the source of this question. “Am I what?”
Another boy in the front was digging at his nose, then he sniffed and asked earnestly, “Is Miss Morgan your mom?”
I had to fight the urge to chuckle. I mean, the kid was socute, and his question so beguiling. But he was being serious, so I owed him that courtesy in return.
“No, I’m not. In fact, Miss Morgan and I are about the same age. Just like you guys. How old are you…” I had to turn my head upside-down to read his name tag. “…Billy?”
