“He’s good,” Nash told the group when he stopped next to the fence. He dismounted and then waved at Dahlia. “Come on. Let’s see you have a go.”
“Are you sure that’s safe?” Dahlia’s mom asked.
“Yeah, he’s safe for an experienced rider like Dahlia.” Nash moved around to the front of the horse, holding onto the reins. Dahlia was already slipping through the fence, appearing unafraid even if her mother looked terrified. Nash respected that bravery.
Dahlia fastened her helmet, then grabbed onto the saddle, and Nash took her leg and boosted her up. He resized the stirrups to fit her and explained, “You see that horn on the saddle there?”
“Yeah.” She nodded, picking up the reins.
“He’s going to buck. Expect it. When he does, you grab that horn on the saddle. Keep those reins tight and lean back to keep your balance. You gotta show him you’re the boss and you mean business. All right?”
“I don’t like this,” her mother said firmly.
“Hush, Marg, she’s fine,” her husband snapped.
Behind Nash, his mother said, “Nash would never let your daughter get hurt. All you gotta do is trust him.”
Nash’s chest warmed and lightened at that. His mother had yet to say anything about what had happened with Clint this morning, or about Megan being pregnant. But the softness in her voice told him how happy she was, regardless of the fact that today hadn’t gone well.
Fuck, he didn’t want to even think about how wrong today had gone.
Staying on task, Nash focused on Dahlia, watching the determination rising in her expression. She wanted to overcome this. He wanted to help her. “Got it?” he asked.
She nodded. “Got it.”
He stepped back. “Off you go in a trot, then.”
Nash followed her, staying close in case she couldn’t handle a horse like this, though something told him she could. Not surprisingly, the horse stopped in the corner and began backing up. “Give him a little kick.”
Dahlia clicked her tongue and kicked his sides. He bucked. She did exactly as Nash instructed, holding on tight and leaning back.
“That’s right,” he called. “Kick again.” Sure, he could move forward and get that stubborn horse moving out, but they needed to do this together or nothing would change.
The horse bucked again.
“Get mad,” Nash said firmly. “He’s being rude. Don’t stand for that.”
Nash saw the tightness rise in her cute face, and she kicked hard. “Go on,” she yelled.
The horse trotted forward.
Nash smiled. “Atta girl,” he called.
A quick look over his shoulder, and he discovered her parents smiling and his mom giving him a big thumbs-up. Nash waited in the ring for a few minutes longer while she trotted then cantered and finally slowed into a walk, giving the horse a big hug around his neck.
“I did it,” Dahlia said to Nash, stopping in front of him.
“You did good.” Nash smiled, patting the horse’s sweaty neck. “Keep at that and you two will be fine.” Seeing she was good and had gotten past the biggest hurdle, he moved to her parents at the fence. “The reason she fell is because she wasn’t expecting the behavior. Now she expects his attitude and knows how to deal with it.”
The father rubbed his chin. “You don’t think we need to sell the horse, then?”
“Nah.” Nash shook his head, resting an arm on the wooden fence. “He’s good and trained, just stubborn. Keep up with this for a week, and I bet his bad behavior will go away.”
“Thank you for this,” her father said, offering his hand. “Really, Nash. We owe you.”
“You owe me nothing,” Nash said, returning the handshake. “You’ve got a brave girl there.”
Dahlia’s mom smiled. “Yes, we do.”
Her parents entered the ring through the gate and went to their daughter, who had dismounted and was hugging her horse’s neck.
“You’re good at this,” Ma said gently, bringing Nash’s attention to her. “Perhaps that new purpose you’ve been looking for is right here.”
Nash arched an eyebrow. “New purpose?” Damn, now he was pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about. Maybe he needed sleep. Or a beer. Christ, maybe both.
Ma gestured at Dahlia. “Look at her. See that smile on her face. You’re the reason for it. Take that as the universe pointing you in a new direction. A good direction. One that will make you feel proud.”
