4. Lisa Frank and Dolly Parton Had a Boot Baby
Lisa Frank and Dolly Parton Had a Boot Baby
Enzo
R anger circled the pen at an easy trot, his dark coat already lathering where the muscle worked hardest. Most people would have been intimidated by his size and temperament, but I knew every flick of his ears, every subtle shift of his weight.
I watched his back right leg, noting the slight hitch in his stride.
“Easy now,” I murmured as he transitioned from trot to canter. The slight hesitation confirmed what I’d suspected yesterday. Nothing serious, but enough to warrant the anti-inflammatory I needed to pick up from Dr. Mercer in town.
Ranger snorted, his dark mane flowing like ink across his midnight coat as we circled. He was everything I needed in a horse. He was focused, disciplined, and unfazed by nonsense. Unlike some people on this ranch.
I brought him down to a walk, letting him cool as the sun continued its climb. The morning was quiet; the only sounds were hooves on packed earth and my own thoughts.
Once his breathing settled, I led him into the stables. I didn’t want him out in the pasture with the other horses if I wasn’t around, and who knew how long I’d be boot shopping with Quinn.
I hadn’t realized until I’d walked out of the lodge the night before that I’d volunteered for at least a solid hour alone with her. What had I been thinking?
The answer was that I hadn’t been thinking. Something about the way she’d stood there in the kitchen, handling my silence without awkwardly trying to fill it, had made me forget myself for a moment.
Ranger nudged my shoulder, demanding attention. At least he had his priorities straight.
I sighed, scratching him between the eyes. “What kind of person shows up to a ranch in flip-flops?”
Ranger huffed, completely uninterested in my human problems.
La Cuesta wasn’t just a ranch to me; it was responsibility and legacy. When my uncle sold it to the three of us, it came with one condition: keep the horse side alive.
Reid and Kellan cared, but sometimes it felt like I was the only one who understood what was at stake. Kellan was too busy chasing viral moments, and Reid spent more time bonding with the animals or worrying about cabin bookings.
Meanwhile, I was the one keeping us from losing boarding and training clients while they treated the place like a playground. And now we had a hobby horse champion on-site, ready to turn the ranch into a circus and create a whole new list of complications.
I patted Ranger’s neck and led him back to his stall, my mind already shifting to the day’s obligations: vet stop, boot shopping, pasture inspection, hay delivery, training.
“Too much to do, not enough time,” I told Ranger as I locked his stall. His dark eyes watched me knowingly.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the cabin parking area in front of the lodge. Quinn was sitting on the porch, two travel mugs balanced in her hands.
She spotted me and stood, making her way down the steps with a tentative smile. Today, she wore shorts and tennis shoes, which were a definite improvement from flip-flops.
I got out and jogged around to open the passenger door. “Morning.”
“Good morning!” She slid into the seat.
I shut the door and returned to the driver’s side. “How was your first night?”
“Peaceful. I slept like a baby.” She held up the two mugs. “I made coffee. One has cream and sugar, and this one’s black. I wasn’t sure how you take it, but I drink it both ways.”
I accepted the black coffee with a nod of thanks, surprised by the gesture. Most guests expected to be waited on, not the other way around. “Ready for boots?”
“Beyond ready.” She buckled her seatbelt and settled in. “I’ve never owned real cowboy boots before. Do they hurt as bad to break in as everyone says?”
“Depends on the boots and your feet.” I backed out of the parking area, heading toward the main road. “But basically, yes.”
She let out a breathy laugh. “I appreciate the honesty. Kellan told me they’d feel like slippers crafted by angels.”
“Kellan would tell you anything to make a sale.”
“And you wouldn’t?” There was playfulness in her voice, not a challenge.
I shrugged. “Not my style.”
The road stretched ahead, and although I’d driven it too many times to count, it somehow felt different with Quinn beside me.
“I saw five goats this morning,” she said after a comfortable silence. “They seem to have the run of the place.”
“One of them does. Butters is the ringleader, and the oldest and dumbest of the five, but somehow the most successful at breaking out.”
