Page 14 of Since Day One

“I don’t think it works like that, Princess,” he answered, and I pushed out my bottom lip.

“Why not? I won’t say anything. It’ll be like I’m not even there. I’ll even ride in the very back.”

He furrowed his brows, narrowing his gaze intently toward me. Pushing my bottom lip out even farther to give him my best puppy dog look possible, I silently pleaded with him. I wanted to get on a horse’s back again. Man, did I need to ride again. Gunnar ran a hand over his scruff, shaking his head. “Fine. But if one word comes out of you, I’ll send you right back to the bunkhouse. Got it?”

I nodded and opened my mouth to answer. Except he beat me to it. “Starting now.”

So I shut my lips and gathered my warm clothes, following Gunnar silently down the bleachers. We passed Ruger and the two other hands who were all grinning at Gunnar and me. I wanted to argue, tell them they had it wrong, that there would never be anything between this cowboy and me but I kept my lips shut, not wanting to miss out on a ride.

Chapter 6

Heeding Gunnar’s instructions, I stayed silent during the entire demonstration. As he explained to every one of the guys in my family the very minimal basics of riding a horse, I hung back in the shadows. Not a soul noticed me as Gunnar helped them mount one by one. My dad looked like he had been doing this his whole life, and part of me wondered if there was something neither he nor my grandma had shared with me.

Once everyone was mounted, Gunnar had them slowly follow one of the hands that had been helping out this morning through the fence’s gate and onto a small, horse-worn path leading toward the edge of the tree line. Still quietly waiting, Gunnar finally walked over to me. He pointed at the lone horse tied to a post beside the barn closest to the bunkhouses.

“His name is Whiskey ‘cos he sometimes acts like a drunken fool. So, let’s see if you listened to any of my instructions.” He grinned maliciously.

“No rest for the weary, it would seem,” I muttered, walking toward the sorrel gelding that had its head hung low to the ground.

“Don’t you trust me?” Gunnar asked, as I double-checked the cinch before unclipping the gelding from the post.

“I’m sorry?” Gripping some of the horse’s mane and the reins in one hand, I lifted my gaze to Gunnar’s.

“Here.” He stretched out his hand, offering me some worn leather gloves. They were clearly too big for my small hands, but there was no protest as I snatched them from his hands. “You checked his cinch,” he finished, answering my question.

I chuckled, slipping my fingers into the warm gloves. “No, I don’t. You just said this horse acts like a drunken fool sometimes. If I’m going on a trail ride with a horse that might stumble over his own feet, I’m not coming off because of something as dumb as a loose cinch.” There was no need for him to know the main reason I’d checked. He smiled softly, and slipping a boot into the stirrup, I bounced once and swung myself on, gently settling into the saddle.

“He’s a good horse. I was just teasing. He is, however, fancy broke. If you know what that means, you could have some fun, Princess,” he taunted, nudging his horse in front of me at a trot and heading toward the gate that now sat wide open, waiting for someone to close it.

Shocked but excited, wishing I had my spurs at this moment, I bumped the horse forward, sending him into a nice, collected lope.

We met Gunnar at the gate as he watched me pass through, and then I side-passed Whiskey to close the gate without getting down and without the need for rowels. Gunnar raised his brows and nodded softly in respect.

“Does that impress you?” I asked, using his line and trotting on by as he remained still.

He chuckled behind me, loping to catch up, and I pushed Whiskey to match his gait so we could cover the distance between us and the group. As we met up with the tail end of my family, Gunnar slowed, keeping us far enough back from the rest of the horses to remain separate, and I matched his movements.

We were silent as we disappeared beneath the trees. Every once in a while, we moved in single file, but most of the time I rode next to Gunnar, who had changed out his fancier chaps from this morning into ones that looked a little more worn.

The temperature dipped colder than expected, and clouds threatened to storm at least once every hour. Forest closed around us, and the low hum of chatter from the group mixed in with the crisp rustling of frozen leaves. It was the pine-tree smell that I found myself falling for—a smell that I suddenly recognized.

It was more subtle then, and mixed with a little bit of leather, but it was the same smell that had filled my nose when my face had been pressed into Gunnar’s back.

He was beginning to consume all my thoughts, pumping comfort through me in his presence. It had not been my intention to ride beside him, but he didn’t seem to move away or put distance between us. Once a stranger, this man became more of a friend to me in one day than the people I shared blood with.

As we weaved farther into the trees and the group distanced themselves a little more, Gunnar spoke beside me. “Where are you originally from? I don’t hear much of a Southern accent in your words. It’s there sometimes, but not like I’d expect from a Texan.”

I looked toward him, falling into his hazel eyes and strong presence for a moment. “Arizona. My family still lives there.”

“When’d you leave?”

“I moved away when I was seventeen,” I answered, feeling memories surface that hadn’t graced my thoughts in years about a man who didn’t deserve an ounce of my time.

“You moved out before you were an adult? Why?” A soft curiosity filled his voice, and his eyes slipped my way.

“Long story.” I kept my answer short, not wanting to tell anyone the thing that haunted me.

Instead of probing further, he simply nodded, oddly respecting that stubby reply. That was the first time no one had pushed for me to explain more, and I furrowed my brows in confused surprise.

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