Wild About the Wrangler (6 page)

He went on alert. “What's wrong?”

“Mac, look at the
sky.
”

He'd been too engrossed in thinking about the next step to notice the sky. A few scattered clouds were tinged with pink and orange. He always enjoyed looking, but it wasn't the most spectacular sunrise ever. “Very nice.”

“Nice? It's gorgeous!”

That's when he realized that although he'd seen hundreds of sunrises, she had not. Sure, she'd been forced to wake up for a few. She couldn't have reached this age without witnessing some along the way. But depending on the circumstances, she might not have been in a mood to enjoy them.

“You're right,” he said. “It's gorgeous.” But he wasn't looking at the sunrise. He was looking at the glow reflected on her upturned face. With her hair coming undone, he didn't have to stretch very far to picture waking up with her after a night of making love. Then they'd step outside to greet the dawn, just as they were doing now. Dangerous thoughts.

“If I got up at sunrise more often, I'd see a sky like this. I could do some sunrise watercolors.”

“You could.”

She blew out a breath. “Forget it. Making it over here nearly killed me. Sunsets are beautiful, too.”

“Yep.”

“But totally different.” She continued to gaze at the sky. “These colors are more subtle and they change much faster. A sunrise would be harder to capture than a sunset.”

He didn't respond. He loved them equally for different reasons, and because he wasn't an artist, he'd never thought in terms of capturing anything. He counted on people like Anastasia to give him a permanent record of those things.

But he'd just thought of another way to push her out of her comfort zone. Because she was so involved in the sunrise, he decided to try it. “Hold on to Jasper for a minute. I need to get the tote with the brushes and currycombs.”

“You're leaving?”

“For just a minute. Stand right here and hold on to his halter and the rope. It'll be fine.”

“Easy for you to say.”

It wasn't at all easy for him to say. He wanted to coddle her exactly as Georgie had been doing for twenty years. But Anastasia wanted out of her cocoon, and he'd help her make the break.

By the time he returned with the plastic tote, she'd turned away from the sunrise and was scratching Jasper's neck and murmuring things to him that Mac couldn't hear. His plan had worked. Left alone with the horse, she'd established a connection.

The woman stroking the brawny roan bore no resemblance to the one who'd stood petrified in the barn as she'd waited for Jasper to emerge from his stall. Apparently the dynamic could change that fast, especially if he took himself out of the equation. Lesson learned. Sometimes he just had to get out of the way and let things happen.

The obvious progress she'd made in less than an hour caused him to rethink his approach. She could spend a little time grooming Jasper, and she needed to learn the basics of saddling and bridling a horse. But before they left the stable this morning, he wanted to see her up on Jasper, despite what he'd said yesterday. She wanted him to push her, and that's what he intended to do.

A
nastasia was finally awake enough to realize she was a hot mess. While Mac tied Jasper to the hitching post, she pulled the elastic from her hair and redid her ponytail. Then she tucked in her shirt and pulled her jeans down over the tops of her boots.

She wouldn't win any style contests, but at least she wouldn't look as if she'd been on a three-day binge.

He turned as she was straightening her vest and smiled. “Feeling a little better?”

“Getting there. Probably couldn't do any algebra problems yet.”

“Well, it's pretty hard to screw this up, although it's not quite like brushing a dog.” He took a mitt out of the tote and put it on his right hand. “I'll show you this first part and then you can take over.”

“I've never brushed a dog, so I don't have to unlearn anything.”

“Really?” He paused to gaze at her. “No dogs in your life at all?”

“Georgie and my stepdad had one when we first moved to Bickford, but he got sick and died soon after we got here. My mother put her foot down about getting another one.” She paused. “Now I wonder if she's afraid of dogs, too.”

“Are you?”

“No, not at all. I like them. Cats, too. They're like living sculpture. But Mom doesn't want animals so I'd have to move to have any, and I haven't decided where I want to be, yet.”

“I picture you with a cat. Maybe it should have a black, orange, and white coat in interesting patterns so you'd have fun painting it.”

“I picture you with a dog. A big old, fluffy one that likes to chase balls and fetch sticks.”

He grinned at that. “And then curl up on a rug by the fire on winter nights. Oh, and I'd need a cat sleeping in the rocking chair by the fire, too.”

She savored his vision of cozy domesticity. “Are you planning to get a dog and a cat, then?”

“Been thinking about it, now that I have a house. Only problem is, I'm gone every weekend.”

“I could look in on them for you.” She said it without thinking. She'd never set foot in his house, and here she was offering to take care of his animals when he was gone, assuming he adopted some. But he'd agreed to teach her to ride, so maybe taking care of his animals would repay that debt.

