by Vi Summers
I averted my eyes until she fully came into view, but even then, I couldn’t help but cast a quick appreciative glace over her entire body. Luckily for me, her attention was locked on my sister.
The two women faced-off about four strides apart, and I physically felt the air shift.
“Rory,” I warned. “This is Louisiana Carlyle. Louisiana, this is my sister Rory.”
They were apples n’ oranges side-by-side. Louisiana had height on Rory, while Rory had curves that had the local boys stealing a second and third glance when she passed. Rore’s dark brown hair was tightly braided down the back of her head, whereas Louisiana’s blonde locks hung freely around her shoulders as if daring me to suggest that she tie them up.
I exhaled a deep breath when my sister finally extended her hand.
“Nice to meet you. I hope you’re ready to spend some money. Bran tells me we’ve a lot to get today.”
Louisiana snorted. “Did he bang on about boots and jeans?”
Rory cracked out a loud laugh. “He totally did, but that’s just Brandon being Brandon. C’mon, let’s head out. It’s almost an hour into town and we’ll need an early start.”
“Remind me I need to get lip gloss. That’s if I’m allowed to use it out here?” Louisiana snipped and arched a brow at me.
I gaped between the two of them as Rory threw her head back in laughter. “Ooh girl, there ain’t no taming you.”
When Rory led the way out the door, Louisiana gave me a triumphant smirk on her way past.
It would keep; we’ll see how much she smirked when she was in the saddle for the first time.
Chapter 9
Brandon
A cow having trouble birthing kept me and Jake busy the entire morning, and by the time we got back to the house for lunch, Rory and Louisiana were back from their shopping trip—glossed lips and all.
Louisiana’s pretty pout instantly drew my attention to her mouth, and I decided on the spot that I liked her wearing a little gloss. Besides, it would stop her lips from getting chapped from the outdoor elements.
“And you thought we would be back late,” Rory sassed, as we took a seat around the dining table.
I gave her a dirty look. “Calving trouble. Could have used your assistance.”
She scoffed. “Well, I’m glad I was shoppin’.”
Louisiana divided curious looks between me and Rory. “What assistance is that?”
I lifted my arm and flexed my fingers. “Getting the calf into the right position to be birthed.”
Her face contorted into blatant repulsion. “Argh. That’s disgusting!”
Biting down on my laugh did nothing to stop it from escaping. I shook my head while making a sandwich, all the while smiling at the lingering memory of Louisiana’s expression.
“Normally, I’m the one elbow deep in a cow’s vagina because I’ve got smaller hands,” Rory explained, as if this topic was appropriate to discuss over lunch; to us, it was.
Louisiana blanched. “Okay, we need to change the subject. It’s putting me off my food!”
Jake sniggered under his breath, choosing that moment to add an inappropriate comment. “It’s unbelievably warm inside-”
“Jake!” I barked.
He didn’t try to hide the roguish look in his eyes, nor his lop-sided smirk. I eyeballed him while biting down on my own smile.
We needed a change of subject immediately. “So, how did the shopping go?” I asked the girls.
Louisiana’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and she let out a breath. Rory’s face came to life.
“It went so well. Jeans, boots and shirts, just as you requested,” she drawled with an eye roll, then added, “And a Stetson, obviously, and the most gorgeous underwear-”
“Rory!” Louisiana yelled and slogged her on the arm.
My sister threw her head back and laughed at the high ceiling. Damn her for making me wonder exactly what they purchased. I shifted in my seat and forced my concentration to return to my food.
“What!” Rory exclaimed. “It’s nice!”
Jake snorted, then chimed in. “Ain’t no need for nice panties out here, ladies.”
My sister arched a brow and pegged Jake with a savage stare. “And who says we can’t wear nice panties? Tell him, Brandon!”
I leaned back in my chair and raised both palms. “Girl, I’m staying out of this. Just eat, will ya. I’ve got shit to do after lunch.”
“Like what?” Rory asked.
“Like teaching the jailbird to ride, that’s what,” Jake sniggered through his mouthful.
Louisiana’s eyes widened and filled with fear. “Oh no! We discussed this.”
I set my elbows on the table. “It’s imperative you learn, Louisiana.”
“You’ll love it,” Rory chimed in with a reassuring tone. “And Bran’s a great teacher.”
Despite the high—and rare—praise from my little sister, trepidation rolled off Louisiana in waves, thick enough to reach my end of the table. The last thing I wanted was for her to be anxious about getting in the saddle.
I had just the mare in mind—she was gentle, settled, and one of the quietest horses we had on the ranch. If any horse could give Louisiana confidence in the saddle, it would be Dottie.
Louisiana nibbled on the rest of her lunch instead of wolfing it back like the rest of us. She mindlessly picked it apart and pinched off tiny pieces of bread to nibble. Seeing her fretting made me feel bad for pushing her, but the more she put it off, the longer it would take to build that confidence. As it was, it was going to be one hell of a challenge.
