“All the more reason to pass on the ride,” Holden said.
Bernadette narrowed her eyes at him.
“Hey, kid.”
They all turned toward the teenage girl with the cowboy hat and purple hair. Or maybe it was Bernadette and Holden who turned. Devin had been staring at her the whole time.
“Are you...” Devin cleared his throat. “Are you talking to me?”
“Yeah.” She waved him over. “Let’s get you on old Mimi here.” She patted the flank of a plump brown mare.
Devin’s cheeks flared crimson. He walked over with dragging feet.
Bernadette sidled closer to Holden to whisper, “Just because your son suddenly discovered the opposite sex, don’t think you’ve won the argument. I’m going on this ride.”
* * *
DEVIN SWUNG UP in Mimi’s saddle without saying a word to the teenage cowgirl goddess.
Stained blue jeans. A streak of dirt on her cheek. Short purple hair. Eyes the color of hardened caramel on tart apples. She was a species foreign to him. And he was experiencing an adrenaline rush that made his arms and legs shake.
“You ever ridden before?” she asked in a voice that drew a line in the sand that said Stay away, even as she slid her hand beneath his ankle, twisting the stirrup so she could lengthen it for his leg. “You nervous?”
She’s touching me.
Devin’s heart beat faster, and his tongue tied in knots. He flexed his foot, willing it not to give away her effect on him.
“Did you hear me?” the goddess asked in a tone that was building to disparaging.
“Yeah.” He hadn’t so much spoken the word as croaked it. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I mean, yes, I’ve ridden.” Lots. His grandpa owned a cattle ranch in Texas that bordered some of the family’s oil fields. Every Monroe knew how to ride.
Her wrist bumped his ankle, and Devin nearly fell out of the saddle.
Why is she doing this to me?
He’d seen prettier girls, more fashionable girls, nicer girls. But he’d never seen a girl like her. She sent signals that messed with his brain, signals he couldn’t override. And she kept touching him. Even now, she eased his foot into the stirrup, her slim fingers around his ankle.
“Is that okay?” She stepped back, staring at his leg.
My leg.
She was still waiting for his reply. Say something!
“I was on my polo team at school.” His voice pitched high, as if he hadn’t gone through puberty. Sweat popped out on his forehead. “I...I only went out for the team to round out my college résumé, though.” Athletics wasn’t a strength of his.
“I was in shop class last year. We took apart the engine of a ’57 Chevy.” Which was ten times cooler than sitting the bench on the polo team. She glanced up at his face with those cynical eyes. “Does your school have a dress code? One you have to adhere to 24/7?”
“No. It’s not prison.” He scoffed. “And besides, I graduated high school.” He sat taller in the saddle, hooking his thumbs through his backpack straps, only to realize he was wearing his high-school uniform and he was wearing a backpack, sitting on top of a horse. Geez. “I never thought of myself as a nerd until this moment.”
What a geek! Why did I say that?
She laughed, ducking under his horse’s neck and coming around to his other leg, lengthening the stirrup for him on the right, touching him impersonally, the way she had on his left. “I can stow your backpack with my stuff over there, nerd.” She nodded toward the motorcycle.
She’d called him a nerd. Dad didn’t want anyone calling him a nerd, not even the family. Dutifully, Devin lifted his chin. “My name...is Devin.”
“I’m Frankie.” She turned to look at his dad and Dr. Carlisle. “Sir, I’m going to have you ride Goldie, the palomino here. And ma’am, you can come over to Pokey.” Frankie held up a hand toward Devin.
He shook it, just the way Dad had taught him.
Frowning, Frankie yanked her hand back. “Nerd, hand me your backpack.”
Obediently, he slipped off the straps.
“Excuse me,” Dad said, and for a moment, Devin was afraid he was going to chew him out for something right in front of Frankie. “I’m an experienced rider. I’d like your most challenging horse.”
