12. Chapter Eleven Gloria #2
The four horses are standing patiently, some of them eating something from their trough and two others sniffing us.
Thunder is all-black, reminding me of the horse in Black Beauty.
Ember has a caramel colour with a white spot on his—her?
—forehead. Misty is a beautiful dappled grey colour, with wide eyes and a gentle demeanour.
Finally, Honey is bluish-gray, with ribbons braided into her mane.
I was never a horse girl growing up—I never even saw horses in real life, let alone rode one—but this scene is making my Canterwood Crest -loving younger self jump up and down.
“So Hattie, you’ll be back on Ember, and Queenie, you’re going to ride Misty today,” Eli says. “London, do you want to try Honey or Thunder this time?”
“This time?” I ask under my breath. “You’ve been here before?”
“Like I said, I’ve been horseback riding once or twice.” He clears his throat. I feel like he’s hiding something. But I don’t know why he would lie about riding horses. “Thunder is fine.”
That leaves me with Honey.
“Have you ever ridden before, Gloria?” Eli asks me as he leads the horses out of the stables and gets everyone’s gear on.
“Nope.”
“Well, London’s only done it one time,” Eli says. “So don’t feel bad.”
London looks strangely irritated by Eli’s comment. I mentally run through my boyfriend checklist out of habit— knows how to ride a horse . Of course, it’s not like London would go out and take horseback riding lessons just for me.
He couldn’t possibly know or care about the contents of my list.
He just did it for his nieces last time, because family is everything to him .
After I get the hang of being on a horse, we all take a short trail ride. Another employee joins us on horseback, to make sure Queenie and Hattie are properly supervised, while London and I ride behind them and Eli.
“This is really peaceful,” I say, adjusting the strap of my helmet under my chin. I’ve gotten comfortable enough on Honey—who is a sweetheart, like her name suggests—that I can at least take one hand off the horn of the saddle to do so. “Thanks for inviting me, London.”
“Of course.” He grins, his irritation from earlier seeming to have vanished. It’s hard to be in a bad mood out here, with the blue sky stretching far above us, no trace of L.A. smog, and the gorgeous acacia trees lending us respite from the heat. “I’m always glad to spend more time with you, Ria.”
I study him from the corner of my eye as we keep riding. London’s movements are easy, relaxed, less tense than I am. Since it is his second time on a horse, if Eli is to be believed.
“I didn’t think you liked being in nature. Or riding horses,” I confess. London has always struck me as more of a library-loving introvert.
“How can I be a lumberjack with a Christmas tree farm if I can’t ride a horse?” he deadpans.
“You learned to ride a horse so you could move to a small town and take up farming, chopping wood, and wearing plaid shirts?” I tease.
“I did it for Queenie and Hattie,” he says, confirming my earlier suspicions. “Speaking of which, let’s catch up with them.”
He gently taps his heels against Thunder’s sides, and the horse picks up speed. Honey follows suit, going at a slightly faster trot. Or is it a canter? I really need to watch Heartland .
When we’ve caught up with his nieces and the workers at the ranch, we ride back to the stables and finish up for the day.
“Gloria! Do you wanna see the picture we took of Uncle London last time we were here?” Queenie asks me, tugging on the sleeve of my peasant top .
“Sure,” I say, seeing the look on London’s face that already tells me it’s going to be something embarrassing.
Queenie shows me a picture on London’s phone of him with his hair braided to match Honey’s mane and I burst out laughing. He doesn’t have very long hair, and it’s usually stick-straight, so little tufts stick out everywhere. I reach for the phone. “I found my new lock screen.”
London shakes his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have let them braid my hair.”
“Or take your phone,” I say with a laugh as I text the photo to myself. “I’m so using that to blackmail you later.”
He holds his hand up to me, helping me off Thunder. “Blackmail me into doing what?”
I place my hand in his. Our eyes lock, and something about that makes me feel stripped bare, like he’s asking questions I can’t answer—or am scared to.
“Um…” I take a deep breath and jump down from the horse. “Doing my paperwork for me.”
“You love paperwork,” he teases. “You’re a lawyer.”
London’s tone is casual, nonchalant. So I don’t know why every nerve in my body feels like he’s peeled back layers of me and is examining my insides as I drop his hand.
“What’s blackmail?” Hattie asks innocently.
“It’s when you force someone to do something they don’t want to do by threatening them,” London explains.
“So it’s blackmail when Daddy tells me I have to go to bed or else I can’t watch Paw Patrol?” Queenie pipes up.
“What have we done?” I whisper to London as he stands next to me. He fights back a laugh.
“No, because going to bed is good for you,” London says, sounding less and less confident .
“You have really pretty hair,” Hattie declares, marching to a stop in front of me and looking up at my hair. It’s come out of its Dutch braid, flowing over my shoulders.
“Thank you. So do you,” I say with a grin.
“Can we braid your hair?” Queenie asks. “Please? Please ? It’s so much longer than Uncle London’s, so it will look nicer.”
My hair falls to mid-waist, slightly wavy, and it frizzes up in humidity. Fortunately, it’s desert-dry out here.
“Sure,” I say with a laugh, because it can’t end up any worse than the time Paulo tried braiding my hair when I was six. I had to cut it into a bob because of how tangled it became.
“But wash your hands first,” London says sternly.
I sit on a bench outside the main building of the ranch, and the two little girls pull out hair ties and barrettes from their backpacks. Standing up on the bench, they start finger-combing my hair. I’m glad London warned them to wash their hands.
“Please don’t pull her hair out,” London adds.
I glance at him, a grin forming on my lips. “Do you have a vested interest in my hair?”
“I have a vested interest in anything that makes you smile.” He blinks, like he’s unsure of why he just said that, and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Also that would hurt a lot.”
I bite my lip. As they gently tug at the strands and form it into what feels like two lopsided milkmaid braids, Queenie and Hattie hum the LOTR soundtrack to themselves.
“Ta-da!” Queenie snaps a hair tie around one braid and clips a pink Hello Kitty barrette into it. “All done!”
“Don’t move, I’m not finished yet!” Hattie whines. She pulls one more lock of hair into place and then secures it with a ponytail holder .
“Picture time,” London declares. The smirk on his face tells me this is his payback. However, he doesn’t know that I actually enjoyed having my hair done by preteen girls. They’re at least brutally honest about how it looks. “Gather around Gloria and show off your handiwork.”
They laugh and the three of us pose for cheesy pictures, giving each other bunny ears, sticking out our tongues, and jumping up in the air with our arms outstretched.
“How do I look?” I ask, getting off the bench and running up to London, who’s still playing photographer.
He gives me a once-over, wearing an expression that combines mirth with smugness and something like… attraction. Hattie and Queenie must have pulled my scalp too tightly and cut off blood flow to my brain.
“Adorable.” London shows me the picture; one braid is behind my ear and the other is next to my temple.
Then he snaps a selfie with me. I step closer without thinking and rest my head against his shoulder. His warmth engulfs me, sending a shiver down my spine.
But it’s only so I can better fit into the picture.
“Thanks.” I watch the girls, who are now linking arms and spinning around so ferociously that they’ll be violently dizzy afterwards. “Should we get going?”
London blinks, like he’s being snapped out of a dream. “Of course. Hattie, Queenie, let’s go!”