The Stolen Suitor (9 page)

“Nothin’,” she said stiffly. “I brought you some iced tea.” She waved at the thermos. “Everything goin’ okay?”

“Sure.” Eric hesitated. “I was wonderin’… is there a horse you’d be okay with me takin’ out for a ride now and then? I’m takin’ lessons and it would be nice to practice.”

“You’re takin’ lessons?”

“Yup. From Joshua and Ben at Muddy River.” Eric’s grin was wide and genuine, like a little kid.

Trix half harrumphed, half laughed. “Really? You do know that they’re… gay. For each other, I mean.”

Eric’s grin faded. “You think I’m a redneck or somethin’? I know they’re boyfriends or partners or whatever they call it. Don’t matter to me.”

Trix
did
think Eric Crassen was a redneck. She knew the group Eric had run with in high school and still saw him out driving around with from time to time—Lloyd Tendler, Mike Dawson, and worst of all, Henry Atkins. They had a reputation for being loud, often drunk, and frequently mean.

Not that she’d ever heard of or seen Eric being mean.

“Well… that’s good,” Trix said, not knowing what else to say. “Glad to hear that. But what inspired you to take ridin’ lessons?”

Eric scrunched up his nose a bit, like he was uncomfortable. He looked at the horses. “Guess I got interested in it workin’ here. I didn’t want to ask to ride and then…. I didn’t want to damage your property or anythin’. But I’m doin’ good with it, even Ben says so. So I thought I could practice a little around here. If you don’t mind. But it’s fine if you—”

“The horses are never ridden enough,” Trix interrupted. Something warmed in her chest, and she smiled as she walked down the aisle. Horses were her life. “Especially our boarders. We’re supposed to keep them in shape when their owners don’t show up, but there just aren’t enough bodies or hours in the day. Stormy, for instance.” She stopped at the stall of a gray Appaloosa who was getting up in years and a little chubby. Stormy came right up to the wall, eager for attention. “It would be good for her to get out more, and she’s gentle. You could give her some exercise in the ring later today if you want. If you get the chores done and there are no boarders or customers for the trail riding here.”

Eric absorbed the offer without saying anything. He was fully focused on Stormy. “We already met. Huh, girl?” he said while stroking her nose. Stormy leaned into his hand and looked right into Eric’s eyes with calm patience. In Trix’s experience, a horse didn’t make eye contact until it was really comfortable with a human being.

“Okay. Good,” Trix said.

She turned to go. Part of her was glad Eric was working out. It took a load off her hands and off her mind. But part of her was still wary. Eric was… a distraction. He was too damn good-looking for his own good, and she didn’t
want
to see anything redeemable in him. It was easier when she just saw him around town on occasion and could dismiss him as no good. She wasn’t sure what to do with a decent Eric Crassen.

“You know, I was thinkin’ the other day,” Eric said before she could escape. “You were my first kiss. I think I was yours too.”

Trix froze and turned slowly. She arched a brow. “So?”

Eric shrugged, and a sultry grin stole over his face as though he was actually thinking about it! “Just rememberin’, is all. Funny how things work out.”

“Well… we were just kids. Don’t expect to kiss me again!” She sounded overly defensive but didn’t much care.

Eric looked her up and down with a touch of heat. “Wasn’t countin’ on it.” He turned to give his complete attention to Stormy, who was more than happy to receive it.

Trix spun on her heel, marched to the stable door, and left. She was halfway to the house before she calmed down enough to realize she was angrily stomping across the driveway.

Why was she so mad? Eric had only said something that was true. He
had
been her first kiss.

But that was so long ago, when she was in sixth grade. That was before John, before a lot of things.

She’d had quite a crush on Eric back then. He was a year ahead of her in school and so cute. He’d been funny and nice too. They’d spent the last two weeks before the end of her sixth grade passing notes and holding hands in the hallway. And yes, he’d kissed her outside the school one day. It was just a kiss, but it had made her feel funny and achy and so happy she’d wanted to fly.

But sometime over that summer, Eric had turned into someone else. His father had gone to jail, and when school started, everyone was talking about it. Trix felt sorry for Eric, but he was sullen and defiant and he ignored her. He’d starting hanging around with kids who got into trouble, bad kids like Henry Atkins.

