January 15
Luke
P lopping a favorite old straw cowboy hat on my head, I step out of the one-time carriage house—which now serves as an office and guesthouse—behind my family’s big Victorian home.
After breakfast with Mom next to a big picture window that looks out on the river, I spent the morning in the office making phone calls to lawyers, insurance companies, and banks. My eldest brother, Tom, was named the executor in my father’s will, but he pushily renounced the position to me after declaring before the funeral that there was “no way I can leave my clients and family for that long without warning.” He and Aaron both have a history of acting like running my business couldn’t possibly be as serious an endeavor as running theirs.
Thank God I have good people and reliable systems in place at Canyon Life Outfitters—I check in to both locations daily, and other than having to put out a few small fires via email and make a couple of executive decisions over the phone, things have run smoothly. Not because it’s a simple business, but because my predecessor taught me how to operate it well.
The day is sunny and clear, and though patches of snow dot the ground from a snowfall a couple of nights ago, temps are warming into the forties this afternoon, making it a nice day for Taylor’s visit.
As I stride toward the horse barn in cowboy boots, I feel deep down inside how good it was to see her again. And damn, she’s even prettier than I remembered. Still with the wild hair and freckles, the bright eyes and smile that lights up a room. Or a diner in this case. Well, wait—not a diner, a bake shop. I laugh to myself, remembering her t-shirt. I’m glad she’s coming over. It’s been a hard visit home for all the obvious reasons—and she’s turned into an unexpected bright spot.
Another bright spot? The horses. As I step into the barn, the smells of hay and equines relax me the way the scent of lavender does other people. Since returning to Sweetwater, Mom and Dad have had a local couple on hire who come care for the horses daily, but I’m enjoying pitching in with that, and even gave them the day off today.
As a gray appaloosa named Ash pokes his head from his stable to greet me, I take up a hard-bristled brush and smooth it over his neck. Ash is older and not saddle-broken, but he and I have bonded since my arrival home.
“Hey buddy,” I say, “how ya doin’? How’s that hoof?” Normally by this time of day, all our horses would be out in the pastures that stretch between the road and the river, but I’ve held two back to ride today, along with Ash—he lost a shoe yesterday and the farrier is due this afternoon. “We’ll get you fixed up and good as new.”
Horses calm me. Maybe I even forgot how much until getting to commune with them since coming home. Although I’m not sure I ever admitted it to myself, I think when Dad moved us to Cincinnati, I was as upset about selling our horses as I was leaving school.
And given the gravity of the decision before me, I need some calm. Part of me wishes that drywall company had never found our little stretch of prime, flat riverfront property. But when Mom told me that Dad, along with Hank, had already agreed to meet with their representatives, I figured we should hear what they had to say. And after that, I figured we should think about who it might help versus who it might hurt.
But damn, it’s a complicated thing to have hanging over my head along with all the other aspects of settling my father’s affairs. The end of the month is coming fast and we’re not any closer to an answer than we were the day we met with them.
Feeling my blood pressure begin to rise, I step over to the next stall where a big, white gentle giant stands, ready for a nose scratch, which I gladly supply. “Hey there, Sandy, old pal. Gonna take you and Sugar out today. Ready to get saddled up?”
Of course, Sandy doesn’t answer, but talking to them has come naturally to me as long as I can remember. Even if they’re not talking back, it’s always felt like real communication on some level.
I haven’t ridden in a while—life’s been getting in the way—but when you’ve done it enough, riding a horse is like riding a bike. The softness of the wool saddle blanket in my hands and the scent of the leather as I heft a saddle onto Sandy’s back deliver a comfort I’ve missed.
When I hear a vehicle approach, I glance out the wide barn door to spot Taylor’s older RAV4 coming down the drive.
She gets out wearing a winter coat and mittens, and a knit hat with a ball on top pulled down over her head. I’m bundled up pretty good myself, knowing we plan to spend our time outside. Sun and forties or not, on the river it still feels like January in Kentucky.
