9. Three Shirtless Cowboys
Three Shirtless Cowboys
Quinn
I jerked around at the sound of applause, clutching Thunderbolt like a shield.
Kellan and Enzo stood at the edge of the training arena, both still dusty from working with the horses.
Kellan’s grin stretched ear to ear like he’d stumbled onto a private show, while Enzo’s face remained impassive except for one raised eyebrow.
My face burned hotter than asphalt in August. “How long have you been standing there?” Mortification replaced the freedom I’d felt moments before.
“Long enough to see you’ve got more natural seat than most of our high school rodeo kids.” Kellan hopped over the fence rail like it was second nature.
I braced myself for ridicule—I was a grown woman playing with what was essentially a toy—but Kellan circled me with an appraising eye.
“Thunderbolt’s got good extension.” He was completely serious but clearly fighting a smile. “Nice haunches. Strong jawline.”
Enzo snorted, crossing his arms on the top of the fence. “Your posture’s better than half our riders. You sure you’ve never been on a real horse before this week?”
I looked between them, waiting for the joke to land, but their faces held nothing but approval.
My gaze drifted to Reid, still leaning against the fence, Walter now perched on his shoulder like a tiny, trembling gargoyle.
His expression remained neutral, but I caught the almost imperceptible lift at one corner of his mouth.
“I was just messing around.” I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, still wanting to melt into the ground. “This is so embarrassing.”
“There’s no reason to be embarrassed. You looked comfortable out there. I see why you won the novice competition.” Enzo’s voice held a note of pride, and it made my face heat even more.
Kellan took Thunderbolt, examining the toy horse’s head with exaggerated seriousness. “He’s got spirit, this one. He needs a bridle with some sparkle, though.”
I laughed despite myself. “Are you seriously critiquing a stick?”
“I’m a professional.” Kellan handed Thunderbolt back, our fingers brushing in the exchange. My mind flashed to those same fingers gripping my hips last night.
“If you’re open to training more, it might help to see how real horses move with a rider on them. It will give you something to imitate.” Enzo was all seriousness, like he was suggesting we begin preparation for the Olympics.
“Excellent idea. I’ll grab Whisk and show her my world-class seat.” Kellan winked at me with such outrageous flirtation that I had to laugh.
“Your seat?” Enzo scoffed. “Please. You ride like a rodeo clown with better hair.”
“Sounds like a challenge to me.” Kellan grinned, already backing toward the stables. “Five minutes. Main arena. Bring your A-game, Perez.”
“We won’t let him fill your head with garbage technique, Quinn. There’s a reason we don’t let him teach the advanced students.” Enzo rolled his eyes but pushed away from the fence, following Kellan with determined strides.
“Because you’re jealous of my natural charisma!” Kellan’s voice drifted back.
“Because you teach showmanship, not horsemanship!” Enzo called after him.
I watched them disappear into the stables, bickering like brothers. “Is this normal?”
Reid shrugged, scratching Walter behind the ears. “They’re always looking for excuses to outdo each other… well, when Enzo isn’t stressing about the ranch.”
Why would Enzo be stressing about the ranch? From my viewpoint they had everything running smoothly. Then again, I wasn’t an expert on running a ranch.
I suddenly felt responsible for the impromptu competition and for distracting them from their jobs. “I’m sure you all have actual work?—”
“Do you want to see?” Reid interrupted, his eyes meeting mine directly. The question was simple but somehow felt weighted with something more.
I hesitated only a second before nodding. “Yes, I’d like that.”
He nodded, then pushed off from the fence. “Main arena’s this way.” He handed me Walter as he led me around the side of the stables.
The main arena was larger than the arena we had just been in, with seating along both sides.
I settled onto a bench in the shade, Thunderbolt propped beside me and Walter on my lap, feeling like I was about to watch a private performance.
In a way, I guess it was. No one else was currently at the ranch for lessons or to ride their boarded horses.
