Chapter 10
IF SHE CAN RIDE A HORSE…
Tate’s got a paid job in town this afternoon, which means Quinn has joined us with the horses today. Not just filming in the periphery, but hands-on help. I didn’t ask her because I don’t much think she’ll like what it entails. Horse shit ain’t for the faint of heart.
Love’s got the girls in town at a pediatrician appointment for the baby, so Sadie’s working with me on the ranch today.
The girls are brushing the horses while I shoe my only remaining stag, Hector.
I used to have a farrier come out here and do this, but I do it myself now because I’m used to not getting paid.
I motion toward Quinn’s overalls, a few inches of her tummy exposed on the sides, the tank top beneath riding up.
That’s sexy, and I hate myself for taking a second, private look, but I can’t help myself.
It’s the flash of skin without quite laying my eyes on anything specific that lights me up.
But fortunately, with Hector’s ass in my face, it’s easy not to actually get aroused.
“Overalls,” I grunt, driving the pick into Hector’s hoof, working on getting his hoof trimmed for the new shoe.
“Where ya been hidin’ those? That’s the most ranch-friendly thing you’ve worn since you got here. ”
She smirks, sifting her fingers through Daisy’s mane while Sadie runs back to the stable to get another brush.
“Didn’t know you noticed what I wore,” she comments, her voice husky, almost flirtatious.
Then again, I haven’t flirted in years, so what the hell do I know?
I’ve been taking private glances at her more and more lately, so it’s probably my guilty, old-man conscience for thinking she’s flirting.
Hector grunts, and I continue cleaning him up as Sadie runs back, hollering something about a great idea.
“Miss Quinn!” she beams, her cheeks rosy from the warm afternoon and all the activity, chestnut curls tamed today in braids.
In blue jeans and a hand-me-down Winnie-the-Pooh T-shirt she got from Petunia, she points at her favorite mare, and looks between me and Quinn.
“You said you couldn’t get on Daisy before ’cause I wasn’t strong enough to help you up, but now my daddy’s here.
” She cuts her bright blue eyes to me, and I know what’s coming.
“Daddy, Miss Quinn’s never been on a horse before. Help her mount Daisy! Please!”
Beneath the brim of my hat, Hector’s long tail slapping me across the face, I caution a glance at Quinn, and find her cheeks red, eyes on the brush in her hand.
“Oh no, no, no, I’m here to film the ranch and your daddy,” she offers, setting the brush down on Daisy’s spine, backing up toward the place where her camera rests on a tripod behind the fence post. Sadie ducks beneath Daisy and leaps, clinging to Quinn’s legs, nearly knocking her over.
“Oh, please, please, please,” she begs, “it’ll be just one minute.
I just want you to get on her. She’s so special.
She’s so pretty. Please, Miss Quinn, you have to sit on Daisy just once.
” She presses her little chubby palms together, driving them beneath her chin in the most egregious begging I’ve ever witnessed. “Please!”
I could tell my kid not to beg. I could absolutely encourage her to let Miss Quinn off the hook.
But I kinda like the idea of seeing how Quinn looks on a horse. “You gonna spend a few months on a ranch without ever mounting a horse?” I move the steel shoe over the forge, heating it, getting ready to reshoe Hector.
“C’mon!” Sadie moans as I sink the hot shoe into Hector’s hoof and begin nailing it when Quinn’s sharp scream sends my neck craning.
Her hand is over her mouth, eyes wide, finger wagging my way. “You’re hurting him!” she screams, and it takes me a moment to look down at my hands, to what she’s seeing, what she’s pointing at.
In one palm of my hand are a few nails. I look at the nails, and look at her, and the misunderstanding dawns on me. But my bright baby girl catches on even quicker.
Sadie feeds her hand into Quinn’s. “Miss Quinn, them nails don’t hurt Hector. That’s how you get a horseshoe on. They go around the edge of his foot. He don’t feel it.”
“Doesn’t feel it,” I correct, and Sadie mirrors me.
“Yeah, he doesn’t feel it.”
“Oh.” Quinn blinks, her cheeks filling with embarrassment as she nods, the end of her ponytail dragging against her bare shoulders, inviting my eyes to her soft, tanned skin. There’s a burning in my groin, one that I ignore as I finish Hector’s shoe.
“C’mon.” I get to my feet, dusting my gloves off. I adjust my hat and come to stand behind Quinn. “Let’s get you on Daisy. What do you say?”
Her eyes flash to Daisy, pupils expanding as she shoves her hands into her overall pockets. “Oh no, no, that’s okay. I’m here to watch you and—”
My hands are on her waist, and her words evaporate. With my lips nearly dusting her ear, I say, “On three.”