“Thanks for the offer.” He smiled. “But dogs usually expect to eat first thing in the morning. Automatic feeders are a possibility, but dogs need the human touch. I think they'd rather see a real person.”

“Oh.”

“So unless this early-rising thing becomes a habit . . .”

“I'd be amazed if it does. Considering that, I probably shouldn't have said anything. Sorry.” The stupid part of this conversation was that she wanted him to have a dog and a cat. Now that he'd described his ideal image, she could see it so clearly she could've made a sketch of it.

“No problem. I don't even have any pets, so feeding them on the weekend isn't an issue.”

“Listen, you need that dog on the rug by the hearth and the cat in the rocking chair. If you get those animals in your house, I'll set my alarm on the weekends and take care of them.”

He laughed. “Anastasia, that's—”

“Only fair after you're doing this riding thing for me. I saw your expression when you described that scene and it's so you, Mac.”

“I can't imagine why you'd say that. I've been on the move most of my adult life. Anybody who knows me would tell you that if I bought property it was with the hope of selling it at a profit.”

“But you plan to keep that property, don't you?”

“I'm thinking about it.”

His willingness to settle somewhere, to fix up a house and live in it, appealed to her. Compared to Mac, the guys she'd known in art school seemed immature and irresponsible. She thought Mac might be a little older than she was, but she'd never asked. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-two. Six years older than you.”

It thrilled her that he had that information about her age on the tip of his tongue. He'd been paying attention. “How do you know how old I am?”

“When I first started working at the guest ranch you were sixteen. I was there for six years. Four years later I came back and by some miracle we're both ten years older. Amazing how that happens.”

“Amazing.” He really did have beautiful brown eyes. When she looked into his eyes, she could tell something was always going on in his mind.

Like now, for instance. His gaze was warm and friendly, but she could tell he was thinking beyond the moment, maybe imagining a time when he had his house the way he wanted it along with a dog, a cat, and . . . someone special, too? That would be one lucky lady who shared his home.

Awareness flickered briefly in his eyes. Of her? He glanced away and cleared his throat. “We're not making much progress on this grooming business.”

“Guess not.” She was probably dead wrong, but she couldn't help wondering if he'd mentally placed her in the picture he was creating.

If so, he wasn't thinking that anymore. When he looked at her again, he was all business. “When you're grooming a gentle horse like Jasper, you don't have to worry because he's not jumpy. Some people use a currycomb, but I like this mitt. Start at his shoulders and rub his coat in circles, like you're polishing a car. It coaxes the dirt out so later you can brush it away.”

As Mac worked, Jasper shivered in delight.

She could understand the reaction. Those strong hands must feel really good, and he was so efficient and assured. She didn't want to risk having an affair with him and getting sidetracked from her work, but she couldn't deny he was sexy as all get-out. For the first time in her life she was attracted to a man, not a boy. It was a delicious feeling, one she'd enjoy privately and then let it go.

“Be gentle with his belly, but make sure you get the area where the cinch goes, which is right here.” He rubbed that section. “Don't worry about his legs. When you're done with this side, go around and start at his shoulder on the right side. Think you have the idea?” He turned back to her.

“Yes.” She took the mitt and their hands touched. It wasn't the first time that had happened. He'd held her hand when they'd walked together into the barn and again when he'd showed her how to pet Jasper.

Maybe those instances had generated a cumulative effect, because this brief touch created a buzz that traveled up her arm before fanning out to all points beyond. She tingled all over. If he could accomplish that with the merest contact, what would happen if . . . But she'd already decided against going there so it was pointless to speculate.

He stepped back and gestured toward Jasper. “Have at it.”

All right. She wasn't here to indulge in fantasies of Mac. She was here to conquer her fear of horses. Maybe she was focusing on her attraction to him because that diluted her emotional reaction to being around horses. She couldn't be sexually excited and afraid at the same time.

Taking a deep breath, she approached Jasper. Earlier, while Mac had gone to fetch the tote with the grooming supplies, she'd interacted with the horse by imagining he was still enclosed in a stall and she was petting him the way she had the previous afternoon. She'd concentrated on his head and neck.

Now she was confronted with the entire horse. Looking into his eyes helped, but it was physically impossible to use the mitt effectively while looking into his eyes. She rubbed his coat in circles the way Mac had.

As she did, her artist's eye took note of the powerful muscles. The little girl who'd been traumatized by the size of an animal like this quailed at the thought of his brute strength. Her imagination pictured him rearing like the Ghost did in her well-known drawing.

Anyone caught under his hooves could be seriously hurt, even killed. But Jasper wore a halter and was tied to a hitching post with a rope. He couldn't rear.

Besides, he had no reason to. She told herself that over and over as she worked the brush over his back, his rib cage and his haunches. She'd nearly convinced herself he was perfectly harmless as she began to walk around to his other side.

