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Not that she’d care, anyway. She’d be the official camp AD, and he’d be leaving town.
Unless he hadn’t imagined the little bit of spark in her eyes when he’d danced with her at his grandparents’ party. Or in Tally’s stall when they fed the mare applesauce spiked with antibiotics and re-wrapped her bandage.
Maverick nudged Grayson’s arm. He checked out the lineup again. “Yeah, Mav. I know.”
The campers all still stood, staring at him. Waiting.
And he thought he’d be able to run his own camp?
His throat constricted, tight, as if a horse had landed on him, squeezing out the breath. Not permitting his lungs to fill.
This was a mistake.
It shouldn’t be that hard. Beth had helped him tack up the horses, who all stood patiently, tied at different spots around the arena. She’d worked with deft but gentle hands prepping each horse.
Speaking to each quietly as she worked. Calling the horses by name.
They’d already fit the kids with helmets. He rubbed his slick hands against his jeans and took a swig from his water bottle in hopes of getting rid of the cottony dryness, then shoved it back into his saddlebag.
No amount of staring at Maverick could inflate his lungs.
The kids stood, several toeing the dirt. A few wiggling side to side. Out of nine, only six pairs of eyes were on him.
Two of the campers started to tussle, bumping into Eli. Grayson stepped forward. “Hey—we’re not going to have any of that.”
“We’re just playing,” one answered.
This day hadtrain wreckwritten all over it.
And he had no idea where to start. Everything he’d rehearsed, gone like front-row tickets to the country music festival.
They stared.
He stared.
Crickets.
This was a lot harder than he’d imagined it in his head.
“Ahem.” Beth walked up. Yep—she looked like a pro in her blue camp staff T-shirt she’d tucked into her Wranglers.
“I’m Miss Beth and this…cowboy here is Mr. Grayson.” Her voice rose, surprisingly clear and resolute in the barnyard, and the youths leaned in to hear her. “Who’s here for a trail ride?”
All their hands shot into the air with a chorus of “Me!”
She glanced over at him, the sparkle in her eyes mischievous.
For all her quiet, demure appearance, Grayson was starting to believe something untamed lived just beneath the surface. Something saucy and sassy and smart.
That maybe all Beth had needed was the same thing he’d needed—the same thing these kids needed. Someone to stand by her and give her a little nudge. Believe in her. Tell her to go for it.
“We need to review over a few safety rules.” She held up her finger. “First, listen and obey all the instructions we give you.” She held up a second finger. “Second, move slowly around the horses and use a calm, quiet voice.” She scanned the lineup for eyes. “Third, do not stand where you could be kicked—namely, behind the horse.” She used her arms to gesture toward the nearest horse’s hind end like a game-show assistant.
Her audience giggled.
She continued reciting the rules while Grayson pulled himself together and grabbed their radios from the charger in the barn.
He’d spent some time riding each of the horses over the past three days while Beth rode Rex. He could plop a kid on top of these horses and trust it to willingly follow the one in front of it. They’d decided he’d ride Maverick in the front and Beth would bring up the rear.
