Page 22 of Taming the Billionaire Cowboy
“How old were you when you started ranching?” I ask.
“Older than you,” she quips.
“Yeah?” I lean against the wall and study her. “So twenty-five, maybe thirty.”
“Got jokes, do you?” Her lips curl upwards, and I swear she likes this.
“Seriously, how’d you learn all this?” I press, wanting to know more than I’m allowed.
She stands up, holding a wrench and a mischievous expression. “Grew up riding horses with my dad,” she says as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Something shifts, and I wonder if she has it as easy as she makes it look. But at least now we’re getting somewhere. “Do you still ride with him?”
Her eyes catch mine, and there’s a pause before she says anything. “He passed away when I was fifteen.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” I think about my mom, about how lost I’d be if anything happened to her.
“Thanks. It was a long time ago, though. And it taught me to be independent.”
I nod. I know what it’s like to stand on your own two feet, but it looks different for her than it does for me. She doesn’t see independence as a survival skill, more like a point of pride.
Why? Is it because she had no other choice? Because she was thrown to the wolves so young?
“So tell me the truth,” she says. “Have you ever ridden? Really?”
It takes me a moment to remember we were talking about horses before I got lost in wondering about her past. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Really?”
Shoot. Why did I say that? Truth is, I’ve never even sat on a saddle before.
I should admit to her that I lied, but I don’t want to look even worse, so before I know it, I’m leaning in and adding more fuel to the dumpster fire. “Bet you I can ride a horse longer than you think.”
Her eyes dance, and there’s laughter in them. “Oh?”
“You doubt me?”
“Oh, I definitely doubt you, but I want to see this. And I’ll take that bet. You won’t last five minutes.”
“Watch me.”
I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing. Most of my life has been spent behind a desk, not in a barnyard. But I can’t back down now, not with her staring at me like that, challenging me with her gaze.
“I’ll get Buccaneer,” she says.
“Which one is that?” I ask, praying it’s whatever horse is the easiest for beginners.
But instead, she brings out the massive black one, who I have to admit, I was even a little afraid of grooming. The horse stamps his feet, seemingly annoyed at being pulled out of the shade just to humor a buffoon like me.
“Be gentle,” Carly tells Buckaneer, who she’s already saddled up. “It’s his first time.”
The horse and I both pretend not to hear her. I approach slowly, acting more confident than I feel. How hard can it be? Get on, hang tight, and show her how wrong she is.
I get on, the simple act itself painfully awkward. Taking the reins in my hand, I breathe deeply. Buckaneer just stands there, doing nothing.
“Are you going to ride him or just sit there?” Carly asks.
“Calm down. I’m getting there.”