Frankie frowned. “I don’t think—”
“That big horse over there will do.” Dad sauntered over to a large horse tied to a hitching post away from the rest.
“Holden,” Dr. Carlisle said, as if she didn’t approve of his attitude.
Devin didn’t approve, either, but saying so had never stopped Dad.
“Shortcake?” Frankie pointed at the big strawberry roan. The horse had sharp angles and ears that swiveled constantly. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. He’ll do.” Dad patted the horse’s neck.
Shortcake shifted his back end. Not just a little bit. He sidestepped his way to Dad, bumping him aside.
“Shortcake.” Frankie scuttled around three horses to reach them. “I’m sorry, mister, but he’s not available for riding. I brought him out because he needs exercising later. He’s a handful on a good day.”
“I’ll exercise him. I like a horse with spirit.” Dad stood a safe distance away from the horse, hands on his hips, looking happier than he had in days. “I shouldn’t have left my cowboy boots in the motor home.”
“I don’t think my grandmother would approve,” Frankie hedged.
“I insist,” Dad said. And out came his wallet. “Would an extra fifty make you feel better?”
Inwardly, Devin cringed. This was just like the time Dad tipped the snowmobile operator to let him ride off-trail on fresh snow. He’d ended up wiping out in a snowdrift and was lucky he hadn’t killed himself. Hadn’t stopped him from proclaiming the experience had left him feeling alive.
“Did you sign the waiver releasing me and my gran of all responsibility?” Frankie challenged.
“Yes.” Dad nodded.
“Then, it’s your funeral.” Frankie was the one with her hands on her hips now, but she wasn’t looking at Dad. She stared at Devin.
And for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why.
* * *
“HEY, FELLA. DON’T do that.”
Shortcake tried to stop in the shade of a pine tree. Holden had to duck his head to avoid hitting his head on a branch.
Leading the pack on a mottled gray mare, Frankie stood up in her stirrups and turned to look back. “I told you he was difficult.”
“We’re fine.” Holden was bringing up the rear on the trail ride. “I was looking for a challenge.” Something to prove to himself that he wasn’t broken. This wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but it was demanding.
Shortcake might be tall, but he walked at a leisurely pace, dragging his hooves, joints popping with each step. He followed commands by heel and rein just as slowly and reluctantly, perhaps hoping for a quick return to the stable. Little did Holden’s steed know that he’d met his match. There would be no turning back.
The group waited for him at the top of the rise. Frankie and Bernadette were shaking their heads. Devin stared toward the trail ahead, sighing as if he didn’t know what to make of his father.
“I’m having a great time,” Holden said in a voice that sounded forced and false-hearted, even to himself.
“We’re at a crossroads, sir,” Frankie told Holden. “Normally, I take my riders across the river to the meadow. But when I ride Shortcake, I head up toward Recline Point.”
“Why’s that?” Holden asked, bringing Shortcake to a stop next to Bernadette at the head of a short trail that led down the bank to the river.
Shortcake turned his head toward the water and sniffed the air like a bloodhound on the scent of a fox. He took a step toward the trailhead before Holden drew back the reins.
<
br /> Frankie tipped her cowboy hat back, revealing a sparse section of purple hair. “Shortcake likes the water more than your average horse. I try to steer him clear of temptation.”
“What’s he tempted to do?” Bernadette stared at Frankie the same way she’d stared at Myrna earlier, as if she was logging symptoms in her mental medical chart for later review and diagnosis.
“Shortcake likes to swim.” Frankie’s features were sharp, her build rail thin. Her tan face was missing a healthy tinge of pink.
For once, Holden could see what had caught Bernadette’s attention.
As if uncomfortable under the scrutiny of two adults, Frankie angled her head down. “We’ll cross in the shallows. It’s maybe a foot of water. But Shortcake knows the river gets deep just downstream. We should switch horses here, sir.”
“Not an option.” So much of his life was out of his control. But this... He could control this old horse.
