Page 66 of Ropers Can't Tie Knots
Gabe rips the paper from the box and pops open the lid while I hold my breath. He pulls out the piece of paper inside and raises an eyebrow.
“Read it, Gabe.” He’s not the only one playing games this Christmas.
He unfolds the paper to read the handwritten note. When his gaze meets mine, there’s a shine of excitement. A guarded hope that has me reaching for his hand.
“Put the drink down. Come on.”
Gabe almost misses the table, and then he speed walks down the hall. He has his feet in his boots before I reach him, and he didn’t even bother with a coat.
“If this is what I think it is, I’m gonna… I don’t know what I’m gonna do, but don’t make me wait.”
After shoving my boots on, I grab a coat for him and follow him to the barn.
“Gabe,” I call, and he stops to wait for me. He shivers, but I’m not convinced it’s from the cold. After holding the coat for him to shrug into, I take his hand and enter the aisle of the barn.
“Hunter…oh my god.”
Mack pokes her head out of her stall when she hears us, along with Dixie. When I finished chores and the horses were in for the night, I set a stool in front of Mack’s stall with a saddle I purchased second-hand from one of the trail riders in the area. It’s a gorgeous black saddle that I know will fit Mack, and he should be comfortable riding with it. Gabe has made it clear he wants to ride more with me, and he’s already bonded with Mack so much that she’s his horse.
And that’s the second part.
“Looks like Mack got you a card, too.” I motion to the envelope jammed into the crack of the stall door, and Gabe laughs.
“God, Hunter. As if you had Mack get me a card.” His cheeks are pink from excitement, and I bet he was the cutest little boy at Christmas. He runs a hand over the saddle. “My very first piece of horse stuff. It’s gorgeous, Hunter.”
His fingers open the card, and I watch him as he reads. His lip quivers, and when he turns to me, he punches me in the shoulder.
“Ow!”
“You asshole!” he chokes out as he strokes Mack’s neck. “She’s really mine?”
The card wasn’t from Mack, of course. It’s from me gifting him Mack because, as much as I love her, every man needs a horse to call their own, and she trusts him. They’re a perfect fit, and he’ll be in good hands with her.
“She’s yours, counsellor. I’d have put a bow on her in the morning, but you were so insistent about doing this tonight.”
We spend a few minutes with the girls and promise to see them in the morning before I pull Gabe back to the warmth of the house. He kicks off his boots and throws his arms around my neck.
“You got me a horse, and all I got you were new crossword books with Greek mythology themes.”
“Did you just tell me what you spent an hour wrapping?”
“I get ahorse,” he says again and stares at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.
“I love you, Gabe. I’ll give you anything you ask for. Always.”
Which is something I’ve realized this week. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give him if he asks. Even if it made my life harder, I’d make his easier without a second thought.
“You might change your mind once you start unwrapping.” Gabe laughs as we settle back on the couch, and he hands me a taped-up gift.
After three minutes, I hate the taped-up present thing, but he relents and lets me use scissors because I gave him a horse, and he feels guilty.
“Okay, I’m not a fan of the tape thing. Next year, think of something else.” Finally, through my first one, I remove the crossword book inside. It’s not something from a store shelf. The cover is black with a gold foil title. When I flip open the book and browse the puzzles, I nearly choke on my spit. “Jesus, Gabe.”
Of course, he couldn’t find me a book with ranch terms or rodeo, or anything generic. This one is the karma sutra of crosswords that Gabe had personalized. Each puzzle has a sexy title, and in the background of the letter boxes, filthy black-and-white images take the place of a blank page.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever concentrate enough to finish one of these,” I joke. Which is true. Sex-themed crosswords every night might be too much for me, especially if he’s helping and spelling out filthy words. Stopping on a page, I search the clues, looking for something I don’t know to ask him, and my mouth drops open. “These pictures…” I practically press my nose into the page, looking closer. “It’s you.” Is that me who sounds all breathless? My husband has posed for erotic pictures and put them in a themed crossword book for me.
Merry fucking Christmas to me.
