Stick in the Mud Meets Spontaneity (Meet Your Match, book 3) (7 page)

“Say, ‘Hi, Nutmeg,’” Colton coached when Sam didn’t say anything.

More chills. More warmth. “Hi, Nutmeg.”

“My name’s Samantha.”

“My name’s Sam.”

“When I ride you,” he continued.

“When I ride you,” came her echo.

“I want you to run faster than you’ve ever run before.”

“I want you to—whoa, what?” Sam pulled her hand free and backed away from Colton in an attempt to unfog her brain. “What kind of sorry excuse for a teacher are you? I don’t want Nutmeg to run. I want her to walk. Slowly. Like a turtle.”

And then it came. His real laugh. A hearty sound that stretched across the field, over the hills, and into the valleys, filling, spreading, encompassing until it had wrapped around her in a tight embrace as though saying,
I think you’re something special.

It was a silly way to feel because he was laughing
at
her, not
with
her. People didn’t laugh at special things. They laughed at silly, ignorant, foolish things.

“All right, Nutmeg. You heard the lady. Let’s take it slow.” He chuckled again and interlaced his fingers to create a make-shift step then nodded toward the saddle. “Up you go.”

“What, now? Already?” Sam glanced around the pasture. Several unleashed horses grazed in the distance with no fence or natural barrier between her and them. At any moment, they could stop eating and decide to play a game of tag with Nutmeg. Was Colton really planning to teach her here?

Apparently so. Apparently he was a jump-in-with-both-feet type of teacher.

“But I don’t even know how to control her.” No way would Sam sit on any horse, even one as sweet as Nutmeg seemed, without a crash course in how to use the reins.

“You don’t control a horse. You work
with
her.”

“And how do I do that?”

“I’ll show you. Once you’re in the saddle.” With his fingers still clasped, he nodded toward the horse.

Sam sighed and lifted her right boot.

“Other foot.”

Oh, right. She switched feet and grabbed hold of the saddle horn. Colton tossed her onto the horse like she was a flyweight. She settled into the saddle and took the reins from him, keeping a firm grip on the horn, while Colton took the horse by the bridle.

“Okay, so the first thing you need to know is—” He stopped abruptly and squinted at something behind her—something that sounded like pounding hooves. “How the heck did she get out?” he muttered under his breath.

Sam twisted in the saddle and froze when she saw a large black horse stirring up the dirt as it ran toward them. It was the nameless, wild mustang that that seemed to like Sam about as much as it liked fences. Nutmeg started to back up, pulling against the hold Colton had on her bridle.

“Easy there, girl. Just stay put.” Much to Sam’s horror, Colton let go of Nutmeg’s rope and moved to stand between the wild horse and Sam, holding out his hand as though the gesture would somehow keep the wild horse from taking him down.

“Colton, move!” Sam yelled, sickened at the thought of what was about to happen. What should she do? What
could
she do? Why wasn’t Colton moving? Why wasn’t that stupid wild animal slowing down?

And then Nutmeg bolted.

Sam dropped the reins and grabbed the saddle horn with both hands, holding on as tight as she could. Her beautiful hat flew off her head, yanking several strands of hair with it, and her body thumped against the saddle, bouncing like a ping pong ball against the rhythm of the horse. Her muscles stretched and strained to hold on as she struggled to get her body to move with Nutmeg’s. Eventually, she got the feel of it and was finally able to glance back.

Colton was nowhere in sight and that horrible black horse was gaining on them. What would happen when it caught up? Would it bite down on Sam’s leg, rip her from Nutmeg’s back and trample her to death? Was that how this was going to end?

About one hundred feet ahead, a wooden fence stretched across the field, perpendicular to them. Instead of changing directions, Nutmeg increased her speed, racing toward the fence as though she meant to jump it. Fear seized Sam’s heart, and she had the crazy thought that if she died, she’d be put to rest for all eternity with putrid, purple hair. She ducked her head, clutched the horn with all the strength she had left, and squeezed the saddle between her legs.

The horse’s hooves left the ground, and Nutmeg sailed up and over what Sam assumed was the fence. When they reconnected with solid ground, the force tore her fingers from the horn, and she flew off the back of the horse. Her shoulder hit the ground first—or maybe it was a rock—followed by the rest of her body. She lay in a daze for a moment before lifting her aching head and looking around for the crazed mustang. It strutted around behind the fence, as though attempted murder was something to be proud of.

Something inside of Sam snapped. She struggled to her feet and limped forward, letting her anger overshadow her pain. “What is wrong with you?” she screamed at the horse. “I’ve done nothing to you. Nothing! Was I the one who captured you? No! Was I the one who brought you here? No! Am I the one trying to tame you into submission? No! I only came to bring Kajsa and ride a nice horse. I want nothing to do with you. Nothing! So do me a favor and
leave me alone
!” She was at the fence now, gripping it hard and screaming so loud it made her throat raw.

The mustang sniffed, scuffed the ground with its two front hooves, then cantered away, leaving Sam fuming. When the horse was finally out of sight, Sam turned around to find that Nutmeg was nowhere to be seen either.

Awesome. Her beautiful straw hat was no more, the color of her body now matched her hair, and her throat hurt from screaming at a horse. She sank down to the ground and leaned her aching back against a wooden post. In only a few short days, she’d gone from being an enthusiastic graduate with a bright future ahead of her to someone who belonged in the psych ward. Her summer was cursed, and that’s all there was to it.