Walking to meet her, I hear the front door and turn to see my mother step out on our big white-railed porch. “Hello and welcome, Taylor!” she calls. “It’s so nice to see you other than just on quick stops into the bake shop. I was delighted when Luke told me he’d invited an old friend over.”
My God, Mom. You’re making this feel like high school. As in a little embarrassing.
She keeps going, though, with, “Make yourself at home. And I’ve heated up some hot chocolate for you both.” It’s only then that I notice her holding two steaming mugs. She’s still pretty at sixty-two, with bouncy, shoulder-length silver hair and a few lines around the smile I haven’t seen much of lately.
“That’s so kind,” Taylor says, switching her gaze from me to Mom, who now descends the wide front steps, cocoa in hand. “It’s nice to see you, too, Mrs. Montgomery. And I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Mom nods her thanks. “It’s been hard, but I’m grateful I’ve got Luke here.” Then she hands both mugs off to Taylor. “You two have fun and just let me know if you need anything.”
Sheesh. It feels more like she’s dropping us off at the movies or leaving us to play video games in the basement than sending us on a farm tour. “Sorry about that,” I say softly after Mom’s back inside.
As I take one of the mugs, our hands brushing through my gloves and her mittens, Taylor head shakes it away, adding, “She’s very sweet.”
“And apparently happy I have a friend,” I add on a laugh. “But I shouldn’t complain. This is the most cheerful I’ve seen her since Dad died.”
“Then it’s a good sign,” Taylor says hopefully. “Back when my dad died, my mom really struggled. She tried to keep a brave face for me, but I know it challenged her.”
“Your father was so young, too,” I say. At thirteen, I couldn’t conceive the true gravity of losing a parent. It makes me feel all the worse remembering how mean kids were when she was already dealing with so much. “You were really strong back then.”
She only shrugs, though. “I didn’t feel strong—but sometimes life is about rising to the occasion.” Then she scrunches up her nose a little. “Guess I learned that young—for better or worse. Sometimes you just do what you have to.”
“Glad you dressed warm,” I tell her. She looks cute as hell in winter wear, her hair falling in ringlets around her face beneath her hat.
“You’re wearing a cowboy hat,” she points out as if I don’t know, sounding amused. I suppose, even in Kentucky horse country, you don’t see a lot of those if you’re not directly on a horse farm.
“Keeps the sun out of my eyes and the rain off my neck,” I inform her with a smile.
She tilts her head and somehow looks a little surprised as she adds, “It suits you.”
We’re walking as we talk, and I notice her studying the house. “It’s so beautiful,” she says. “I love all the gingerbread details. How old is it—do you know?”
I take a careful sip from my mug before answering. “If I’m remembering correctly, it was built in 1910.” Then I point to the much smaller structure behind it, the one I exited just a little while ago. The same blue as the house, it’s identically trimmed in small white spindles and lengths of intricately-carved wood. “This used to be a carriage house, but Dad had it converted into a guesthouse when I was a kid. He mostly used it as an office, but it’s always come in handy on holidays when everyone’s home. I’m staying there now just to give Mom some space.”
“It’s perfect,” she replies, and as we turn the house’s back corner, she gasps. “Oh, wow—there’s even a gazebo?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “It’s been there my whole life.” And as we walk toward it, I find myself seeing the place through her eyes, almost as if for the first time. Funny the things you can miss even when they’re right in front of you.
Stepping up into the big white gazebo, we sit side-by-side on a built-in bench facing the mighty Ohio, and Taylor lets out a dreamy sigh as she takes in the view. Across the mile-wide river, bare trees line the bank, and an eerie layer of mist hovers over the water’s cold surface. “So you got to see this your whole life, every day, growing up? That must have been amazing.”
“Guess I took it for granted,” I confess. “You’re right, though. It’s pretty awesome.”
“Peaceful,” she observes. Then she looks over at me. “When I want to see the river, I have to go to Riverview Park behind Main Street. It’s pretty dumpy, though.” The observation comes with another cute scrunch of her nose and a bit of soft laughter. “Similar view, but this feels different. Almost…soothing. Like the kind of place where you can get away from everything but your own thoughts.”