Yeah, Nash saw the happiness on Dahlia’s face. That happiness came from a feeling of winning. Nash felt a little of that for himself now too. The feeling was far different from what he had felt on the back of a bull. Not as much of a rush, but still a good feeling.
Very good, in fact.
“You’ve got a talent with calming horses and getting their minds right,” Ma added with a sweet smile. “Look what you’ve done with Bentley. We all know that working the guest ranch won’t be enough for you. Why don’t you handle the rebuild of the barn with Chase, then open a training facility here?”
Nash snorted, placing his boot on the fence. “Blackshaw Cattle Company, Blackshaw Survival, Blackshaw Construction, and now Blackshaw Training. Don’t you think the people in town are going to get sick of us?”
“Of course they won’t.” Ma patted his cheek. “You’ve got a talent. See that for what it is. And make a new dream happen. For you. For Megan. And for the baby.”
Warmth touched parts of his heart he hadn’t known were cold. “It’s an idea to consider.” He was good with horses, seemingly understanding them in ways others did not. Maybe his mother was onto something.
Ma gave a slow nod then cocked her head. “I don’t have to worry about you making this right with Clint.”
It wasn’t a question but a statement. One he agreed with. “Yeah, everything will be fine.” Time smoothed things over. Clint needed to cool off. Then they’d talk again, but there wasn’t a hope in hell he’d bow down to Clint. Ever.
She began to frown. “I think—”
A red truck came driving up the driveaway and cut her off. RIVER ROCK FIRE MARSHAL was written on the side. When the truck came to a stop, the fire marshal, Marty, exited. He was a tall man with a thick physique and an even thicker moustache.
Nash slipped through the fence and greeted him with a handshake. “I take it you have an update?”
Marty took off his cowboy hat and tucked it under his arm. “I do, and I’m afraid it’s not good news.”
Ma stepped closer, wrapping her arm in Nash’s. “No better time than now to lay it on us.”
Marty’s intense brown eyes caught Nash’s and held. “Our findings confirm the barn fire was purposely set,” he reported. “Those explosions you heard, they were gasoline cans to fuel the fire.”
“I knew it,” Nash muttered, his teeth clenching. “Any idea who did it?”
Marty slowly shook his head. “We couldn’t find any concrete evidence. Everything was too burned to fingerprint the cans. But if you ask me, considering you never saw anyone strange coming and going, you likely know—and trust—the person responsible.”
Nash shut his eyes and cursed beneath his breath.
When he reopened them, Ma had tears in her eyes. “Who would do this to us?” she cried.
Nash hated where his mind took him.
* * *
Late into the afternoon, Megan sat cross-legged on a bench at River Rock’s park. The bench had a plate on it that read GENEROUSLY DONATED BY GEORGE BOUCHARD. HE SAT HERE EVERY DAY AND HE LOVED OUR TOWN. George was a local who had left what little money he had at his death to build a new playground for the children of his beloved town.
Off in the distance, the Rocky Mountains and their snowy peaks stood high. Megan had spent most of the day walking after she’d stuffed herself with Harper’s sundae and she was grateful to rest at the park for a while.
Straight ahead, children played on the playground with their moms close by. In the sandbox, the children laug
hed. A dad chased his son around, pretending to be a monster. It was perfect. A kind of perfect she hadn’t really known before. She wasn’t exactly sure what had led her there, but she stared at the little kids running around. All the smiles and laughter.
This would soon be her life. It was so different than her late nights at the Spurs, making her realize that she would have to hire someone to close at night. She wanted to be home for her child to put him or her to bed. Always.
“Megan.”
Surprised by the voice, she glanced sideways, discovering her father standing there, hands stuffed into his pockets. It should not have been a surprise he found her. She imagined Mom had threatened not to feed him if he didn’t go and find her and make sure she was okay. Still . . . “How did you know where to find me?” she asked.
