Chapter 3 #2
“Come on then,” Annie says, taking my hand and pulling me down the stairs and back out into the snow.
It really is brutally cold out here in Colorado.
It hits you like a wall of ice, like stepping into a freezer.
I tug up the collar of my jacket and follow Annie across the yard toward the big barn.
I instantly realize that sneakers were a poor choice for vacation footwear, because, almost immediately, the cold snow is sinking into the leather and my feet are already wet.
However, nothing – not even frozen toes and losing limbs to frostbite – is going to distract me from what’s about to happen.
Annie leads me inside the barn, and I think I am in horse heaven.
“Oh my goodness,” I say. “They’re all so beautiful.
” There are six horses, each occupying a stall of their own.
Three are a dark chestnut color, their coats shiny.
Two are mottled white, brown, and black.
And the final could easily be Black Beauty himself – he’s the color of night, and his coat is so sleek I think I could almost see my face reflected back in it.
“Let me introduce you to them,” Annie says. “This is Bonnie,” she says, pointing to the first chestnut. “And this is Clyde,” she says, pointing to the next. “And then this is Sugar, because she has the sweetest nature of any horse you could meet.”
I say hi to each of the three horses, giving them an obligatory little scratch on the nose.
“Then this is Cloud,” she says, pointing to the more white of the horses. “And this – this is Dust,” she says, pointing to the other.
I stroke them both too.
“And then finally, last but not least, is Jet.”
I think I fall in love with Jet almost immediately. Not only is he, frankly, the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen in my life, he also nudges his nose against my hand and demands my attention.
“So,” I say, “who belongs to who?”
“Sugar is mine,” Annie says. “Bonnie and Clyde are Mom and Dad’s.”
“And let me guess,” I say, “Jet belongs to Clay?” That man was designed to ride a black horse.
“Yeah,” she says. “Correct.”
I spend the next ten minutes reveling in horse heaven, feeding each of the horses some treats and stroking and petting them.
By now my feet are well and truly solid blocks of ice, and we’re just about to leave and make our way back to the house when the barn door swings open and who I think must be the cowboy we saw out in the field earlier walks through leading a gray horse.
Except it’s not the cowboy from earlier.
It’s a different one. The cowboy out in the field looked like something straight out of a John Wayne movie – Levi jeans, spurs on his boots and a wide-brimmed hat.
This cowboy wears a pair of glasses – all steamed up as he steps through into the warmth of the barn, a button down jacket and cord pants.
A mop of thick hay-colored hair flops into his chestnut eyes as he slides off his glasses and wipes the lenses on his sleeves.
“Hey, Nash,” Annie says.
The man stops in his tracks and blinks at the two of us. “Uh, hi,” he says, managing a shy smile.
“This is my best friend, Hollie.”
He nods, sliding his glasses back into place, and looping the reins of the horse around the nearest post. He strides toward me and holds out his hand.
His scent hits me almost immediately. He smells of bookshops.
It’s so surprising I almost gasp. I’ve always loved the smell of books, especially a new one – it’s the second best present someone could gift me after a bunny, a dog or a cat – and I can’t help but wonder what it can mean.
“Nash,” he says, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Hollie.”
I shake his hand. It’s large, his grip strong and his fingers calloused.
“This is Clay’s other packmate,” Annie explains.
“Hi,” I manage to squeak back at the man who’s examining me through his glasses.
“Good to have you here, Hollie,” he says.
He’s still holding my hand, and if I’m honest, I’m not really sure I want him to let it go, but I remember I’m not here to ogle at alphas. I’m here to mend my broken heart and try to forget why this Christmas could possibly be the saddest of my life.
I motion at the horse he’s just led into the barn. “Who’s this?” I ask him.
“Ah,” he says, strolling back toward the horse and beckoning me to follow him. He strokes his hand affectionately down the horse’s long, gray neck. “This is Jane,” he says.
“Jane,” I repeat. “That’s an unusual name for a horse.”
“It’s after my favorite author,” he says.
I frown. I don’t recall the name of any famous thriller or crime writers called Jane.
“Jane Austen,” he says.
I try not to let my jaw hit the floor. An alpha – an alpha who likes Jane Austen, who likes Jane Austen so much he’s named his horse after her.
“Is that a joke?” I ask.
“Why would that be a joke?” he asks me, frowning right back at me.
“Er, nothing,” I say. “She’s a beauty.”
“Yeah, best horse a man could have,” he says, patting her neck. “She’s worked hard today. Time for a rest.” He unhooks the reins and leads her to one of the empty stalls.
“Hollie’s absolutely nuts about horses,” my best friend tells the alpha.
I go to open my mouth to argue, but Nash beats me to it. “Then we’ll have to take you out riding with us. Show you a bit of the countryside. In my opinion, it’s the most beautiful there is.”
“But you’re not from here originally,” I say. His voice has a more southern twang.
“Yeah,” he says. “I grew up down South.” He looks me up and down. “You should ride Cloud. I think she’d suit you.”
“Oh,” I say. “I haven’t ridden in ages.”
The man blinks at me twice and frowns again. “You love horses, but you don’t ride.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I guess I’ve been pretty busy.” With work and caring for my mom. The unsaid words hang heavy in the air.
“Well,” he says, “we’ll have to change that, won’t we?”
And before I can argue a second time, he disappears inside the stall.
“That’s a great idea,” Annie says, grabbing my cold hand in hers. “We’ll do loads of riding while you’re out here – that’s if the weather allows.”
“So,” I say as we step back outside into the snow-covered landscape, the now setting sun christening everything a rosy pink color that has my heart warming even more than it already was, “what’s the plan tonight?
Are we going to open a bottle of wine and catch up?
Or watch a Christmas movie? Or if you need help wrapping any presents I can … ”
“No flipping way,” my best friend says, pinching my arm. “This is your first night in Silver Creek. There’s only one thing we’re doing tonight.”
“There is,” I say. “What’s that?”
“We’re getting dressed up and we’re going dancing.”