Page 46 of Impossible Love

“But I was going to go riding with Victoria!” Jasmine balls up her fists and pounds her Barbie cowboy boot into the dirt.

“Another time. And we’ll see Victoria later. C’mon, let’s get you changed. You want your Snow White dress?”

Jasmine’s face turns red, and she eyes me with a heart-wrenching look of humiliation. “Dad,” she hisses, looking his way again. “I’m eight years old. I’m not a baby anymore.”

Finn’s mouth falls open and he stops short. It takes him a moment to process that comment. He flashes a WTF? glance at Cal before he rebounds. “Of course, Miss MacLaine. May I have the pleasure of your company at the book fair?”

Finn bows formally and then extends his arm for her. Jasmine sighs and says, “I guess,” then runs to him. We watch them head off down the ranch road.

“Being a single dad is rough,” Cal says. “But man, he tries hard. He can sing the entire Frozen soundtrack. He’s got a closet full of princess dresses, and he’s hosted more tea parties than the Queen of England.”

I nod, thinking that Jasmine may be about to step into that awkward no man’s land between little girl and pre-teen. It’s probably going to be difficult for Finn.

“Summer told me about Jasmine’s mother.”

Cal doesn’t respond. Maybe it’s a topic that’s too personal, so I don’t push it. “Too bad our riding plans are shot. Should we walk the horses back?”

“Nice try,” Cal says. “We’re going riding. But first, let’s get you some boots.” He loops his horse’s reins over a fence railing and removes mine from my hands, throwing them over, too.

“Boots?”

“Summer’s got extras in the barn.”

“I can’t borrow her things without permission.”

“She won’t mind. Half of her stuff comes from thrift stores, and she’s not exactly a diva.”

“But…” I’m running out of excuses. There’s no way I can do this. I can barely ride a bike, and that includes the stationary ones from my gym’s spin class.

He pulls me toward him and clutches my shoulders. He’s looking down at me, and his smirk disappears. “You’re not getting out of this.”

His voice is smooth and deep. I could bathe in that voice, and though I don’t like the words he’s saying, I don’t mind if he keeps speaking.

“You’re used to talking your way out of things, I can tell. But you’re going riding with me. I’m dying to see all those special abilities you have.”

This is it, the moment where I must admit that I exaggerated my horseback riding talents. I did try to learn, once. My father insisted that I take lessons when I was five because it would leave many years of training to perfect my skills. I think he pictured his daughter as an Olympic equestrian.

Unfortunately, I was too scared to sit on a horse when it was standing completely still, let alone moving. I stayed back to feed the horses apples and carrots from our kitchen while the other students went riding.

At the end of the summer, my father discovered my deception and unleashed an angry lecture on me about wasting time, telling lies, and how I had no respect for money. Of course I didn’t. I was a kindergartener.

The real lesson that summer was that I needed to avoid my father’s wrath in the future, no matter what it took.

I don’t tell Cal I’m a liar. He already thinks I’m a useless city girl whose only goal is to steal his family’s land. Besides, I’m not five anymore. I’ll just focus and remember to breathe. How hard can it be to stay on while a well-trained horse goes trotting around?

Cal drags me to the barn. I look around at a shiny-new, sparkling-clean, state-of-the-art building that smells of sweet hay and polished leather. I’ve seen pictures of the high-end barns that house million-dollar Kentucky thoroughbreds, and the main barn at Yosemite Ranch is comparable. Some of the stalls house horses, and one in particular eyes me with suspicion, as if I’m thinking of moving in on her luxury territory.

“Don’t you have work to do?” I ask Cal, trying one last time to avoid the inevitable. “I know I’ve got a lot more documents to study.”

“Liar.”

How true.

“Follow me,” Cal says. He takes me into what looks like a studio apartment. He points to a closet full of clothes. “Just pick anything—it’s not like this is a fashion show.” He closes the door.

I grab a flannel shirt—because that seems to be the uniform around here—and a pair of very lived-in jeans along with a belt, cowboy hat, and thick socks. I find a pair of boots that will fit, cursing Summer for being a size seven, just like me. I remove my normal clothes, put everything on, and look at myself in the full-length mirror.

If I didn’t know better, I’d assume the woman looking back at me grew up on a ranch. I grab a jean jacket from a hook near the door, just to add the finishing touch.

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