sniffed and frowned. She seemed confused or lost or angry. Paul missed the woman she’d been in the sunlight.
“You okay, Suz?”
“Fine.”
He examined her. Her voice sounded angry, but her eyes looked … something tragic in her eyes. Was this what Dre had seen?
“Are you still up for this?” he asked.
She lifted her chin. A week ago he would have described the move as defiant. Today, he saw determination.
“I am.”
“Let’s get to it.” Paul reached for a bucket on a middle shelf near the door. Rummaging through it, he was satisfied with the currycomb, brush, and hoof pick. “Grab the saddle and the blanket just above it.”
Back in the sunshine, he squinted to watch her drag out the saddle. Literally.
“Why are these so heavy?” She hefted it against her hip and dropped it near the hitching post.
Paul chuckled. “They’re built for ranch work.”
She squinted skeptically.
“An English saddle is built for speed. It’s lighter and less complicated. On a ranch, we work cattle, so the equipment is different.” Paul reached for Bronco’s muzzle. “Did you ride much with your mom?”
“We took lessons when we were younger.” Suzanna stared at nothing and then dropped her gaze.
Lessons in horseback riding should have been every little girl’s dream. Suzanna seemed uncomfortable with the memory.
“Did your dad ride much?”
“Not with us.” She looked at the ground, tugging at her sweatshirt. “He said he used to though.”
She was growing more uncomfortable with every question. Paul dropped the interview. “So, this mare of your dad’s—she seems solid, but I never rode with Mike. Are you comfortable on her, or do you want to ride Bronco?”
Suzanna hesitated and then shrugged. “I don’t know. I really don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve only ever ridden in an arena, and the horse was my mother’s. I’ve never ridden in an open pasture.”
What kind of lessons had she been given? Paul pulled at his chin. “Okay. So, I think we’ll saddle the mare—I’ll teach you how—and then you can do it once. Then, to start out, maybe you’d better ride Bronco. Just in case. We’ll switch if everything goes well.”
She watched him with uncertainty. Maybe she wasn’t up for this. Should he offer her an out?
“Do we need the halter?” She gestured back to the tack room.
Guess she didn’t need an out. “Yep. And a lead. Do you know how to do that?”
Nodding, Suzanna stepped back toward the barn. “We even practiced yesterday.” Her shoulders relaxed, and her voice smoothed.
Paul waited for her to snag the synthetic lead, and then they started toward the corral.
Suzanna stopped at the gate. “Is that stupid?”
“Practicing?”
Her cheeks filled with rosy heat.
Paul grinned. “Naw. It’s a good thing.”
He pictured her fumbling with the knot, calling the horse like it was a puppy and taking it for a walk. With her helmet on. He worked to smother a chuckle.
Suzanna approached the palomino mare with a timid stride. Paul leaned against the gatepost, fascinated as the woman pushed her shoulders back, her posture contradicting her gait. She wanted to be brave, even if she wasn’t on the inside. Wasn’t that called courage? Fresh admiration tickled in his chest.
The horse dropped her head, a willing partner. Suzanna would be fine on that mount, but he’d leave their arrangement for now. If he could help grow that seed of courage, he would. She’d need it out here. Need it against the Chuck Stantons of this world.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Suzanna hefted her father’s saddle over Bronco’s back. The leather moaned as it shifted, rubbing against itself. Sheesh, it was heavy. Maybe there were good reasons—work, Paul had said—but the extra weight and equipment seemed ridiculously cumbersome. Or maybe it just made her feel unacceptably feeble.
“Good.” Paul nodded. “Now we’ll see if you remember how to secure a cinch knot.”
Her strength grew in the
“You okay, Suz?”
“Fine.”
He examined her. Her voice sounded angry, but her eyes looked … something tragic in her eyes. Was this what Dre had seen?
“Are you still up for this?” he asked.
She lifted her chin. A week ago he would have described the move as defiant. Today, he saw determination.
“I am.”
“Let’s get to it.” Paul reached for a bucket on a middle shelf near the door. Rummaging through it, he was satisfied with the currycomb, brush, and hoof pick. “Grab the saddle and the blanket just above it.”
Back in the sunshine, he squinted to watch her drag out the saddle. Literally.
“Why are these so heavy?” She hefted it against her hip and dropped it near the hitching post.
Paul chuckled. “They’re built for ranch work.”
She squinted skeptically.
“An English saddle is built for speed. It’s lighter and less complicated. On a ranch, we work cattle, so the equipment is different.” Paul reached for Bronco’s muzzle. “Did you ride much with your mom?”
“We took lessons when we were younger.” Suzanna stared at nothing and then dropped her gaze.
Lessons in horseback riding should have been every little girl’s dream. Suzanna seemed uncomfortable with the memory.
“Did your dad ride much?”
“Not with us.” She looked at the ground, tugging at her sweatshirt. “He said he used to though.”
She was growing more uncomfortable with every question. Paul dropped the interview. “So, this mare of your dad’s—she seems solid, but I never rode with Mike. Are you comfortable on her, or do you want to ride Bronco?”
Suzanna hesitated and then shrugged. “I don’t know. I really don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve only ever ridden in an arena, and the horse was my mother’s. I’ve never ridden in an open pasture.”
What kind of lessons had she been given? Paul pulled at his chin. “Okay. So, I think we’ll saddle the mare—I’ll teach you how—and then you can do it once. Then, to start out, maybe you’d better ride Bronco. Just in case. We’ll switch if everything goes well.”
She watched him with uncertainty. Maybe she wasn’t up for this. Should he offer her an out?
“Do we need the halter?” She gestured back to the tack room.
Guess she didn’t need an out. “Yep. And a lead. Do you know how to do that?”
Nodding, Suzanna stepped back toward the barn. “We even practiced yesterday.” Her shoulders relaxed, and her voice smoothed.
Paul waited for her to snag the synthetic lead, and then they started toward the corral.
Suzanna stopped at the gate. “Is that stupid?”
“Practicing?”
Her cheeks filled with rosy heat.
Paul grinned. “Naw. It’s a good thing.”
He pictured her fumbling with the knot, calling the horse like it was a puppy and taking it for a walk. With her helmet on. He worked to smother a chuckle.
Suzanna approached the palomino mare with a timid stride. Paul leaned against the gatepost, fascinated as the woman pushed her shoulders back, her posture contradicting her gait. She wanted to be brave, even if she wasn’t on the inside. Wasn’t that called courage? Fresh admiration tickled in his chest.
The horse dropped her head, a willing partner. Suzanna would be fine on that mount, but he’d leave their arrangement for now. If he could help grow that seed of courage, he would. She’d need it out here. Need it against the Chuck Stantons of this world.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Suzanna hefted her father’s saddle over Bronco’s back. The leather moaned as it shifted, rubbing against itself. Sheesh, it was heavy. Maybe there were good reasons—work, Paul had said—but the extra weight and equipment seemed ridiculously cumbersome. Or maybe it just made her feel unacceptably feeble.
“Good.” Paul nodded. “Now we’ll see if you remember how to secure a cinch knot.”
Her strength grew in the
Similar Books