She says it like maybe she longs for that sometimes. But maybe we all do. “You could come here anytime you want,” I tell her. “Mom wouldn’t mind.”
Though she gives her head a quick shake. “That’s very kind, but I would never invade someone’s privacy that way.”
“Well,” I say, half joking, half serious, “now I feel kind of guilty, having it all to ourselves while everyone else is going to the dumpy park in town.” Because I’m suddenly seeing that it is soothing. Kind of like the horses. I never realized I had so much tranquility right here on the farm. Maybe I’ve just never thought about needing that before, even though my escape into nature out west surely means I did. It’s strange to realize that all this time, all these years, there’s been so much beauty right under my nose.
“Were there always horses here?”
I shift my gaze from the river to find Taylor glancing toward Scout and Duchess, two ponies meandering along just inside the white wooden fencing beyond the guesthouse.
“No, it was just empty fields until Mom and Dad bought the place, back before I was born. We’ve heard the area was prone to flooding back in the days before locks and dams, so I guess no one wanted to risk putting anything else here but the house and the inn. Both sit up a little higher than everything around them, and that’s probably why—old flood concerns.
“Anyway,” I go on, “my Grandpa Montgomery was the president of a bank in Louisville, and that got him prime grandstand seats at Churchill Downs for the Kentucky Derby. My dad’s family went every year as he was growing up, and he fell in love with horses and horse racing. He started taking our family, too, when my brothers and I were just little kids.”
“That sounds fun,” she says in a way that reminds me she’s probably never been to the derby, despite it happening only an hour away every May.
“I have mixed feelings about racing,” I tell her, “but I loved getting to see the horses. By the time I was three or four, Dad had gotten the barn and fences built and bought a horse for every member of the family—a pony for me.”
Her dreamy expression forces me to realize how fortunate I’ve been—without always taking the time to notice. “That sounds incredible,” she says. “Like a picture-perfect childhood.”
“I guess it was,” I have to admit. Sure, I spend a lot of time internally grousing about my dad, but in most ways, I had it really good.
When my phone buzzes in my pocket, I pull it out. “Sorry,” I say. “Need to check. Just in case it’s work.”
“No problem.”
But I must have made a face at the screen because she adds, “Or is there one? A problem?”
I shove the phone back away, not wanting to tell her. But I also don’t want to lie, even about something small. “It’s Jasmine.”
She tries to hide it, but her expression changes just enough that I almost wish I’d lied. “Oh,” she says in an effort to sound casual, like it’s nothing. “So you still see her?”
“No,” I answer quickly. “I haven’t talked to her in years until she came to the funeral and…” I give my head a short, perturbed shake. “She keeps reaching out, and I’m not interested, but I’m also trying not to be cruel.”
“You were always nice to everyone,” she says as if trying to absolve me—perhaps then and now—from associating with Sweetwater’s highest ranking “mean girl.”
And for some reason, I need Taylor to know, so I blurt out unplanned, “I never really loved her. I tried to. I even thought I did for a while, but I didn’t.”
She simply looks at me, clearly speechless. Because I’ve created an awkward moment. When I just want to be open with her. Because even all these years later, I know she’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. And there are just things I want her to understand. So I go for it. “Can I be real with you, Taylor?” I lean closer to ask.
“Of course,” she answers softly.
Okay, here goes. “The truth is, I’m not sure I would have kept dating Jasmine so long except…” I stop, take a breath. Turns out this is actually kinda hard to say. “When my parents met her, my father really liked her. She was planning on med school back then, believe it or not, and my dad, of course, loved that. And what can I say?” I let out a small sigh. “I liked pleasing him. So little about me did.”
When I gather the courage to raise my gaze to hers, she seems confused. “What do you mean, so little did? You were the star athlete. The most popular guy in school.”