Sadie counts, clapping her hands in victory. “Swing your leg over when he lifts you,” she encourages before she counts. “One, two…”
“There’s no thingy down!” Quinn squeals as Sadie says, “Three!”
Another squeal and her blonde hair swishes, and my fingers dig into her sides as I hoist her easily, without much effort. Stepping back, Sadie claps and I can’t help but smirk at Quinn Farley lying on top of Daisy, clinging to her mane, eyes wide.
“Okay, I’m up,” she says, voice wobbly, eyes cutting to my daughter.
“See, Sadie? I’ve been on Daisy.” Her green eyes are wide then they come to mine, trying to subtextually send me a message without alerting my kid.
The message is “Get me down” but I’m not sure Sadie isn’t aware, too.
Sadie giggles. “You gotta sit up, Miss Quinn.”
“I can’t, I’ll fall off.”
I tip my hat back and step aside, making sure her camera is getting this. “Nah, you won’t fall off. C’mon now, Miss Quinn, sit on up to get the full effect.”
“There’s no thingy,” she whines.
“Saddle?” Sadie questions.
I can’t help but snort. “Was that the thingy you were refferin’ to?”
Her eyebrows form a thin line as her nostrils flare. “You knew what I meant.”
Sadie jumps in place excitedly. “You don’t need a saddle. That’s how Daddy rides in the rodeo!”
Her eyes come to mine as Daisy takes a mouthful of hay, unfazed by all of this. Horses. They’re the best.
Her pink-painted nails poking out from Daisy’s hair, slowly Quinn pushes herself upright, knuckles white as she braces against the horse’s neck.
Her smile is twitchy, like a spot in the DVD that skips and replays, but doesn’t replay quite right.
“See?” Another nervous smile as she blinks at my daughter. “See, Sadie? I’m on Daisy.”
Sadie claps. “Yay! You did it!”
Quinn exhales, and finally looks down at Daisy, stroking her fingers through her mane for a moment that seems to both calm and steady her.
“Now look out at the horizon, look at the sky,” I tell her, because even the most novice rider will feel that flutter of magic in their belly when they tip their face to the sky while on top of an animal so strong and beautiful.
Slowly, she peers out at the horizon, down the long lines of the pasture where vibrant green grass bleeds into the blue sky. Her mouth parts, and I study her soft profile, the gentle curve of her nose, the swell of her lips, the sparkle in her eyes.
She’s absolutely breathtaking.
I’m not prepared when her eyes come to mine, full of adoration and wonder. I think of Tate’s plan, and the Montgomerys’ threat circles my brain, the way it has every five minutes since I opened that damn letter.
“It’s beautiful. Magical, really,” she says, her voice so soft and melodic that a pang of desire stabs me straight through the chest.
“I knew you’d love it!” Sadie laughs, jumping up and down to celebrate, which easily turns into her being distracted, jumping away from the stable as she chases a butterfly.
I reach up, wiggling my fingers at her. “C’mon now, I’ll get you down.”
She nods, and slides to the side as if she knew just what to do.
My hands come to her waist, and she sinks against my chest as I pull her down.
“You’re a natural up there,” I comment, but my voice turns all gravelly and raw, and she twists in my arms, bringing us nearly nose to nose, pressed up against Daisy.
“You really ride without a saddle?” she asks, her breath hot against my neck and chin, the mint of her chewing gum tickling my nose.
“Bareback,” I say, the word feathering out over her lips as I blink down at them, full and parted. What would they taste like, those full, pouty lips? Would she draw away from me if I kissed her?
“Bareback,” she repeats softly, the word so erotic that I stiffen in my jeans. “I knew that. I know that,” she corrects, her lips lifting on the edge. “I am making a movie about you, after all.”
Dizzy. That’s how I feel with her pressed up against me, after seeing her on one of my horses, seeing the way she easily makes my girl happy, how she makes me feel like a man, not just a struggling father.
“Come for dinner sometime,” I find myself saying again, imagining what it would be like to run my hand beneath that overall strap and tug it free, to run my mouth along that bare collarbone and taste her sweat and determination.
“We will,” she says, referring to herself and Mabel, since that’s what I mentioned at lunch today.
“If it’s easier, since you’re already here, you can just stay.” My heart is beating as fast as it does when I mount a bronc. “Mabel can come another time.”
Her eyes drop to my lips, and she swallows once before saying, “That sounds great.”
And like a schoolgirl, I spend the next five hours on the ranch wondering when she’ll take me up on that offer, hoping it’s tonight.