Page 129 of Rough Ride

Johnny Armstrong sat tall on his own horse, Stetson hat pulled low over his eyes while he observed the grazing cattle. His body rolled smoothly in time with the slow walk his horse was making along the border of the herd. I didn’t call out to him—I wanted to savor the way he looked out here without knowing someone was watching. I luxuriated in hownaturalhe seemed when he wasatop a horse, tending to his ranch. Even more natural than at the rodeo.

That was for show, after all. This wasreal.

Applesauce whinnied as we drew close, and Johnny’s head snapped toward me. But his expression softened as soon as he saw that it was me. “Why hello there, Sky Eyes. You’ve gotten pretty good at riding.”

“I was taught by the best,” I replied, bringing Applesauce up alongside the other horse. “They seem relaxed today.”

“The calves finally settled down,” Johnny said, eyes scanning the herd again. “Don’t know why the one was hollerin’ so much the past few days, but it’s over now. So. To what do I owe the pleasure of your beautiful presence out here on the back half?”

“I was going to ask if you wouldn’t mind coming back. I want you to cook the steaks.”

Johnny continued staring out at the cattle, but narrowed his eyes. “I thought Eli was the grillmaster tonight.”

“He doesn’t make them right,” I complained. “They’re always overcooked, or under-seasoned. Liz will be here soon, and I’d prefer if we don’t have to grill asecondbatch of steaks for our guests.”

Johnny chuckled. “I love hearing you say that.”

“What? Grilling a second batch of steaks for our guests?”

He finally pulled his gaze away from the cattle and smiled at me. “I like hearing you say that I cook the steaks better than Eli.”

I leaned across the horse, tipped Johnny’s hat up, and kissed him. “Don’t taunt him about it.”

“Oh, I won’t taunt him,” Johnny said, turning his horse around. “But you didn’t say nothin’ about teasing. Race you home.”

He kicked his horse into a trot, and Applesauce—ever the competitive animal—immediately sped up to match his pace. I squeezed my thighs, praying that I would stay in the saddle. I wasn’t used to going this fast.

Johnny glanced over his shoulder, smirked, and then urged his horse faster.

Dusty, our Yellow Lab, emerged from the shady copse of trees and shot across the landscape toward us, eager to keep up. Working on a ranch kept him young; despite being eight years old, he still loved to run, and could keep up with even the fastest horses… for a little while.

Johnny kept our speed just below a full sprint, for which I was grateful—I hadn’t been ridingthatlong, after all. Only when we reached the gate that separated the cattle from the rest of our property did he finally rein in his horse, leaping from the saddle with youthful spryness and pushing open the gate.

“Thank you, kind sir,” I said with an exaggerated southern accent. “But we’re still racing.”

Applesauce leaped forward as soon as I dug my spurs in, eager to open up his legs on the final stretch to the farmhouse. When we arrived, I carefully dismounted and then tied Applesauce up to a post.

“I’ll be back to brush you down,” I promised the horse, gently rubbing my hand along his snout. “And to bring you a fat carrot.”

“I’ve got a fat carrot for you!” Eli called from the shaded back deck of the farmhouse. He was sitting in a chair next to the grill, wearing an apron that said, “Hung like a Cowboy” and plucking idly at his guitar.

“I don’t think you want Applesauce biting into your carrot,” I teased. “Aren’t you supposed to be prepping the steaks?”

“No need!” he said, running his fingertips across the guitar in a long, melodious note. “These steaks were carved out two days ago. Natural flavor. Nothing else required.”

“I’m glad you said that,” Johnny said as he dismounted nearby. “Now I don’t feel bad for taking over the steaks.”

Eli scowled at him. “I’ve got the steaks, partner. Like we discussed. Right, Sophie?”

Johnny smiled over at me. I winced.

“Aw, come on!” Eli whined.

“Don’t make me say it,” I said.

“Sophie says I do a better job on the grill.” Johnny beamed. “Her words, not mine.”

Eli strummed a sad note. “Say it ain’t so, darlin’.”

---