Oh, she doesn’t know? It was never a secret among my friends, but my connection with Taylor was different, more isolated, so…maybe I never actually told her personal stuff? “Things weren’t great between me and my dad,” I inform her.
She blinks her surprise. “Really? Why?”
I don’t talk much about this—it’s just a thing in my life that’s always been this way—but I try to explain. “He…valued academic achievement, not sports or other things I was good at.” I offer up a shrug. “Maybe that seems odd, him being a horse guy—but horses were the only outdoor interest he ever had. He never even came to my games or track meets when I was growing up—it was only Mom. And after I got older, he never seemed particularly proud of my achievements.”
“Maybe that was just his personality,” she suggests. It’s probably hard for her to conceive of a parent being any less than loving and supportive. “Was he the same way with your older brothers?”
But I guess I have to disabuse her of that notion. “No. Tom and Aaron were both a lot more like him . He was so damn proud of them for practicing law. And a lot less proud of his kid who quit school to go ride horses. Horses were a pastime , he informed me once on the phone. Not a job.”
“That’s a shame,” she says, her voice brimming with compassion.
Yet I blow out a regretful sigh—because maybe I’ve been too real. “I probably sound like a whiny rich kid. But…when he actually liked the girl I was dating, it mattered. It shouldn’t have, but it did.”
“No,” she’s quick to interject. “That’s not what I was thinking at all. I’m just surprised. I guess I heard you grumble about your dad now and then, but I had no idea what a big deal it was. I’m sorry you didn’t have a better relationship with him.”
“ I’m sorry,” I tell her, “that I hadn’t outgrown caring about it by then. It would have saved me a lot of Jasmine-related headaches.”
When she makes a slight face, I want to kick myself for bringing up her old nemesis yet again. I’m trying to reassure her Jasmine is out of my life for good, but I’m not sure I’m succeeding.
“So,” Taylor says, letting her green eyes go wide, “Jasmine went to med school? Really? What happened?”
I shrug. “She didn’t get in. Totally underestimated what it would take. So she decided to become a professional influencer instead. And the most surprising thing about that decision is that it actually worked. For a while, anyway.”
“So the story going around about her talent agency boss is true?” She sounds a little uncomfortable asking, like maybe it’s wrong to gossip.
And maybe it is. But choices have consequences, and maybe being the topic of some hometown gossip is one of them for Jasmine. I keep it simple, though. “From what I hear. And it wouldn’t shock me.” Enough said.
Taylor must feel the same way, since she changes the subject. “Tell me more about Utah.”
Works for me. “What do you want to know?”
I like watching her think. Or maybe I just like watching her . With a cute tilt of her head, she asks, “What was your job like on the ranch?”
Thinking back brings me a smile. “I loved it. Leading trail rides, taking care of the horses—those were good days. Easy days,” I add reminiscently. “For the first time, I felt like I didn’t have a care in the world. I did, of course. I had responsibilities. They were just ones I found fulfilling. And there was no dad pressuring me toward law school, or making me feel like a big disappointment because I wasn’t chomping at the bit to live the life he wanted me to.”
When she smiles back at me, I feel it to my core. “And then you started working for the outfitter place? How was that?”
I nod, remembering. “Also pretty great. Some days I worked in the shop, renting out equipment, but like I told you before, mostly I led hikes. My favorite was the Narrows in Zion. You hike up the Virgin River, in the river, on the rocks that line the shallow riverbed. You start out only up to your ankles—but keep going and you’re eventually in pretty deep, which is when a guide becomes a good idea.”
Her eyes have widened prettily. “That sounds intense.”
“It can be. And it’s cold without the right gear, but that’s what outfitters are for.” I end on a wink.
“And after that, you bought the place, right? So what are your workdays like now? Still leading hikes? Or doing other stuff?”
A sigh leaves me, the questions delivering a sense of letdown I didn’t see coming. “Other stuff,” I tell her. “Now I mainly run the business.”
“And so you’re happy out there?”
“It’s an awesomely beautiful region. And I’m proud of my company.”
This time when she tilts her head, she looks more inquisitive, like maybe she thinks she’s caught me at something. “Is that your final answer?”
