Page 19 of Since Day One

Hoofbeats pounded to my left, coming closer and closer. When I turned around, I saw Gunnar in his chaps and thick coat once more riding toward me on Luke, and a smile lifted my rosy cheeks. He had on a bright red wild rag this time and a short mustache forming above his top lip with the scruff around the rest of his face trimmed short.

“Morning, Princess,” Gunnar said, his horse prancing a few steps around me. I raised my hands, already holding some toast and a coffee that I’d snuck from the lodge before running back to wait for him. He chuckled, his lively hazel eyes twinkling in the morning sun, reflecting the thick frost once again coating the scenery.

“I see you came more prepared this morning,” he added as I walked around to his left side. Extending his arm, I hooked mine around his and swung up without spilling a single drop. Without hesitating, I wrapped the one holding the coffee around his waist and took a bite of my toast as he spurred his horse forward and we launched off to the barn.

“Did you bring me anything?” he asked as we trotted down the ridge toward his arena.

“Are you going to let me ride today?” I countered.

“No.”

“Then you have your answer,” I munched on another large bite of my breakfast. A chuckle deep in his chest vibrated against my arm, wrapped tightly around his waist, while he slowed Luke as we neared the garage door. I slid down, my feet landing against the concrete pad with a dull plunk. “Shame, because I came prepared and ready.”

“Just because I saw you ride yesterday doesn’t change my opinion,” he answered while pressing the button to raise the door.

“But what if I’m a really good rider?“ I whined.

“Have you ever ridden a cutting horse before?” The garage clanked to a stop, and warm air gushed over us.

“No…” I pouted, following him into the arena. He paused, waiting for me and Luke to clear the door, and then pressed the button to lower it once more. Again this morning, there were horses on the hot walker and tack waiting at the ready. His two hands, however, were already in the arena this time, warming up their horses.

“You’re cute and all, but no,” he said, releasing Luke into the round pen.

“Asshole,” I scowled under my breath, following him over to the hot walker. He paused beside the wall, pressed a couple of buttons, and the walker slowed.

“Princess, you will be the death of me,” he chuckled in response and, entering the walker, clipped a lead rope on a small dun stallion and led the horse back out of the section before closing the gate. The hot walker whirred back to life, resuming the movement for the other horses.

Sticking my tongue out in his direction, I drifted toward the spot I occupied in the bleachers yesterday. This wasn’t the moment to declare a total defeat; there was an entire month to wear him down, even if I lost the battle today. Parking myself on the cold metal, I studied him carefully as he tacked up and began the same routine as yesterday.

My heart soared, thoroughly entertained by watching as he moved each horse through its paces. Those that were mature, he spent time doing several exercises, while the younger ones tackled just one task until he was satisfied with their progress, however slight that might be. What a luxury it was to observe instead of working. How incredibly uplifting to see the improvement so plainly displayed before me. That is the one thing Kurt always gets after me about—not rewarding myself for the little things that I take pride in rewarding the horses for.

After a couple of hours, we all shed several layers of clothing, leaving Gunnar in a forest green button-up, which, interestingly enough, matched the shade of my long-sleeve T-shirt. Though his clothing seemed way more flattering than my baggy shirt.

A squeak of sandy hinges pierced the relaxed air, and the small side door burst wide open. In came a man in a thick, brown coat with the collar dressed in cream wool. He was a middle-aged man with the tips of his hair beginning to gray and a clean-shaven jaw with a thinner face and large, downturned green eyes. Gunnar paused what he was doing and glanced toward the tall, skinny man whose cover practically hung on him.

“Bill!” Gunnar shouted from across the arena and trotted the chestnut mare he was riding toward the edge of the rail. The stranger waved, a grin spreading across his weathered face. “To what do I owe the surprise?”

“Boy, do I have a perplexing situation,” Bill answered.

Gunnar leaned against his saddle horn and smiled. “Give it to me.”

“You know that colt who just turned three? Had that trainer come out and begin working him like you suggested, since he’s the only horse I got this year.”

Gunnar nodded.

“Well, I doubt you’d send me a bum trainer, but this horse just ain’t getting it.”

“The same colt with those breeding lines?”

“That’s the one.”

“What d’you mean he ain’t getting it? Should be one of the best cutting prospects we’ve seen,” Gunnar replied, perplexed.

“I can’t really explain, but I could show ya. You could even ride him, ’cause I’m hoping you can fix him,” Bill answered, and Gunnar sat back on his horse.

“He’s here?”

“Trailered him in just hopin’ you might have a second.”

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