They hardly spoke to each other after that, like those two weeks at the end of her sixth grade year had never happened. But that’s the way it was with kids. Best friends one day, “enemies” the next. She hadn’t spent any serious time mourning Eric Crassen. He was nothing at all like John—love of her life, noble, hardworking John.

She went into the house and drank a glass of water, letting it cool her body and her mind.

If Eric did the work she needed him to do, fine. But if he brought up the subject again—the
kissing
subject—she’d have to give him an ultimatum. This was a working relationship, nothing more. She didn’t have the time or patience for Eric’s foolishness. And she absolutely was not going to indulge the butterflies she felt when he looked at her in that warm way.

She knew what she wanted. She wanted to keep the ranch running smoothly, raise her baby girl, marry her friend Chris, and hold on to her memories of John.

Forever. That’s what Trix wanted.

JEREMY
was thrumming with nerves and something sicklier and sweeter as he got dressed for his riding lesson Saturday morning. He’d gone into JD’s Me to You, the used-clothing store in Clyde’s Corner, and found an aqua T-shirt that fit well and made the color of his hair and eyes look way more interesting.

Discussing fly-fishing with Chris had given him an idea. As inexperienced as Jeremy was, he knew Chris was attracted to him. There was no mistaking that look in his eyes at their first riding session. But he also understood Chris was resisting it.

A fisherman had a similar problem with fish. They weren’t stupid. In fly-fishing, one landed a bug-like lure here, then there, then over here, let it sit for a few minutes, then move it again. You tempted the fish until it finally decided,
ah fuck it
, and made the grab.

Jeremy was dangling himself. It was actually sort of fun. It took the pressure off. He went into the Merc just to be seen, and didn’t have to attempt to actually talk to, flirt with, or impress Chris Ramsey.

But it was also hard. He had to fight his natural desire to edge closer to Chris, close enough to see his eyes and sneak glances at his broad shoulders and fine hands, to make eye contact, to hear Chris speak so he could listen for the secret message in the tone of his voice.
He loves me. He loves me not.

Hopefully, today he’d get to scratch that growing itch.

WHEN
Jeremy arrived at Muddy River Ranch and parked, Chris was already there, leaning against the corral fence. Jeremy’s palms instantly went sweaty and his pulse drummed in his throat. But he got out of his car slowly and pretended to fiddle with a shoelace.

When he looked up, Chris was walking toward him. He couldn’t read anything on Chris’s face.

“Hey.” Chris stopped next to Jeremy’s car.

Jeremy couldn’t rein in his smile. “Hey, Chris.”

Chris returned the smile as unconsciously as an echo, but he turned his head to the side as if trying to hide it. “You ready for this today?”

“Doubtful. I felt it for three days last time. I’m not used to spreading my legs that wide.”

Chris got a tiny spot of red on his forehead, and his smile quirked to the side. “Duly noted.”

Jeremy’s stomach did a squiggly dance, which wasn’t an entirely pleasant feeling. “What about you?”

“Am I used to spreading my legs that wide?” Despite the irony in Chris’s voice, the gaze he shot Jeremy was flirty.

“I think I can guess about that,” Jeremy, aka Gary Prince, said smoothly. “No, I mean are you ready to entrust your life to the domesticated beast?”

“I’m not sure I’ve found my inner cowboy yet, but I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

I’d like to find your inner cowboy
, Jeremy thought. He didn’t say it, but maybe it showed in his eyes, because for a long moment, Chris’s gaze met his, and electrical storms and earthquakes rocked Jeremy’s inner terrain.

Chris unconsciously licked his lips, and Jeremy made himself look away.
Gently, gently
.

At least Chris wasn’t running away this time. In fact, he stuck by Jeremy’s side until the class began.

“Listen up, y’all!” Ben opened his arms and his smile wide. “Today, we’re gonna divide up into two groups. Half of y’all will go out on a trail ride with me ’n’ Charlie while the other half work one-on-one with Joshua in the corral. Then the second hour we’ll switch up. Okay? So if four of y’all will head into the corral, the rest of ya can go over to Charlie and saddle up.”

Charlie was leading out saddled horses and tying them to a hitching post. Joshua already had two of them in the corral.