He glanced over his shoulder and waved at the woman on the bench under the big shade tree. Not just any woman. Mom’s good friend Helen. She smiled and waved at Megan. When Dad turned back, he said, “Helen called your mom and was gossiping and said you looked pregnant.”
“Well, I am pregnant.” Megan glanced down. She didn’t think she was obviously showing, but maybe her strappy flowery dress had hit the wind at the right angle. Nah, one look down and her boobs were practically spilling out of her dress.
Dad harrumphed, then took a seat on the bench next to her.
“I guess now the whole town will know I’m pregnant too,” Megan said.
“I suspect they will.”
She gave her father a very thorough once-over. “So, you’re not dead. Is Nash okay?”
“He’s only breathing because I suspected you want him to be.” Dad slid his fingers over his beard.
She snorted and shook her head slowly. That was exactly something Nash would have said too.
A long pause followed, and Megan didn’t help him along. She wouldn’t help either Nash or her father. Not anymore. That wasn’t her damn job, she had decided after an hour of walking.
Dad finally huffed. “I know today upset you, but it’s business, sweet girl.”
“No, actually, my life has nothing to do with business at all,” she retorted, giving him a hard look. “This is about pride.”
Dad’s eyes tightened around the corners, and he took off his cowboy hat and set it next to him on the bench. He ran his hands over his face. “Will you please explain to me, why out of anyone, would you pick Nash Blackshaw? What’s the middle one?”
“Chase.”
“Yeah, he seems all right. Even the older one would be better.”
Megan glanced out at a mother pushing her child on the swing set before looking his way again. “Why Mom?” Her dad frowned. Megan pushed on. “Can you ever explain why and how you care about someone?”
A long pause. Then, “Okay, you’ve got me there.”
A longer minute went by as Megan allowed the loaded silence to stay between them.
Another huff, and then Dad said, “Mom told me you’re eleven weeks along now.”
“Yup,” she said.
He dared to look upset. “Why wait so long to tell us?”
She side-eyed him. “Do you really even need to ask me that?”
He paused then released a long exhale, staring down at his roughed-up cowboy boots. “It’s not that I’m not happy about the baby, Megan.”
“It’s the who I’m having the baby with that’s the problem,” she finished for him.
His jaw muscles clenched. His gaze slowly lifted to hers. Held. “Nash does not fit in well with our family.”
“You don’t know that. You never let him try.” She shook her head, seeing the irony in it all. “You two are so much alike it’s ridiculous, which I’m guessing is why you don’t get along. You both have big egos, and strong loyalty to your family . . . and well, you both really care about me.”
“He’s a Blackshaw.”
“You’re a Harrison,” she shot back. “But what does that even mean? What is Nash to you? The son of a man who was your competitor who has now passed on?”
“He’s a pain in my ass,” Dad grumbled.
Megan couldn’t argue there. Nash was often a pain in the ass, mainly because he did things on his terms. She liked that about him. He stood apart from most men because he was ballsy and brave and lived the way he wanted to live. And he fought for those he loved. On the flipside, the fact that he didn’t back down was what got under her father’s skin.
Only proving her thoughts right, Dad said, “He’s also incredibly disrespectful.”
“Because you are,” she reminded him.
“Whatever happened to ‘respecting your elders’?” he asked.
A young boy ran by, squealing in laughter. Megan smiled at him then frowned at her father. “Whatever happened to ‘respecting everyone’? Nash is not going to respect you if you don’t respect him.” His lips parted, but she quickly continued, “If you could see past your own pride, you would see that you respect how he stands up to you. Because we both know that’s exactly the type of man you would want me with.”
Dad frowned. “I don’t like him.”
She paused, stared at him. Hard. “Do you even know why you don’t like him?”
“He’s a hard-headed, stubborn sonuva—”
“So, again, he’s just like you.” She rolled her eyes.
Dad harrumphed again, crossed his arms, and scowled at the grass.
Megan smiled to herself. Sure, her dad sat stewing, probably thinking up lines to say, then realizing she’d only shut them down.
