Page 36 of His Royal Matchmaker

“No,” I answer too quickly. “I mean, I trust you.”

Something warm passes between us, a moment that stretches just a beat too long. I look away first, pretending to be fascinated by the countryside rolling past the window.

The ranch appears gradually — first a white fence stretching along the roadside, then rolling green fields, and finally a cluster of rustic buildings nestled against a backdrop of distant hills. It’s like something from a painting, all soft colors and open space.

As we pull up to the main house, my stomach knots with anxiety.What if the horses don’t like me? What if I fall off and embarrass myself? What if this whole idea was a terrible mistake?

Hugo must sense my nervousness because he places his hand briefly on mine. “You’ll be fine. I promise.”

The touch is fleeting but leaves my skin tingling. I nod, not trusting my voice, and follow him out of the car.

A smiling man about our age comes striding across the yard to meet us. “Oh, look. The prince himself, gracing us commoners with his presence.”

Hugo grins and embraces the man in a back-slapping hug. “Guy, this is Emily Neale. Emily, Guy is my oldest friend and the owner of this magnificent place.”

We’ve been here for less than a minute, and Hugo is already the happiest I’ve ever seen him. I have to force my mouth closed from all the gawking.

Guy turns his appraising gaze to me. “So you’re the famous matchmaker. Pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” I say, shaking his hand.

“Midnight and Cinnamon are in their stalls,” Guy tells Hugo.

“Thank you,” he nods. “I want to take Emily on the loop.”

Guy walks us to the stables, where everything is a new experience for me, from the smell of hay and animals to the sunlight streaming through the high windows. It’s cooler in here and surprisingly clean. Several horses peer curiously at us over their stall doors.

“First lesson,” Hugo says, guiding me toward a chestnut-colored horse with a white blaze down its nose. “How to approach a horse without scaring it.”

“Can I scare something that’s ten times my size?” I ask skeptically.

Hugo and Guy both laugh. “You’d be surprised,” Guy says. “Horses are prey animals. They spook easily.”

“Always approach from the front or the side, never from the back,” Hugo explains. “Let them see you coming. Speak softly so they know you’re friendly.”

I follow his instructions, moving slowly toward the chestnut horse, murmuring hello in what I hope is a soothing tone. The horse watches me with liquid brown eyes, ears flicking forward with interest.

“Now, offer your hand, palm up, and let her sniff you,” Hugo says. “This is Cinnamon. She’s perfect for beginners.”

My hand trembles slightly as I extend it. Cinnamon’s velvety nose tickles my palm, and I can’t help but giggle.

“She likes you,” Guy observes. “Good sign.”

Hugo shows me how to stroke Cinnamon’s neck, how to stand so she feels comfortable. His hands occasionally guide mine, each touch sending a jolt of awareness through me. This is definitely a mistake. How am I supposed to focus on teaching him anything when I can barely remember my own name when he stands this close?

“Ready to meet my horse?” Hugo asks after I’ve gotten comfortable with Cinnamon.

I nod, and he leads me further down the stable aisle to a stall housing a magnificent black horse that seems to shine blue in the sunlight.

“This is Midnight,” he says with unmistakable pride. “I’ve had her since she was a foal.”

Midnight is larger than Cinnamon, with an air of dignity and power. She nickers softly when she sees Hugo, stretching her neck over the stall door to nudge his shoulder affectionately.

“She’s beautiful,” I say, hanging back slightly.

“It’s okay, she’s gentle.” He takes my hand again — I’m starting to think he knows exactly what that does to me and he’s just trying to make me uncomfortable — and guides it to Midnight’s sleek neck.

“When did you get her?” I ask.

---