Less than five minutes later, the three men rode into the arena. Kellan sat atop Whisk, the bay gelding prancing with obvious pride, tossing his head as if aware he had an audience. Enzo rode a sleek dark brown horse with a white star on its forehead, his posture military straight.
But it was Reid who caught my eye the most, mounted on a small chestnut mare whose ears were pinned back at the sight of the other horses. She sidled nervously, but Reid’s body remained calm, his hands steady on the reins.
It was the finicky mare they had rescued that they introduced me to the day before. “That’s Junebug, right?”
Kellan grinned from atop Whisk. “The demon herself. Only Reid can ride her without losing a finger or going for too wild of a ride.”
“She has a low bullshit tolerance.” Reid stroked the mare’s neck. Something about the way he looked at her with patience and understanding stirred something inside me.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Kellan announced dramatically, spinning Whisk in a tight circle. “Welcome to the first annual La Cuesta demonstration of superior horsemanship, as judged by our esteemed visitor and hobby horse champion.”
I settled more comfortably on the bench. “What am I looking for exactly?”
“Different styles,” Enzo replied before Kellan could turn the answer into another joke. “Different horses need different approaches. Watching will help you understand movement.”
As they began warming up their horses, I was struck by how uniquely each man rode. Kellan was all flash and flair, encouraging Whisk to show off with high steps and dramatic turns. Enzo moved with precise efficiency, every transition smooth.
And Reid... Reid seemed to melt into Junebug, their movements so synchronized it was hard to tell where the horse ended and the man began. When the mare shied at a shadow, his body absorbed the motion like it was his own startled reaction.
I found myself watching him the most, though I tried to be subtle about it. There was something mesmerizing about the quiet confidence in his every move.
I realized I was witnessing something magical. Not just horsemanship, but three very different men in their element, showing me a glimpse of their souls.
I absently stroked Walter’s head while trying not to stare too obviously at any one cowboy. Just as I was settling into a comfortable rhythm of dividing my attention equally between the three men, Kellan guided Whisk to the fence directly in front of me.
“Getting too hot out here.” He let out a dramatic sigh that seemed designed specifically to draw my attention.
I watched in growing disbelief as he removed his cowboy hat, placing it on the saddle horn. Then, with a slowness that could only be described as performative, he grabbed the back of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion.
My mouth went dry.
I’d seen Kellan shirtless last night, but him sitting on a horse, bare-chested and grinning like he’d invented sex appeal, felt infinitely more scandalous.
“Better?” I managed to ask, proud that my voice didn’t falter.
“Much.” He winked, flashing that smile that probably made women and girls faint during his riding lessons. “Hard to demonstrate proper form with all that fabric in the way.”
I bit back a laugh. “Oh, of course. Very restrictive.”
“Exactly.” Kellan tossed his shirt over the fence rail right at me before replacing his hat. “A true cowboy needs freedom of movement.”
Apparently not to be outdone, Enzo circled around, his dark horse responding to invisible commands. He dismounted and unbuttoned his shirt before laying it on the fence. “It is getting warm.”
I blinked rapidly, trying not to gawk at the sudden display of tanned muscle. Both men were all dense power, shoulders and arms sculpted from years of ranch work. If I thought about the way their jeans fit, I was sure I would combust.
“Is this... normal ranch protocol?” I tried to sound casual while my brain short-circuited.
“It’s in the handbook,” Enzo replied with a straight face, remounting his horse. “Heat regulation is the number one rule.”
My eyes betrayed me, drifting to Reid, still fully clothed atop Junebug. For a moment, I thought he might be the single voice of reason in this impromptu cowboy calendar shoot.
Then, with a resigned expression that almost made me laugh out loud, Reid slipped his T-shirt over his head and draped it over Junebug’s saddle. Unlike the others, he didn’t look my way or make a production of it. But somehow, that made it worse, or better, depending on your perspective.