In the silence, she watched the kids playing on the playground. Going into all this, she knew her situation with Nash wasn’t an easy one. And that was fine. As long as everyone tried to make this happen, it would be a work in progress. She could handle that. But they had to take steps forward. The second someone stopped, a decision would have to be made. And she didn’t want to have to make that decision. Because if she knew anything, after seeing that fight today, matched with the anger on their faces and the hatred burning in Nash’s and her father’s eyes, she knew she would never allow her child to be exposed to that.
Not ever.
Knowing she had to get through to him as much as she did Nash, she broke the silence, gesturing at the father, child, and grandfather. “Do you see those people over there? That’s what I want in the future.” Her dad’s mouth parted, but she continued, not letting him cut in, “You don’t need to like Nash, but you must tolerate him. It’s not going to kill either one of you to smile and nod and be happy that you’re there with your grandbaby.”
“I am not the problem—”
She frowned. “You both need to swallow your pride and pretend that everything is fine and happy because you’re grown-ups and can do that.” She placed a hand on her belly, and her dad stared there before his soft eyes returned to hers. “I can’t live with this anger anymore. I don’t want this little one to see what I saw today. It needs to stop. This feud is stupid.”
Dad’s brows shot up. “Stupid?”
“Yes, stupid. You’ve won. You have the largest cattle ranch in Colorado. Why do you need to rub that in still?”
“That boy is . . .”
Megan sighed. Again. “It’s got to stop.” Tears rose in her eyes, a show of mixed frustration and sadness that intermingled because of this whole situation. “I want this baby to know love. That’s it. It’s so simple.” She pointed at the dad chasing the child again, who now had the grandfather joining in. “That’s all I want. A life of smiles and laughter. A life where my child will never know how mean people can be.” She paused then the tears fell, and she couldn’t stop them. “There is so much hate in this world. So much that children have to deal with every day.” She wiped at her face. “They shouldn’t have to deal with that at home too.”
“Ah, sweet girl.” Her dad took her hands in his. “Don’t cry. You know how it breaks me. What do you need me to do?”
This was the father she knew. The dad who would read to her every single night. T
he man who made her laugh all the time with his dry humor. “No more yelling. No more anger.” She sniffed. “I’m not expecting you to get along with Nash. You don’t need to be BFFs.”
His brows furrowed. “What’s a ‘BFF’?”
“Best friends forever.” She snorted a laugh at the confusion crossing his expression. “I’m just saying that we need to make this work. He’s the father of my baby.” Dad cringed, but Megan pushed on, needing to get this out. “Nash is in our life now, no matter if you like it or not. And he makes me really, really happy.”
Dad paused. Then, “He’s respectful?”
“Incredibly.”
Something changed in her father, then. All the hardness faded away to the warm softness she knew her dad had in him. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her heard. “I’ll figure out a way to make this work. Will that make those tears go away?”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “It’s a step in the right direction.” As she looked at the mom pushing her little girl on the swing, it occurred to her that was all she could ask of anyone.
One step forward.
Then another.
And another . . .
Chapter 13
At twenty-five minutes after eight at night, Nash drove up Shep’s driveway in no mood to be around anyone. He’d spent the remainder of his day looking for Megan. And failing miserably at finding her. Then he’d received a text from Shep telling him to come to the farm at eight o’clock. Only then had he given up trying to find her.
When Nash arrived at the farm, he parked his truck behind the row of cars and spotted Shep standing near the stairs on the porch. Fuck. He was late. And his brother was seething.
Not quite sure what he’d done now to piss off Shep, on top of pissing off everyone else in his life, Nash sighed and exited the truck. He’d meant to get there on time, but Beckett had offered to watch the kittens tonight while Nash made things right with Megan, and Gus seemed more attached to them than ever. He had plopped down on Beckett’s living room floor and refused to leave.
Hard-Riding Cowboy (Kinky Spurs #3) Page 14
