Nine
Cooper
Their loss.
I’d happily spend a few minutes with my feet up while I waited.
The horses were tethered, had access to fresh water, and the saddles were baking in the sun—everything ready to roll.
So I rummaged through my saddle bag for the book Hollie lended me then sauntered up to the barn, shoving a rectangle hay bale with the bottom of my foot until it tumbled up to the exterior wall, under the roof’s shady overhang.
Easing onto the prickly seat, I leaned back in the cool shade and paged through until I found my most recent dog ear.
I only read a page and a half when footsteps scuffing the packed dirt pulled my attention away. Sarah barrelled out of the back barn doors like she was afraid I’d leave without her. She lifted a hand over her brow to shield the sun then turned on her toe until her eyes landed on me.
With a tense sigh, I jammed a piece of hay between the pages and mustered up a proper smile. When I realized I’d waved with the book, I quickly tucked it under my elbow and stood. “Hey, Sarah.”
“Hi, Cooper. I’m sorry I’m so late.”
“Don’t be.” I shrugged, beginning a meander toward the waiting horses. “It’s just us.”
“Oh.” Sarah stopped following me. “No one else is going?”
I turned back. “Nope. Just you two.”
She shook her head. “Actually, just me.”
“Peter’s not coming?” I glanced around her, half-expecting—half-hoping—Peter would emerge from the barn. Granted, I hadn’t seen him much since he arrived two nights ago. He seemed to be holed up in the Holmes’ fifth wheel.
She shook her head. “No, he’s not.”
Sarah seemed nice enough but I wasn’t too keen for a one-on-one trail ride. It’d been a hot minute since I’d been alone with a woman, other than Hollie who didn’t count, and I preferred to keep it that way.
Sarah Thompson had big, round blue eyes—the first thing everyone noticed about her.
Directly followed by fiery red hair that usually sat in a gigantic heap at the top of her head or danced down her back like flames licking the wind.
She was tiny too—small waist, a few inches past five foot high, toned limbs, petite all around.
Today, her hair was down and a blue tank and denim jeans hugged her body.
Ever since she got here, she was the only thing Cody talked about.
He had verbalized his fantasies using rather explicit terms until Harlan’s patience snapped and he threatened to punch Cody in the face if he didn’t shut up.
I tried to just ignore Cody, tune him out.
I didn’t need help noticing women—did that just fine on my own.
But, at rehab we got a plethora of training, and I’d been taught, repeatedly, I could let my brain appreciate then move on.
That I didn’t have to dwell or act on my every impulse.
But damn, she looked good.
For a second, I pitied Peter—that he couldn’t see her like this. But then I remembered he had two hands that worked just fine. Then all the thoughts swirling around my brain came screeching to a halt when I clocked the pink rims around her eyes and the red hue under her nose.
She’d been crying.
So I asked, “Is he alright?”
“Yeah, he just—” She interrupted her own explanation with an abrupt shrug. “He just didn’t feel up for riding.”
“That sucks.” I twisted my cheek, thinking for a sec. “You want to reschedule this?”
She held her chin high, a defiant sparkle coming to life in her weary eyes. “No, I don’t. Hollie packed a nice lunch and I plan on eating it on the trail. As planned.”
I scrubbed a hand over the back of my neck, forcing my gaze across the pastures and over the distant hills. Honestly, I didn’t want to take her. I would rather reschedule, but…she looked sad and I wouldn’t ruin her morning again. “Well, let’s get the horses saddled.”
We made our way down to the corrals, where Sprinkles, Praline, and Moonshine were tethered.
I quickly jogged Moonshine back to his pasture then got to work showing Sarah how it’s done.
I pointed out the parts of the saddle as I slowly demonstrated saddling Sprinkles, and even though Sarah watched, she was clearly distracted.
Her gaze kept flitting past the horses to the big ring beyond, she checked her phone a couple times, and she couldn’t show me the parts of the saddle when I gave her a pop quiz.
Yeah, this stuff wasn’t rocket science—her brain was elsewhere.
Trouble in paradise, I figured.
I made a mental note to add marital spats on my ever-growing list of reasons not to get attached. My list was so long I could publish it one day.
I grabbed a helmet off a nearby post and made her put it on. If it were up to me, she didn’t need that sweaty disgusting thing. But Meadowbrook’s insurance policy required them for guests—rules were rules. Finally, we were ready. “You said you’ve been riding before. Need help with the mount?”
“I think I might be able to do it.” She pointed to the horn and the cantle. “I just put my hands here, right?”
“Yep.” I did the moves in slow motion as I talked through them.
“Stick your toe in the stirrup. Grab the horn with your left, the cantle with your right. Push down with the ball of your foot as you stand.” Sprinkles didn’t budge as I slowly stood.
“Lean over the horn as you let go of the cantle and swing your leg over.”
She nodded, implementing my instructions and mounted Praline on her first try.
“There ya go.” I smiled. “Good job.”
She smiled too. “Thanks.”
We circled the ring a few times until I was certain she had the feel of it, then I led her down the gravel driveway and around a pasture.