I let out a laugh. “Guess it wasn’t much of one, huh?” I twist up my mouth a little, thinking it through. “Maybe I miss the outdoor work. The hikes. The horses.” I glance over at Scout and Duchess, still near the fence, and tell her, “It’s been nice hanging with these guys. Most of the eight we have here now are older horses who needed a retirement place. Mom and Dad never really planned to get back into the horse life when they moved home to Sweetwater, but they kept meeting people who needed to rehome their horses. And they had the space and means, so they started taking them in.”
“That’s so nice,” she says.
“Yeah, I was glad when they did it. A few of them aren’t rideable anymore or never were, but we don’t care.” Glancing down to see both of our mugs now empty, I suggest, “Speaking of which, want to take a ride? I’ve got two saddled up and waiting for us in the barn.”
Her eyes bolt open to leave her looking completely caught off guard. “Really? Because…I’ve never…I wouldn’t know how.”
But I just smile. “Don’t worry—I’ll teach you.”
Taylor
I rest high atop a light brown mare with a black mane named Sugar—presumably because she’s the color of brown sugar—while Luke sits next to me on a white horse called Sandy. I’m nervous, but doing okay—Sugar is patient and gentle, making this easier than I expected.
Before mounting his own ride, Luke reached up to cover my hand with his, showing me how to use the reins to guide her—and even our gloves didn’t prevent me from feeling the warmth of his touch. Now he says, “When you’re ready, give her a light tap with your heels to start her walking. Watch me.”
He demonstrates, and I follow his example with my shoes tucked into the stirrups hanging down from the saddle. When Sugar ambles forward, a small gasp escapes me and I grip the saddle horn with my free hand to feel more secure.
“Look at you,” Luke says, smiling over. “Riding a horse.”
“Word of the day,” I say. “Equestrian.”
He lets out a soft, deep laugh.
“It’s…kind of fun,” I admit with a small grin, getting acclimated.
“Fun and practical,” he teases. “I can show you more of the farm this way.”
As we take a leisurely ride through the pasture, he points out other horses enjoying the sunny day. “That handsome guy is Star,” he says of a sleek black horse with a white star on his forehead. “And that’s Buttons. Who hates us, by the way, for giving him such a cutesy name—but my mother insisted. He came to us a few Christmases ago, and Dad and I agreed you don’t name a mustang Buttons, but we lost that fight.” He finishes on another laugh as I take in the rather wild-looking spotted horse who I concur is probably offended by his name.
“And up there by the road, under the trees,” Luke goes on, pointing to a pretty palomino, “is Lady Jane. She’s a Quarter horse. Used to be in shows.”
“She looks like a dainty little lady,” I observe.
“Yep, she’s definitely the prissiest and most elegant resident in the barn,” he confirms. Then he motions to the big white horse beneath him. “Sandy here became my dad’s riding buddy. Dad was very fond of this guy and I think Sandy’s wondering where he is. I’ve been trying to keep him company when I have the time, and hopefully I’ll get him out for a few more rides while I’m here.”
Walking Sugar alongside Sandy, I glance over at my companion and suggest, “It sounds like the horses were something you and your dad connected over.”
Luke tosses me a thoughtful sideways glance from beneath the wide brim of his hat. That’s something I like about grown-up Luke—he’s not always quick to answer or to act like he knows everything; he takes things in and weighs them before responding.
“I never thought about it like that,” he finally replies. “But maybe you’re right. We didn’t have much in common, but we did both love horses and care about their welfare. The older Dad got, in fact, the softer he became about them. He wasn’t soft about much, but he cooed over horses the way most people do kittens or puppies.”
As Sugar meanders through the field, I find the rhythm of her gentle gait relaxing, and a few moments of silence between Luke and I let me ponder everything around us. “It seems to me,” I finally say, “that a lot of life is about meeting in the middle. I don’t mean compromise exactly, but just figuring out where the middle ground lies. Like you and your dad clashing on some things, but still connecting through others. That’s what we need for the town, a solution that brings business to Sweetwater without destroying our riverfront and your family home.”
