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Beth could remember the smell of Old Spice and flannel on her dad the night Mom left. She’d burrowed her head against her dad’s neck. Clung to him, terrified of losing him too.
I don’t think he took your promise literally.The rich tones of Grayson’s voice had been a balm to the heartache she carried.
Maybe.
But in the light of day, she wasn’t sure he’d get her in the saddle. Even if he did look so competent and capable. He wore jeans and boots and a navy T-shirt that had a smudge of dust across the chest where he’d received a nuzzle from the red horse in front of him.
He smiled at her. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.” He rubbed the horse’s neck. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Oh boy. “I shouldn’t be.” He’d suckered her in, getting her to open up about her past. Just like he’d somehow talked her into this. Was she actually going to get on a horse again?
Eh…
He adjusted his hat—he’d swapped his felt Stetson for a molded straw one. Much more practical for the summer heat. Somehow, she’d gotten used to his cowboy look—despite the fact that it was completely not Deep Haven, it suited him.
And yeah, okay, he was handsome. Incredibly handsome—broader and taller and most definitely stronger than when he was a teen.
“I think you’re where you should be.”
The memory of last night’s card games tugged a smile from her lips. There’d been something wholly comforting in Grayson’s company. His apology had surprised her.
Then she’d dragged a few details out of him about his life in Oregon. The horses he trained. His plans for the future.
And even after she’d embarrassed herself thinking the Three Sisters were women, not mountains, he’d made the conversation easy. Comfortable.
Like an old pair of boots.
Yeah, stress and fatigue had overtaken her good senses.
He haltered the sorrel horse. “This is Maverick, who’s kind of, possibly, the nicest horse I’ve ever ridden. He’s a little out of conditioning, but the training’s all there.”
“Oh?” She let the horse sniff her hand before she reached to pet the bright white blaze down his face. Sleek and soft.
“Yeah—like, he’s advanced, and it’s odd that he was at that camp. He takes a very light touch.”
“Interesting.” Beth let her fingers glide across the horse’s muscular shoulder. “So there’s a mystery there.” On his left hip, a hairless and indistinct brand marked his hide.
“Maybe. If only he could talk.” Grayson pointed to the brand. “That might be a research project there, looking through the brand registries.” He handed the lead rope to Beth and haltered a second horse, a dark bay. “And this one is Rex. He’s apparently one of the camp rock stars, based on all the thank-you notes that were left in the barn by dozens of kids who’ve been toted around by him.” He held out his arm, ushering her back toward the barn.
Her stupid feet followed him—a compulsion, like when she was a kid following him anywhere.
He tied both horses to the hitching post. “We’ll start at the beginning.” He scratched the sorrel horse’s withers. “This is a horse.”
“Funny.” She socked him in the kidney, enough to zing him without hurting him. “Just because I landed on my head…”
“Okay, fine. What you’re saying is that I can fast-forward through the easy stuff?”
He grabbed a saddle pad and handed it to her. “Tack up.” He gestured to Rex, who stood like a royal guard at Buckingham Palace. “Do you remember how?”
She took the pad. Ran her hand down the bay’s neck. He leaned into it. His sleek coat had warmed in the sun, and she inhaled the sweet scent. She’d forgotten how much she loved that smell. “We’ll see.”
She set the pad into place while Grayson picked up a footstool and set it on the ground next to Rex. She adjusted the placement a half inch.
Yeah. She remembered this.
“Pop up there.”
She stepped up on the stool, and he handed her a western saddle with tooling that had been worn flat along the fenders and skirt. She hefted it up, then dropped the cinch on the far side before returning to thread the latigo through.