“What are the others’ names?”
“Maple, Chip, Jack, and the baby is Pancake.”
She nearly choked on her coffee. “Pancake? Please tell me there’s a story there.”
“Butters has always been at the ranch, but when we got the other three, Kellan named them in relation to pancakes. He wanted to name the baby Flap, but that just sounds wrong, and we don’t know if the father is Jack or Chip.”
“So, there’s baby daddy drama with the goats?”
“They fight over Maple’s attention constantly.” I shook my head, knowing how absurd the whole thing sounded.
Quinn’s eyes widened with delight. “It’s like a goat soap opera! Does Butters get involved? Couldn’t he be the father?”
I snorted. “He has no interest in Maple, so it’s doubtful. We haven’t gotten them DNA tested because what would be the point?”
“That’s some serious tea. There should be a Maury Show for barnyard friends.” Her reaction made something warm unfurl in my chest.
We pulled into Dr. Mercer’s clinic, and I parked. “This won’t take long. I’m picking up some medicine for my horse.”
Quinn trailed behind me into the waiting room, which was busier than I’d expected for a weekday morning. As I approached the desk, Quinn made a beeline for a boy sitting alone in the corner, clutching a dog toy and crying softly.
She must have asked him if he was okay because he said, “My dad wouldn’t let me go in with them. My dog is sick.”
She sat down next to the boy. “What’s their name?”
“Sadie,” the boy stammered, taking the tissue Quinn had produced from her purse.
Quinn leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper that seemed to immediately capture the boy’s attention. “You want to know a secret? I once entered a competition where grown adults ride stick horses, and I won.”
The boy sniffled, looking skeptical but intrigued. “Like... toy horses?”
“Exactly like toy horses.” Quinn nodded enthusiastically. “I had to gallop around while jumping over little fences. I almost fell three times and accidentally whacked a judge with my stick horse’s head at one point.”
A small smile tugged at the boy’s lips. “Did you get in trouble?”
“Worse! He gave me extra points for enthusiasm, and now I’m at a real ranch learning about actual horses who are probably laughing at me behind my back.” She stood and demonstrated her hobby horse technique right there in the waiting room, prancing in place and making a ridiculous whinnying sound.
The boy was fully grinning now, his worries forgotten. I smiled too, watching how effortlessly she’d transformed a tearful child into a giggling one.
It was like a pressure somewhere inside me let go that I hadn’t been paying attention to. It threw me, and I turned away, suddenly uncomfortable with how intently I was watching her, and focused on waiting for the receptionist to grab Ranger’s medicine instead.
After paying for the meds, I pocketed my receipt and gestured toward the door. “All done here.”
Quinn gave the boy a final high-five before following me out of the clinic. “His dog sounded like she had a UTI. Poor kid was terrified she wasn’t coming back.”
“And your solution was to tell him about stick horses?”
“Distraction is the quickest way to regulate emotions.” She shrugged, sliding back into the passenger seat. “Plus, my hobby horse humiliation is clearly good for something.”
As I drove toward our next stop, I tried to ignore how her presence had somehow made a routine errand feel... different. “You’re good with kids.”
“I would hope so since I’m a teacher.” She glanced out the window at the passing storefronts. “This is a cute little area. It’s the perfect distance from the beach and isn’t touristy at all.”
“Just the way I like it.” I pulled into the supply store’s parking lot. “We offer a trail ride to the beach if that’s something you’re interested in.”
Quinn’s face lit up. “Do you think a week is enough time to learn to ride a horse well enough to do it?”
“That’s really up to you and how comfortable you feel. You’ll be sore after your first few rides, but possibly by the end of the week you could ride there and, depending on how you feel, get a car ride back.” I didn’t want to overpromise when I hadn’t even gotten her on a horse yet.
She followed me into the store, which was a combination of farm supplies, tools, animal feed, and clothing. It wasn’t my preferred place to buy boots and riding gear, but the price was right for what Quinn needed.