Sweet mother of all things holy. This couldn’t be happening. Three hot shirtless cowboys were now circling the arena like the world’s most improbable audition for a romance novel cover, and I was their sole audience member.
“So, Quinn,” Kellan called, breaking my trance. “Notice how Whisk picks up his feet? That’s the movement you were trying to capture with Thunderbolt.”
I nodded, pretending I was studying horse gaits rather than the way sunlight played across three very impressive male torsos.
“The way your weight shifts in the saddle affects how the horse moves,” Enzo explained, demonstrating a perfect transition from walk to trot. His abs contracted with the motion, and I had to remind myself to breathe.
“Right. Horse movements. That’s what I’m focusing on.” I swallowed hard. I was for sure not wondering if I accidentally fell into some bizarre cowboy-themed dream.
For the next fifteen minutes, I was treated to a show of horsemanship that simultaneously felt like the most educational and most erotic experience of my adult life.
Kellan demonstrated flashy, crowd-pleasing moves, occasionally calling out pointers that I should apply to my stick horse technique, which, under any other circumstances, would have been mortifying.
Enzo showed precision and control, every movement calculated and refined.
Reid and Junebug moved as one entity, quiet but mesmerizing in their harmony.
When they finally lined up in front of me, like contestants awaiting judgment, a bead of sweat worked its way down the small of my back.
“Well?” Kellan patted Whisk’s neck. “Expert assessment time. Who wins the La Cuesta horsemanship trophy?”
I put Walter down and walked through the arena gate with mock seriousness. This was ridiculous, but I was committed now.
“Let me see...” I tapped my chin thoughtfully, approaching Kellan first. “Excellent... um... hoof liftage. Very impressive mane flippiness. The horse looks good too.”
Moving to Enzo, I continued my made-up evaluation. “Superior saddle sitting. Remarkable rein-holding abilities. Exceptional synchronized breathing with your equine partner.”
I approached Reid, careful to maintain enough distance from Junebug not to spook her. I studied them for a moment, suddenly at a loss for jokes. There was something about the way they existed together that defied my improvised nonsense.
“Perfect harmony,” I finally said, my voice softer. “Beautiful trust between horse and rider. Extraordinary patience and understanding.”
Reid’s eyes met mine, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away.
I took a small step back, breaking the spell between us. “The winner is clearly Reid and Junebug for their superior... everything.”
“Favoritism!” Kellan protested with theatrical outrage.
“The judge’s decision is final.”
What happened next shocked everyone. Junebug—temperamental, standoffish Junebug—stepped forward toward me. Reid’s hands tightened on the reins as his expression sharpened with concern.
“Quinn, step back,” he warned quietly. “She doesn’t like?—”
The words died on his lips as Junebug stretched her neck out and gently rested her head on my shoulder. I froze, hardly daring to breathe in case she changed her mind and decided to bite my face off.
“What the actual...” Kellan whispered.
Enzo’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. “I’ve never seen her do that with anyone… not even Reid.”
I carefully raised my arms and wrapped them around Junebug’s neck in a gentle hug. “Hi there,” I whispered to her. “I guess we’re friends now?”
The mare nickered softly, and I felt we were having a silent conversation.
The perfect moment lasted approximately six-point-nine seconds before chaos erupted in the form of Eggatha, who burst into the arena like she’d been shot from a cannon.
The chicken charged across the dirt, wings spread, squawking indignantly as if we’d been having this lovely moment without her express permission. Junebug’s head snapped up, her body tensing beneath Reid’s steady hands.
“Eggatha!” Kellan warned. “Don’t you dare!”
But the chicken was already circling Junebug’s hooves, clucking what I could only assume were chicken obscenities. Junebug backed away from me as Reid worked to keep her calm.
I stared at the ridiculous standoff between an irritated horse, a delusional chicken who thought she was a horse, and three shirtless cowboys trying to mediate between them, and suddenly couldn’t contain my laughter.
It was one of the weirdest days of my life but also kind of the best.