“Holden.” There was a gentle line of concern on Bernadette’s forehead. “Please take Frankie’s horse.”
He didn’t like to cause Bernadette worry, but Frankie didn’t look strong enough to control a stubborn pony, much less a tenacious horse. “I’ll be fine.”
“Dad, remember what happened when you took me snowmobiling last winter?” A few feet away, Devin looked pained.
“What happened?” Bernadette glanced from one Monroe to the other.
“I lived,” Holden said before Devin could explain. “I accept full responsibility for my actions. I always do.” That earned him a sharp look from Bernadette and a shake of the head by Devin.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Frankie turned her horse toward the river. In no time, she’d gone down the trail and was splashing across.
Devin was close behind her, followed by Bernadette.
Shortcake blew a raspberry. And then he stepped forward, with a burst of unexpected speed.
Anticipating a bolt to the right toward deep water, Holden kept a tight rein on him and heeled his horse to the left. “You thought I was just an unsuspecting Harvard man,” he told Shortcake. “Little did you know that my grandfather made sure his grandchildren could ride.”
Shortcake tossed his head and whinnied. And with that head toss, he took the bit in his mouth and leaped to the right, plunging Holden up to his waist in cold, rushing water.
When they climbed up the bank on the other side, everyone was shaking their head at Holden.
“I’m fine.” A lie. He was soaked and cold and had proven nothing. “We’ll laugh about this someday.”
Laughter filled the air. Frankie was laughing about it now.
* * *
“WERE YOU THIS stubborn when we were dating?” Bernadette asked as Holden brought his wet steed next to hers.
“I was born stubborn,” Holden said with conviction, but his gaze was focused on Devin’s retreating back and filled with longing.
Frankie was leading Devin away from them at a faster clip. There was something off about Frankie to Bernadette’s medically trained eyes. She was too thin and angular for a teenager. But it was Holden who held her attention at the moment. He never should have gotten on that horse!
Holden handed Bernadette his cell phone. “Can you dry this off? It’s supposed to be waterproof, but I have nothing to wipe it with.”
The trail had widened through the meadow, allowing them to ride side by side. After his swim, Shortcake had more pep in his step, keeping up with Bernadette’s horse with ease.
Bernadette rubbed his phone dry on her sun-warmed blue jeans. “We should get some rice and cover your cell phone with it to suck out the moisture, just in case.”
“If it works when we get back, it’ll be fine.”
“Stubborn,” Bernadette said because he’d just proved her point.
He ran a hand over his thick hair, squeezing off excess water. “You try being the oldest of twelve siblings and cousins. My parents, aunts, uncles and grandparents all looked to me to help keep the rest of the kids in line. Of course I’d be stubborn.”
“But you’re the worst when it comes to obeying the rules,” Bernadette pointed out. He always asked a chef if they had a special meal not listed on the menu. He’d asked a museum to extend its hours so they could enjoy more time with an exhibit. And the worst rule break of all? He’d dated her long-distance when he’d told her that was his number-one relationship rule.
“Exactly. Do you want to know why? The youngsters in my generation got away with murder.” And he sounded like he still hadn’t gotten over that fact. “Of course when they’re not around to see, I’m going to bend the rules a little, live a little bit louder and take more enjoyment out of life.”
“How’s that working out for you?” Bernadette gave him a significant once-over.
“I wouldn’t change a thing.” He grinned, unrepentant.
That smile... Her pulse quickened.
“Mark my words,” Holden said. “Devin’s going to remember this every time he sees a horse this color.”
“You mean, he’ll remember you.” She shook her head. “Still believe your engine is about to give out?”
“No.” He reached over and briefly touched her hand. “It’s easy to be average, Bea. Everybody dies, but not everyone truly lives.”
Bea. That was his nickname for her. She knew he shouldn’t call her that. Not now. She knew she shouldn’t get all hot and flustered at his touch. And she knew with certainty that she shouldn’t dwell on the truth of his statement. Not when she was a workaholic at heart.
