Page 33 of A Cowboy in the Streets

On our fourth try, Belle stopped at the block without me asking her to. This time, hoping I wasn’t pushing my luck, I squeezed my calves against her belly and clucked my tongue, urging her forward. At first, she didn’t move. I squeezed again, clucked again, and she stepped forward.

“Good girl,” I said, rewarding her with a pat on the neck.

She gave her head a shake and nickered. We ambled around the ring, following the fence like we had before. I didn’t have anything to guide her except my legs and the lead rope, but my smart girl had figured out the routine by now. We came to the mounting block, and I gave the rope a gentle tug, sinking my weight into my seat and leaning back. She got the message and stopped.

When I slid off, I wrapped my arms around her neck and scratched exactly where she liked it. “You’re going to get so many carrots,” I promised.

Ben whooped, and I laughed. I chanced a peek at Adam, who shook his head slowly, like he couldn’t believe what he had witnessed. At least, that was how I took it. It could also be that he couldn’t believe I was careless enough to ride Belle without a bridle.

“I’m going to tell Gramps!” Ben said and took off for the big house.

I busied myself with Belle, pretending I didn’t care that Adam hadn’t said a single word. “I know we have a lot of work to do—”

“You did good,” he cut me off gruffly. “You’ve made more progress in two weeks than we’ve made in two years.”

I beamed. God, I was such a sucker for head pats. “I think her problem has to do with the tack. It can be a long process, getting the right fit for everything.”

“Could be so. We never got far enough in the process to isolate the issue. She never gave anyone a chance once they were in the saddle. You’re the first one stupid enough to try to ride her bareback with no bridle.”

I might have taken offense to that if his whole face hadn’t brightened. Lightened. Good lord, the man was smiling. Full on smiling. At me. And it was every bit as dangerous to my well-being as I had suspected it might be.

He was gorgeous.

“Where do we go from here?” he asked.

Straight to hell, I thought. Where bad girls go for lusting after their boss.

“I mean, what’s your next step with Belle?” he clarified, when I stared at him like an idiot.

“Oh, right. Well, I think we need to keep moving forward slowly and really be thoughtful about it. If her issue isn’t having someone on her back, we need to isolate the problem. It could be her mouth. Tomorrow I’ll—”

My words cut off as an SUV pulled up and a man stepped out. Adam went rigid, his smile replaced by another frown. And this time it wasn’t simply Resting Grump Face. He scowled like he meant it.

“Adam.” The man touched the brim of his baseball hat.

Adam stood with his barrel thighs wide, arms crossed over his chest, scowl firmly in place. “Deacon,” he grunted.

My eyes darted between the two men nervously. Even Belle felt the tension.

“Would have called first, but I didn’t want to have this conversation twice,” Deacon said. He rubbed the back of his neck and squinted at the sky. “It sucks.”

“Yeah,” Adam agreed, and I wondered how he knew that. Was this conversation a long time coming?

Whatever else it was or wasn’t, this moment was private. That much was clear. I turned to lead Belle back through the barn to the paddock out back for some well-deserved turnout, but Adam’s gaze cut to me and stopped me cold. I didn’t know how he felt about having an audience for this conversation, but something in his face made me reluctant to leave him alone. If he wanted me gone, he was going to have to ask.

Deacon looked at me, clearly wondering why the hell I was still standing here.

“She stays,” Adam gritted.

Well. That settled that.

“Emily left some things,” Deacon said. He kept his face averted, never quite looking Adam in the eye. “Photos. Those watercolors she did. Journals. A letter—” His voice cracked.

Adam stared at him, waiting out the man’s obvious pain without a single word.

Deacon’s throat worked as he swallowed hard. “She wrote him a letter. Made me promise to give it to him when he’s fifteen. She figured that was old enough.”

“He’s only eleven,” Adam said roughly, and I realized that the he Deacon referred to was Ben.

---