The four-wheeler buzzed beneath Colton, refusing to go any faster. He stood on the machine, absorbing every bump and obstacle with his legs as he surged in the direction the horses had run. He cursed himself for ever taking Sam into the field and putting her on the horse. But mostly, he cursed himself for entering that stupid mustang makeover contest.

First thing tomorrow, that horse was going back where it came from.

On the other side of the fence, Colton spied a riderless Nutmeg cantering down the road. He sped toward the fence and slammed his foot into the emergency brake at the same time he squeezed the handlebars. The machine slid to the side and skidded to a stop, and Colton was off it and over the fence in seconds. He ran to Nutmeg, spoke softly to calm her down, then jumped on her back. “Take me to Samantha, girl.”

Colton had worked with horses his entire life. He’d been bitten, kicked, stepped on, charged, and thrown. But he’d never felt true fear because of any horse until now. Where was Samantha? What had happened to her? Had she fallen off before or after Nutmeg jumped the fence?

“Samantha!” he shouted. “Where are you?”

No answer.

He continued cantering along the road, calling out her name over and over again. Finally, he heard a weak reply.

“I’m here,” she called.

Colton let out a breath of relief and directed Nutmeg off the road, toward her voice. He found her sitting next to a fence, with her arms wrapped around her bent, denim-clad legs. Her purple curls looked wild and untamed, and her face was streaked with dirt.

He swung down from Nutmeg and jogged to her side, squatting down beside her. “You okay?” he said, brushing her hair away from her face.

“I told you that horse hates me.”

At least her sense of humor was still intact. There were no tears in those beautiful green eyes either. Only frustration. And possibly embarrassment. Colton held out a hand. “Can you walk?”

She ignored him, saying glumly, “My hat is gone, my hair is purple, and I smell like dirt and maybe something worse.”

“I found your hat, the smell will wash off, and the purple is growing on me.”

“Liar,” she said. But at least the corners of her mouth no longer drooped.

Colton placed his hands under her elbows and gently lifted her up.

“Ow,” she complained as she stood.

He touched her shoulders lightly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Not broken. Just bruised.”

Colton wondered if she’d ever want to ride again. Probably not. He hated himself because of it.

She shook her head when he led her back to Nutmeg. “I know if you fall off, you’re supposed to get right back on, but I really don’t want to.”

“It’s a long walk with a bruised body.” A
beautiful
bruised body that curved in all the right places. Even with her wild, purple hair, Samantha was still easy on the eyes.

She blew some air from the corner of her mouth and sighed. “Okay.”

“We’ll go slow. I promise.” He eased her up on the horse then swung up behind her, holding her trim body between his arms. He picked up the reins and urged Nutmeg into a nice and easy walk. After a few strides, Sam relaxed her back against Colton’s chest. She felt soft and good, and he noticed that her hair didn’t smell like dirt. It smelled like mangos and pineapple and coconut.

“Is this how you teach all your clients to ride?” Sam said. “Toss them on a horse with no instruction and release the wild mustang?”

A snicker escaped his lips. The things that came out of her mouth sometimes. “No. I reserve that treatment for only the special clients—the tough ones I know can take it.”

“You pegged me wrong.”

“I don’t think so. You got back on the horse, didn’t you?”

“Only because I didn’t want to hoof it back, no pun intended.”

Even after all she’d been through, Samantha still had a healthy dose of spunk. Colton appreciated that. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be taking the mustang back first thing tomorrow.”

“Why?” She tried to twist to look at him, but her face pulled into a grimace of pain, and she quickly turned back.

“That’s why,” Colton answered, his jaw clenched tight.

“But Kajsa—”

“Will understand.” After today’s episode, Samantha would probably crawl into that yellow Bug and speed out of here as fast as she could. There would be no more riding lessons, no more wild, purple hair or toned legs, and no more unexpected comments that would make him laugh like he hadn’t laughed in a long time.

Colton hadn’t exaggerated about all the stories he’d heard about Samantha. They had piqued his curiosity. He’d always wanted to meet the girl who’d strung a clothesline between her house and the one across the street, creating a make-believe world where two young girls became secret agents, charged with decoding mysterious secret messages that would come in through the window. The girl who’d buried Kajsa’s cut-off hair in the garden after Adi had cut it too short, promising that planting it would make Kajsa’s hair grow faster. The girl who built snow caves and painted them to look like fairy houses.

Even before Colton had actually met Samantha, she’d inspired him. And now that all those stories had been personified in a living and breathing, beautiful body, Colton was reluctant to let her slip away. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn’t want to just hear about those stories, he wanted to be in them.

“What’s that?” Samantha pulled on the reins to make Nutmeg stop and pointed to a run-down little log cabin, set back about fifty yards from the road.

“We call it The Shack,” Colton said. “I’m in the process of fixing it up so I can move in.” Not that he’d gotten very far. Colton had spent a few hours there the previous evening, mostly filling up garbage bags and setting out mouse traps.

“You’re serious.”

“Yep.”

“That is so cool.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Can I see it?”

“Um…” Colton thought about the warped wooden floor, the dust-and-cobweb covered windows, and all the dead mice or rats that were undoubtedly “lounging” around. Even dirty and purple-haired, Samantha didn’t belong in that cabin. Not yet anyway.

“Oh, come on,” she said, pulling on his hands to try and steer Nutmeg toward it. “It has an aura of mystery and neglect—a place where old and interesting stories hang out.”