“When we met,” Holden continued in a quiet voice meant just for her, “you were burning the candle at both ends. Work was your life. I remember you saying you hadn’t slept through the night in over a week.”
Bernadette nodded. She’d delivered a bundle of babies in a short time period.
He reached over and touched her hand once more. Again, briefly. Again, sending her heart pounding. “Do you remember our first date? I flew into Boise, and you drove over from Ketchum. You told me you’d always wanted to visit the art museum there. And then when I came over to Ketchum and took you to the farmers’ market, you told me you’d never been to it in all the time you’d lived there. You marveled at the fresh produce and artisan booths. And then, I took you skiing because you hadn’t been in years. And later—”
“You don’t need to rehash our dating history,” Bernadette said quickly. Just look where having a personal life had gotten her—broken-hearted and pregnant. “We were talking about your stubborn determination to...to...to be stubborn.”
“You’re missing the point, Bea. We both work hard, which means we deserve memorable experiences outside of work, whether it’s taking a day off and discovering the freshness of a vine-ripened tomato or pushing yourself to the limit with a quirky old horse.”
“You talk as if you haven’t worked yourself to the brink of a breakdown—pushing your career hard and pushing your personal life to the limit.”
“It’s true. I’ve always worked harder than the next guy, with the goal of getting ahead. And my expectations for myself have a high bar. And maybe I haven’t taken enough time off. But when I do, I deserve for me and mine to experience life to the fullest.” He gave Shortcake’s neck a pat. “Get in touch with the past. See new things. Do more than ski down the bunny slope.”
“And now you sound as if you live a balanced life, when your health suggests otherwise.”
He frowned.
“You need to be honest, Holden, not just with me but with yourself.”
* * *
HOLDEN’S JEANS WERE wet and dragging. Body parts that shouldn’t chafe were saddle sore. But he wouldn’t let his discomfort show. “That was some ride, huh?”
“Dad.”
The trio walked slowly back up the hill to the tour store. Myrna had promised them the best burgers in the mou
ntains and ice cream while they waited for the tow truck. Holden was going to have to change his clothes before he did anything else.
“Did you get Frankie’s number?” Bernadette asked Devin.
“Dr. Carlisle,” Devin said in the same reproachful tone he’d said Dad all afternoon.
“What Dev said,” Holden echoed sourly. The last thing he needed was for Devin to get distracted by a girl halfway across the country.
I should listen to my own advice.
“Everyone should hydrate.” Bernadette paused to drink from her water bottle. “We’re at a high elevation. Dehydration makes you cranky.”
“Yes. Everybody drink.” Dev dug out a water bottle from his backpack. “That means less talking.”
“Here.” Bernadette thrust her water bottle at Holden, who hadn’t brought one.
Chest tightening, he made as if to refuse.
“Drink. We made a baby together.” She raised her slim blond brows above the rim of her black glasses and continued to hold the bottle toward him. “We’ve already exchanged germs.”
“Gross,” Dev muttered, hurrying ahead.
Holden accepted her bottle, using a stationary water break as an excuse to give them some privacy. “Can you not say things like that in front of Devin?”
She scoffed. “You mean the facts? Like we’re having a baby together? Or the assumption? That we had to have intercourse for me to be pregnant?”
“Both. Either. All.” Holden grimaced. “If you could just think about your word choices.”
“Did I offend your delicate sensibilities?” Bernadette flashed him an exasperated smile. “I’m a doctor. I talk about body parts and functions all day long.” And then she laughed.
Other people chuckled or gave a brief shout of laughter. Not Bernadette. She laughed and she laughed and she laughed some more.
The tightness in Holden’s chest eased. On some level all those months ago, Bernadette and her laughter had been good for him. Maybe they still were.
“Don’t call Shane,” he blurted.
Caught by the Cowboy Dad Page 5