When he casts me a good-natured grin, I realize I’ve just stated the obvious. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate your optimism, Taylor, but I think if it was that easy, someone would have come up with this magical solution already, without a drywall factory entering into the mix.”
“I know, I know,” I agree. “It’s just…now that I’m here, on your farm, it hurts my heart to think of this place being destroyed.” I glance over at him on Sandy. “And where would the horses go?”
At this, his brow furrows. “Damn. That’s a great—by which I mean troubling—question. Given that we’ve taken them all in from people who couldn’t keep them, and that it’s hard to find someone to do that.”
I let out a long, despairing sigh. This conundrum was already awful, but now it’s also about the fate of the horses. “Then we have to find an answer that suits everyone,” I insist. “I know I sound like a Pollyanna of the highest order, but surely there’s some answer no one has thought of.”
Just then, at the sound of a vehicle, we both glance back to see a shiny pickup rolling down the lane leading to the house and barn in the distance. “That’s our farrier,” Luke says, having explained earlier that one of the horses needs a new shoe. “Be okay without me for a few minutes?”
I peek down at Sugar, who I already feel an affinity for. “Will we be okay, Sugar?” I lean toward her head to ask, pleased when she actually turns to look at me.
Luke appears amused. “What did she say?”
I give him my bravest smile. “That we’re good and you should go take care of her buddy, Ash.”
As he kicks Sandy into a gallop and they go racing across the field back toward the barn, I grow a little nervous again, but I also feel accomplished. Maybe I’ve experienced this before, anytime I’ve attempted something new. Running a bake shop, for instance. Or starting community college, by myself for the first time since meeting Caroline, and realizing that being on my own for it was okay.
It’s good to get out of your comfort zone from time to time. Life in the Sweetwater school system made that a terrifying proposition for a long while, but a lot has changed since then. A lot inside me has changed.
On some days, anyway. On others, old insecurities creep back in. Like the day I hid from Luke in the alleyway. I cringe remembering it.
Today, though, I feel almost like I belong in this lovely, bucolic world of his. Some people might dream of fairytale castles or lavish mansions, but for me, this farm has always been that not-quite-reachable place that looked like the perfect life.
Glancing around at the docile horses dotting the meadow, the white fencing, the clumps of trees and the gentle river flowing past, and then peeking back at the big, beautiful Victorian home, I marvel. It’s a world Luke has chosen to leave—and yet he seems to love it here.
And I love being here with him. I love sharing this ride with him. I love hearing him tell me about the horses and his family and his life. I love looking over into those eyes made bluer by the winter sun overhead. I even love him in a cowboy hat, which I didn’t expect. But he’s turned into a more rugged, earthy man than I could have predicted in our youth, and I wasn’t lying when I said it suited him.
It this…romance?
Or is it an old friend showing me his childhood home because it might soon be demolished?
I still don’t know.
Yes, a lot has changed since high school, but it’s still hard to believe Luke Montgomery could want me in any real way. After all, I’m not the queen bee; I’m not the head cheerleader or pageant princess. I’m the awkward girl with flour in her still-uncontrollable red hair.
And no matter how he tries to explain it away, it would seem Jasmine remains a factor in his life. As if I’m not confused enough by this situation, I also have to wonder how she figures in.
Do I hate that all these years later I’m still letting this girl get under my skin? Absolutely. But she’s like a persistent mosquito that just keeps coming back.
When Luke returns a little while later, he shows me to the edge of the property about a mile down the river from the barn. As we both sit there on horseback, peering out over the peaceful Ohio, I suffer the urge to speak the truth now burning in my heart: If all this was mine, I’d never let it go, and I’d never leave.
But I hold my tongue. It sounds like the na?ve proclamation of a poor girl getting her first taste of something grand. In fact, that’s exactly what it is. I don’t want to remind him how different we still are. And I don’t want to pressure him when he’s got enough pressures already.