“You have a preference?” Chris asked, as if it was a given they would stick together.

Jeremy did an internal
Yes
! before answering with a shrug. “I could probably use some help one-on-one before I go on another trail ride.”
Please, God, not another trail ride. Or at least not on the berry-addicted monster I had last time.

“Sounds good to me,” Chris said. So they headed into the corral.

Jeremy noticed Eric went with the trail ride. He stuck by Ben, watching and talking about something as Ben helped the others in his group saddle up. Lord, he was being such a brown-noser. It was weird.

As the dust cleared from the trail group’s departure, Joshua led over two saddled horses. “I’ll work with ya two at a time. Who’d like to go first?”

The older couple volunteered, which was fine with Jeremy. Chris hoisted himself up to sit on the split-rail fence and watch. Jeremy joined him, sitting only a few inches away. It was closer than most guys would get, but Chris didn’t move.

Jeremy watched Joshua work with the husband and wife, adjusting stirrups and reins, correcting posture, talking in that low rumble of his.

Yeah. That was one hot cowboy.

Jeremy imagined himself seated on the brown horse. Joshua praised his form and touched his leg as if some of Jeremy’s amazing natural aptitude would rub off. Then Jeremy would canter around the corral, the horse’s tail all perky and himself barely bouncing in the saddle, his body loose and effortless. He’d wink at Chris as he rode by and flex his meaty thighs. Chris’s tongue would fall out of his mouth, and he’d pant as Jeremy—

“So. I got the impression from Mrs. Rollingswell that you’re a writer,” Chris said.

“Me?” Jeremy’s voice squeaked. He cleared his throat. “Not really. I mean. Yeah. No. I’m a cook at the diner.”

Chris raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I know you’re a cook at the diner. But you must also write. Mrs. Rollingswell was asking you about a chapter she wanted to read.”

“Um, yes. I do write. Sometimes.”
All the time.

“What do you write?”

Evasive answers tumbled through Jeremy’s head like acrobats.

She was talking about a textbook I’m writing on soil density.

It was just a little book on the history of Clyde’s Corner.

Fan fiction about Ben Rivers. She started it.

None of those seemed better options than telling the truth.

“I write horror stories and other stuff. It’s no big deal.” Jeremy made an effort to redirect the conversation. “Do you think horses think we’re idiots? Like we’re totally gullible for giving them food, water, and shelter in return for them plodding around an arena like this a few times a week? Maybe they’re actually smarter than we are. Maybe they tell jokes about us when they’re alone in the barn at night. If I were an alien species, I’d rather be a pampered horse than a human being.”

Chris laughed. “Could be.” But he wasn’t distracted for long. “I like a good horror story now and then. Can I read something of yours?”

“Oh no.” Jeremy inwardly fought hyperventilation.
Huh-uh, never, no way Jose.

“I don’t care if it’s not perfect.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Maybe I could give you some feedback.”

Maybe you could put a gun to my head and pull the trigger.
“No. That’s okay. I’m really not ready to show it to people. That I know.”
That I want to like me.

“You let Mrs. Rollingswell see it,” Chris pointed out.

Jeremy pictured flinging himself dramatically into the path of a galloping horse. Not that there were any galloping horses in the corral. No, the two horses Joshua had the older couple seated on were standing there, eyes bored, looking terminally unaggressive.

It wasn’t that he was suicidal. But if there
were
a galloping horse, Chris could save him. And with all the excitement, Chris would forget about Jeremy’s writing. And about the fact that Jeremy had thrown himself off the fence in the first place.

“Mrs. Rollingswell was helping edit it,” Jeremy evaded. “Commas are the bane of my existence. Like, if I’m ever in the Senate? I’ll introduce a law to remove commas from circulation. We’ll destroy all the old books too, so that no one will ever know that commas existed.”

Not that he’d really destroy books. But since Jeremy would never be in the Senate, he didn’t need to worry about that.

“I can help with commas. I’m better at commas than horses and that’s a fact,” Chris smirked.

“Mrs. Rollingswell already took care of it.”

“But not in chapter seventeen.”

Jeremy gave him a desperate look. He hoped it said: “Please stop before I’m forced to hang myself from this split-rail fence.”