“Watch his back hooves.”

She froze in place. “What do you mean?” The terror returned.

“Sorry, sorry. I shouldn't have said it like that.” He nudged his hat back as he came over to her. “My mistake. I should have explained that when you cross behind a horse, they can't see what you're doing and it can make them nervous. Remember the predator/prey thing we talked about?”

“Uh-huh.” Although she wasn't feeling it, now. She was back to being intimidated.

“We don't want to give them any reason to be nervous. Jasper's so calm he'd probably be fine, but it's good to get in the habit of either walking right behind them, so they can't kick you, or making a wide circle, so their hooves can't reach you.”

“He might deliberately
kick
me?”

“Not likely, since he's calm and well-trained, but some horses might, more as a reflex than an aggressive act. I want you to be safe.”

She swallowed. “Me, too.”

“For the most part, horses have no intention of hurting you.” He met her gaze. “I don't want you to be afraid, but I want you to be alert. Think of a piece of heavy farm equipment. The tractor isn't out to get you, but if you walk in front of it without setting the brake, it might roll over you. Nothing intentional about it.”

“Mac, I get spacey sometimes. I daydream. I've tried to correct that tendency, but it seems to be a permanent part of my makeup. I can see myself forgetting to set the brake on that tractor.”

“Not if someone teaches you to make it a habit.”

“I'm not so sure about that.” She wanted to bag the whole program. Horses were as scary as she'd first thought, and that wasn't going to change just because she wanted to be a more authentic artist. Mac himself had said that nobody would guess she'd never seen the Ghost in person. Why was she torturing herself?

He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I'm sure. I'm going to work with you so that you'll be able to ride into the canyon and be safe doing it. Don't give up.”

Wow, that was effective. The warmth of his hands flooded her body with sensual images and the determination in his brown eyes melted her fear like sun on snow. “Okay.”

“Excellent.” Giving her shoulders a squeeze, he stepped back. “Just make your decision about whether to walk close behind or far away and then do it that way every time. I recommend the close-behind maneuver because sometimes you don't have the extra room to walk way around. But it's up to you.”

Keeping far from those hooves sounded great to her, but she was willing to bet most experienced riders stayed close. It was more efficient. “How close?”

“Close enough to rest your hand on his rump as you circle behind him. In fact, it's a good idea to do that. Make it part of the habit. Then he knows exactly what's going on.”

She'd better do it now, before she lost her nerve. Resting her left hand on his rear end, she made the journey around to his other side.

“Good job.”

“Thanks.” She hadn't thought much about his voice before. His charm had been more visual than auditory. Maybe because she was too busy with the horse to look at him, his voice had more impact than usual. Whatever the reason, hearing it made her feel as if all was right in her world.

She decided to keep him talking and find out if the effect lasted. “How did you happen to become a wrangler?”

“Grew up with it. My dad and mom met on the job. He was a wrangler for a big outfit and she was a cook.”

Sure enough, his rich baritone was wonderful for calming her nerves. “And now?”

“They're back doing the same thing. They tried ranching on their own when I was a kid, but it was a struggle. Besides, I think they like working alongside other folks. They're social people.”

“Is that the same ranch where you and Travis were working before you took the job here?”

“Nope. It's outside of Dallas. I was there for a little while, but I was at that age when you want to strike out on your own, so I did.”

“Do you have any . . . No, never mind. This is starting to sound like a game of twenty questions. Sorry about that.”

He laughed. “No worries. I get it. Talking can relax a person if you're on edge. How're you doing?”

“I'm just about finished.”

“I mean mentally.”

She paused to evaluate. “Better.”

“Then come back around. The brush is next.”

“Be right there.” On an impulse, she took off the glove and scratched under Jasper's mane the way she had the day before. “You've been a patient boy, Jasper. I appreciate it.”

He turned his head and bumped his nose gently against her chest.

“Oh!” Startled, she jumped back.

“He did that because he likes you. It's a gesture of affection.”

She took a deep breath as her heartbeat returned to normal. “All righty, then. I like you, too, Jasper.” Giving him one last scratch, she walked around his hindquarters exactly the way she'd done it before.

“You're doing great, you know.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks. Good teacher.”

“A better one would have told you how to circle the back of the horse in advance.” The sun warmed the area in front of the barn and Mac had taken off his jacket.

“Actually, the way it happened was better.” She didn't need her vest anymore, either, so she took it off. Her phone was in there, so she transferred it to her jeans pocket.

“I don't see how it was better. I scared you enough that you were ready to quit on me.”

“Yeah, but if you'd started out by telling me I could get kicked if I wasn't careful, I would have been freaked from the get-go.” She laid her vest over the end of the hitching post next to his jacket. “At that point, I'm not sure you could have talked me into staying.”