Darkness falls early in wintertime, so as the sun dips to the west across the river, casting a ribbon of golden light across the water, he says, “We should head back.”
When we reach the big barn, painted blue to match the other structures, Luke dismounts, then comes over to help me, gripping Sugar’s bridle with one hand. “It’s a big step down,” he reminds me, and as I lift my right leg over the horse’s back and lower it to the ground, his free hand is behind me, at my waist, steadying me. I lean slightly, instinctively, into the touch.
Together, we lead the horses into the barn and Luke shows me how to remove Sugar’s saddle as he takes off Sandy’s as well. Then he grabs brushes from a pegboard on the barn wall and instructs me in how to brush Sugar down after her ride.
“Last thing we do to end a ride around here,” he tells me with a small smile, “is…” He reaches both hands into the pockets of his coat and pulls out an apple in each. “A treat. Kind of a thank you.”
Handing me one, he says, “You want to put it in your palm, stretch your hand out flat, then hold it under her mouth and let her take it, careful to keep your fingers out of the way. Watch.”
He demonstrates with Sandy, and I gape as the horse gobbles the entire apple down in one bite.
“They just eat the whole thing, core and all?”
He grins at my horse na?veté. “Core and all. Now you try.”
I do as Luke did, careful about my fingers as I offer the apple to Sugar. She grabs it from my palm before I’m fully prepared, but it’s okay—and leaves me with the impression that she and I are even better friends now. “Thank you for the ride,” I tell her softly.
“Want to help me let Ash out?” Luke asks.
“What does that involve?”
“Um, mostly just watching me let Ash out,” he answers with a grin.
The sun sinks fast toward the horizon now, the day turning quickly dusky and colder as I follow him toward a stall housing a big gray stallion.
“Most nights, we stable them all,” he explains. “Everyone has their own philosophies on that, but we like being able to check on them daily to make sure they’re all healthy. Occasionally, though, we let them pasture overnight, and we’ll do that tonight, just to let Ash roam after a day of being cooped up. They can all get back into the barn if they want to.”
He enters Ash’s stall, then unlatches a door there, sliding it open. He doesn’t have to prod the big horse—Ash turns and trots out on his own. Then Luke goes about opening all the stable doors, sending Sandy and Sugar back out into the field as well.
When Luke announces it’s dinnertime for the gang, I walk with him as he loads grain into a long trough outside the barn. The three horses nearby head straight to it, and the rest can be seen coming from different parts of the farm after Luke rings the big, traditional dinner bell mounted on a thick post outside the barn.
“They don’t fight over the food?” I ask.
Luke shakes his head. “Nah—they have hay in their stalls and some in the pasture to eat whenever they want, so official mealtimes are pretty peaceful.”
A few minutes later, he walks me to my car, and I’m sad the day is ending.
“I had a great afternoon,” he tells me. “Thank you for coming.”
“It’s beautiful here, and I loved learning about the horses, and riding Sugar. Thank you for asking me.”
And then there we stand, beside my car door. And I’m glad it’s mostly dark now because I fear my face is red. Not from the cold, but from the fact that I’m suddenly wondering if he’s about to kiss me. Because that’s how it seems. Like this is romance, and not just a farm tour.
It’s one of those moments when only a few seconds feels like an eternity. I wait awkwardly, uneasily. I’ve certainly been kissed before, but never by Luke Montgomery. I can’t quite meet his gaze, so I’ve lowered my eyes. I’m seventeen all over again.
Finally, his gloved hand cups one side of my face and he bends…to lower a sweet kiss to my cheek. “Goodnight, Taylor,” he says, voice soft and low.
“Goodnight, Luke.” It comes out in a whisper, unintended.
And then I’m in my car, buckling up, starting the engine, making my way back down the now-dark lane, headlights illuminating the path—but it’s all happening on autopilot. Because how is it possible that of all the kisses I’ve ever received, this is the one—a mere cheek kiss!—I feel the most? It ripples from head to toe, still. My skin tingles all the way home.