Page 17 of Christmas with the Cowgirl
Hers.
They headed down the hallway she’d indicated.She kept her focus on Jeremy, never even glancing at him.She opened a door at the end of the hallway and gestured the boy inside.Miles followed, a little hesitantly, because he had the definite feeling he, unlike Jeremy, was intruding in a space she’d rather he didn’t.
The room was smaller than he would have expected, but he guessed her father had the master bedroom.Or maybe she wanted this one because of the large windows looking out toward the barns he’d noticed when they’d driven in.It was painted a cooling ice blue, and the bed, big enough to suit the room—or the inhabitant—had a quilt in a geometric pattern with that same blue and a darker one.No flowery stuff here.And the only sign of the owner of the room was a matching dark blue robe tossed over the foot of the bed, and a couple of photos on the dresser.
Miles realized his mind was racing, taking it all in, making guesses and assumptions.The biggest photo was of the man they’d already met, her father, and there was no doubt that she was the woman beside him.The other was of her astride the horse she’d been riding and had carefully seen to before they’d come inside.That had brought him a smile, when he’d seen how eagerly Jeremy had jumped in to help with the big buckskin.
And it couldn’t be coincidence, could it, that the dark blue touches in the room—and the robe—exactly matched the blue of her eyes?
Before he could say or ask anything stupid, Jeremy saved him.He’d darted over to the wall opposite the windows and stood looking up at the framed drawing.
“Wow,” he said.Then he looked at Riley.“That’s you, isn’t it?”
“It is indeed.”
Jeremy’s brow furrowed as he studied the drawing.“But it’s not King.”
She smiled.“Good call.No, King wasn’t even born yet.”
Miles was so busy watching the interplay between them—and dealing with what he was now certain was the fact that this was her bedroom—that he’d actually only glanced at the framed piece.But now he looked.And probably, he admitted, gaped.
He admitted his ignorance of such things—all he knew of rodeo was what he’d picked up from Tucker.And that had been simple, really, a matter of climbing onto a huge creature whose goal was to toss you on your ass and trying to stay aboard until the whistle blew.
But this…what he was looking at seemed like a physical impossibility.A young, slight girl aboard a big, dark brown horse who was leaning at what looked like an impossible angle as it rounded a bright red barrel the size of a fifty-five-gallon drum.How the animal didn’t fall flat on its side he didn’t understand.And even in the drawing it was clear the horse knew exactly what to do, because the reins were loose and barely laid against the side of its neck, as if that were all the direction it needed.And the girl…she was leaning in that direction, urging the horse on, more upright than the horse but still solidly in the saddle, her gaze sharp and clear, and a look of joyful determination on her face.
“How old were you?”he asked, unable to look away from the drawing that somehow captured both the strength and grit of horse as well as rider.
“Sixteen.”
He gave a slow shake of his head.Even at sixteen, Riley Garrett was solid, set, and in her element.“You won, didn’t you.”He said it softly, and it wasn’t really a question because somehow he knew.
“That was my first win at the state level,” she said just as quietly.
“And Mr.Keller’s dad drew this?”Jeremy asked, clearly fascinated.
“He did,” Riley confirmed.“He was already that good that young.And,” she added, turning to face Jeremy, “when he was your age, he won a contest in school.I’ll bet you could, too.”
“Aw, I just do it for fun,” Jeremy said, but Miles could see the interest spark in the boy’s eyes.
“And what could be better than doing something for fun and getting really good at it?”Miles asked.
“Especially when you start out already good,” Riley added, gesturing with the drawing she still held carefully in her hand.
Jeremy grinned and went back to studying the charcoal drawing.
“It makes me think of that drawing of the saloon,” he said after a minute.“The one that’s on the newspaper.”
Miles had to think for a moment to remember the drawing Nic had said had been done in the early days of Last Stand, when the saloon was the most solid building standing.And when he did, he realized the boy was right.
“It does kind of have that same feel,” he said.
Jeremy blinked.“Can pictures feel?”
He laughed.“I meant it makes me feel sort of the same when I look at it.”
“How’d he get all those different colors in there?I mean, they’re all black or gray, but different.”
“Now that,” Miles said, “I think you’re going to need a pro to explain.So I guess we’d better find one.I’ll bet your aunt Tris knows an art teacher.”
