Page 62 of Rope Me In

“I’m not riding a horse,” Presley objects, hands on her jean-clad hips.

We’ve finished morning chores, which took longer now that we have an extra ten stalls to clean and horses to feed. Then I made sure Presley and I had a snack and some water before our next task. This one is more fun—at least for me.

“We need to start testing out the horses and evaluate them for guests.”

“You’re going to use me as a test dummy?”

I chuckle. “Of course not.”

The sound of hooves and footsteps approaching reach my ears, and I glance toward the barn to see Art with a tacked-up bay gelding.

I turn back to Presley. “I’m going to ride him first, and you can watch. But all the horses we bought are seasoned trail horses, so they’re safe. Some might have a little more spunk than others, and we’ll try to save them for the more experienced riders, but even that level of spice isn’t very spicy.”

“Howdy,” Art says, tipping his hat to us both. “This is Big John.”

Presley eyes the horse up and down. “You want me to get on a horse namedBig John?” The squeal in her voice has Art and I stifling a laugh. “This isn’t funny! What if Big John gets mad and I die?”

“Lemon.” I step toward her, not caring that Art is here, and place my hands on her shoulders. “Take a breath.”

She does as I ask, and it makes me feel great. Before yesterday, she probably would’ve ignored me and said she was fine.

“You’re not going to die,” I assure her. “We were told this horse is great for kids. I’ll ride first, and then you can get on him. Think you’d be willing to try?”

Her blue eyes close for a moment, and she sucks in another breath. When she opens them, she seems calmer. There’s even a small glint in her eye.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” she chuffs.

Art laughs, and I shake my head at her, clicking my tongue against the back of my teeth.

“Such a smart mouth.” Then I lean in closer to her ear and whisper, “But we’ll work on that.”

I wink and step back to face a very curious Art. He’s got an eyebrow raised at me that says,What the hell was that?

I ignore it, taking the split reins from his hand and thanking him. “Can you bring another one of the horses out for me in forty minutes? Maybe that palomino they said was for experienced riders?”

Art, still eyeing me, nods. “Sure thing, boss.”

I roll my eyes at him. He knows I hate when he calls me that—especially since I hardly have any pull around here. Theonly reason I know anything about the new horse is because this is one of the tasks I was given by Gavin during a short conversation that was only about work and lasted all of five minutes. He’d handed me a packet of papers with a profile of each horse and the information we were given on them from their previous owner, then he told me to ride them and get a feel for each one.

Once Art’s gone, I turn back to Presley. She’s staring at Big John like he’s going to eat her. The horse is just standing there, his tail swishing at flies and ears twitching.

“Come over here, darlin’.”

Presley’s eyes snap to mine at her nickname, and one of the hands on her hips shifts to reflexively rub at her butt through her black jeans. I can’t help the sly grin that appears on my face because I know she’s thinking about the first time I called her darlin’.

“You feeling okay?” I ask.

Presley glances at her hand on her ass, her gaze sheepish when she focuses on me again. Her hand moves back to her hip, and she blushes. “I’m fine.”

“Mm-hmm. Do you need more balm?”

She shakes her head, cheeks turning pinker. “I’m good. It doesn’t hurt.”

“That’s good to hear.” I look around to make sure nobody is in earshot before I murmur, “That just means next time, I’ll have to go harder.”

Presley’s mouth drops open, but I don’t say anything else. I step back and throw the reins over Big John’s head, looping them over the saddle horn before I mount. He’s a big boy, probably over sixteen hands, but he’s gentle. I don’t have to be told that to see it.

The gelding hasn’t moved a centimeter since Art brought him out, and I didn’t see any crazy in his eyes, something I always look for. It’s easy to tell sometimes, like a twinkle in theirsoulful gaze that says,If you screw with me, I’ll buck your ass off. Big John has none of that.

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