Her eyes widened at the rows of boots lining the wall, the scent of leather and hay mixed with the faint strains of country music playing over the speakers.
“There are so many choices! How do I—” She stopped mid-sentence, her gaze fixed on the display at the end.
She headed straight for what had to be the most ridiculous pair of boots I’d ever seen: turquoise leather with pink embroidered flowers, silver accents, and a rhinestone trim.
“These are amazing.” She lifted one reverently, turning it to catch the light. “It’s like Lisa Frank and Dolly Parton had a boot baby.”
I folded my arms. “Those aren’t ranch boots. Those are... statement pieces you’d wear to a Taylor Swift concert.”
“Yeah, and the statement is look at my awesome boots.” She sat down on a nearby bench and kicked off her tennis shoe, tugging the gaudy monstrosity onto her foot.
After a minute of struggling, she managed to get her foot in but couldn’t pull it up fully. She stood anyway, wobbling slightly as she put weight on it.
“Well?” She grinned, balancing with one hand on the display shelf.
“You look like you lost a bet with a bad country music video.”
Her mouth dropped open, then she burst out laughing. “Wow, you really don’t like these boots.”
“You’ll be worried the whole time about getting them dirty. Plus, they are twice the price of a regular pair.” I didn’t know what her financial situation was, but she was a teacher, so I doubted she wanted to spend a lot of money on boots she’d get horse crap on.
“You have a point, and honestly? They are a little loud.” She sat back down, tugging uselessly at the half-on boot.
Without thinking, I crouched in front of her, one hand steadying her calf while the other gripped the heel of the boot. Her skin was warm under my palm, soft in a way that made something stir low in my stomach.
Quinn’s breath caught, and our eyes met briefly before I looked down at the boot as I pulled it off. I was suddenly very conscious of my hand still on her leg.
I stood quickly, scanning the shelves. “Try these.” I grabbed a pair of medium-brown boots with teal stitching details, basic riding heels, and good ankle support.
She accepted them with a dramatic sigh. “Fine, but only because you asked so nicely.”
I knelt again, guiding her foot into the boot. I let my fingers linger against her skin a fraction longer than necessary before releasing her and standing up.
She stood and took a few experimental steps. “They’re comfortable.” She seemed surprised.
“They’re meant for working.” I watched her walk a circle around the bench, her movements becoming more confident with each step.
“Shockingly not horrible.” She examined her reflection in the mirror. “Though they’re a far cry from my Lisa Frank dreams.”
“Your ankles will thank me later.”
She turned to face me, and the corner of her mouth lifted. “So you’re saving me from myself, is that it?”
“Someone has to.” The words slipped out quieter than I meant, and before I could stop it, a smile tugged at my mouth.
She stared at me for a moment, something unreadable crossing her face. “You should do that more often.”
“What?”
“Smile. It makes you look...” She trailed off, then quickly turned back to the mirror. “Less grumpy.”
While she checked the fit from different angles, I pretended to examine a display of leather belts, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands.
She decided to get the boots and packed them in the box before we headed out of the shoe section. As we got into line to pay, Quinn made a detour to a spinning display of novelty socks, letting out a delighted gasp when she found a ridiculous pair.
“Look!” She held them up triumphantly. “It’s a chicken riding a tractor!”
“Essential ranch wear,” I deadpanned.
“I’m getting them.” She tossed them onto the counter with her boots.
I took the bag once she’d paid, and we left the store and walked across the parking lot. Our hands brushed accidentally, and the brief contact sent an unexpected jolt up my arm. I shifted the bag to my other hand, creating distance between us.
Something had changed during this trip; some invisible boundary had shifted, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I told myself it was just my relief that she hadn’t insisted on those ridiculous turquoise boots. All it was was an appreciation for a practical choice.
But as she climbed into my truck, I knew that wasn’t true. And that was a problem I wasn’t prepared to face.
La Cuesta came first. It had to. And Quinn Porter, with her chicken tractor socks and her ability to make me smile when I least expected it, was a complication I couldn’t afford.