Page 40 of One Night Bride
She barked out a laugh at that. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone can fill out a pair of these like you can.”
I grinned at the compliment, but I thought she’d give me a run for my money with that gorgeous, long physique of hers. At the bottom of the box she found a pair of cowboy boots I’d had overnighted from a little place in my hometown. The lady there made hand-stitched designs all the women went crazy for.
“Oh my God, I love them!” Esme’s mouth fell open as her fingers traced over the brightly colored flowers stitched into the brown leather. “How’d you know my size for all this?”
I tilted my head to the side. Did she really think I was some green boy with no idea how to pull off a surprise? “I asked Izzy, your twin. Plus, I may have snooped in your closet when you were in the shower the other day.”
She shook her head again, but that smile hadn’t left. “I love it. So, what’s the date?” She held her hand up. “Wait. Let me guess. Line dancing?”
I shook my head.
“Dinner at some barbecue place?”
“Nope.”
She looked up at the ceiling. “Barn dance?”
I laughed at that one. “Uh, no. I mean, I guess we could, but the actual date is something even more special.” I paused and let the suspense draw out while I prayed she wouldn’t flip out. “We have a date with a couple therapy horses who are good with new riders.”
The smile vaporized and her eyes clouded over. Shit.
I stood up and came around to crouch by her chair, taking her hands in mine. “Now I know you had a rough start when it comes to horses, but this place works with people who have disabilities and kids from abusive backgrounds. They are the very best at what they do. They won’t let a single hair on your head be harmed.”
She sucked in a breath and bit her lip.
“You’re a fierce woman, Esme Waldo, and I can’t sit here and see you scared of a horse. It’s time to face that fear. And I’ll be right there with you the whole time. Holding your hand while you leap, remember?” I squeezed her hands.
She sat there staring into my eyes for a full minute before she quit worrying that lip and spoke. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
My heart attempted to leap right out of my chest. “That’s my girl,” I whispered right before I stood up and kissed her. “Now you gotta eat your breakfast first, because cowboys and cowgirls don’t ride unless they have a full belly.”
She laughed and shoved me away playfully. “Oh really? Is that true cowboy wisdom right there?”
I put my hand on my chest with mock offense she didn’t trust me. I let the drawl run deep and syrupy. “I am a gen-you-wine cowboy, Miss City Girl.”
She cracked up and stood, taking the box of clothes with her. “Okay, then. You fix me your grits and shit and I’ll go get dressed for our date.”
I reared back in horror. “Grits and shit?”
She patted my chest, giving me a wide grin before prancing out of the room, knowing full well I’d make her a breakfast fit for a queen. When I slid the bacon, eggs, and toast onto plates, she came back through the doorway, dressed in the clothes I’d bought her.
The pan slipped out of my hands and into the sink with a clank. I crossed my arms over my chest to keep from instantly trying to grab her. She spun in a circle, and fuck me now, those jeans looked like they’d been painted on her ass. How the hell was I supposed to sit on a horse and focus on anything besides how hot she looked?
“You’re drooling, cowboy,” she smirked, boots smacking the tile as she came closer.
“’Cause you’re fucking gorgeous, city girl,” I murmured, finally pulling her in and laying a kiss on her that was far too serious when we had breakfast getting cold on the counter.
“That’s it. Let’s just sit here and feel the horse beneath you. We aren’t going anywhere,” the therapist said.
I sat on my horse on the other side of her, calmly waiting for Esme as she first pet the horse, spoke to her, and then finally got in the saddle. Her hands shook as they clasped the reins, and I wanted to pull her off and put her in front of me instead. I could wrap my arms around her and make sure she stayed safe. But that wouldn’t let Esme face her fears and grow. She had to sit on that horse by herself. The fierce desperation on Chief’s face the other day made so much more sense seeing Esme’s terror for myself.
The horse flicked her head and Esme tensed.
“She’s just saying hi,” the therapist soothed. “How about you pet her mane to say hello back?”
Esme swallowed hard and took one high-knuckled hand off the reins and pet the mare, slowly loosening as she realized the horse wouldn’t take off out of control. The barn was right behind us, and I told Esme from the get-go we could leave at any time. Even if she hadn’t gotten further than feeding an apple to a horse. The woman was nothing if not stubborn.
An hour later Esme was riding beside me in the open grassy field at a snail’s pace, focusing on her breathing and smiling.