After we pushed away from the table with full bellies, I helped Rory clean up in the kitchen, then said goodbye to her at the front door. While I appreciated her assistance with the shopping, she was a small dose kind of gal since she always broke something I owned. Simply put, she was too damn rough! Ma blamed me for picking on her as a kid, and I blamed Rory because she was a little shit most of the time. Regardless, I gave her a hug before she headed off to Ma and Pop’s place, nestled at the far boundary of the ranch.
Louisiana waited on the swinging porch seat and watched my sister drive away, slinging gravel as she went.
Turning my back on the dust cloud, I leaned my ass against the porch railing and faced Louisiana. “Feeling okay?”
She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I’m more of a small animal type of person. Horses are so damn big!”
I gripped the railing on either side of my body. “How ‘bout you start on the chickens, then I’ll introduce you to Dottie after that. She’s a sweetheart.”
Some anxiousness left Louisiana’s features, and she nodded. “Okay, so let them out and check the eggs?”
I gestured for her to follow me. “Yes, and also check the nesting coop—we’re expecting hatched chicks any day.”
Excitement lit in her baby blues. “Like little fluffy yellow chicks?”
“Like little fluffy yellow chicks,” I replied with a chuckle.
Louisiana went into the nesting coop on a held breath. Shit, it was cute, and I found myself hoping we had newly hatched chicks for her to get excited about. When she emerged, the disappointment was clear on her face.
“Maybe tomorrow, darlin’. Check the other coop for eggs, and pop them inside; Blue will eat them if you leave them out on the porch.”
She acknowledged my instruction while collecting the eggs. I figured now was as good as ever to leave her to it. I started to make my way to the barn, but halted and turned back to Louisiana as she emerged from the henhouse.
“And chuck on a pair of jeans before you come back out. It’ll save your thighs from sufferin’ saddle burn.”
I hoped that she would comply without argument, but as soon as her gaze narrowed, I knew it was wishful thinking.
“Enough about the goddamn jeans!” she exclaimed.
Watching her huff and stomp up the porch steps had me grinning. It wasn’t funny, and it was extremely unprofessional of me, but I was be
ginning to enjoy razzing her just enough to see the sparks come to life. It gave an edge to her pretty appearance—one that I liked a hell of a lot more than I should.
. . .
Deciding to get Dottie sorted while I waited, I grabbed a bridle from the barn, then climbed over the gate into the horse field. I let out a shrill whistle, then called the mare over. In contrast to my stallion, Dottie took her sweet time ambling my way, but looked majestic while doing so.
She came to a stop before me and waited patiently while I slipped the bridle over her head. Leading her through the barn, I tied her to the wooden yard fence to get her prepped.
By the time I had her saddled and ready to go, there was still no sign of Louisiana. Craning my head toward the house, I caught sight of her sitting on the porch swing.
“You can’t learn from over there, darlin’,” I shouted and waved an arm. “C’mon.”
Her reluctance was clear, even from this distance. And fuck me, she was still wearin’ those goddamn tiny shorts!
I ran a hand over my chin as if it would help wipe away the frustration. At least she had swapped out her canvas sneakers for boots. An inch of progress, I guess.
All it took was two moments for the mixed approval to turn into an oh shit feeling low in my gut. The boots teamed with Louisiana’s itty-bitty shorts, and a hat not too dissimilar to my own, looked too damn sexy for this type of riding lesson. The hum in my throat quickly turned into a growl of exasperation.
Jake appeared at my side and let out a long, low chuckle. “My my my, she’s a stubborn one, boss.”
I gave him a wry look; he sure as hell wasn’t wrong.
Louisiana’s face was a picture of determination when she stopped a few paces away. I saw the challenge in her eyes, daring me to say something about her lack of jeans. Too bad for her, I refused to rise to the bait.
“Ready?”
She simply lifted both her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I drawled, then ignored her incredulous snort.
Ushering her closer, I talked her through the main areas of the horse and equipment, then demonstrated how to slip a foot in the stirrup and swing up into the saddle. Louisiana looked up at me sitting on Dottie’s back with distinct doubt on her face.
“And to dismount, it’s the opposite,” I explained, swinging a leg over and landing on the ground facing the horse.
When I turned to see if Louisiana had been taking note, I caught the flash of alarm in her eyes as they snapped from my ass to my face. I couldn’t help but smirk, which tinted her cheeks a pretty shade of pink.
Dammit—flirting wasn’t part of the lesson. Get a goddamn grip, Bran!
I cleared my throat. “Your turn, darlin’.”
She nervously shifted her weight from foot to foot and nibbled her lip.
“You’ve gotta come a little closer.” I slapped the saddle and beckoned her toward me.
“I don’t know about this, Brandon.”
“C’mere. You haven’t even given it a go yet.”
Finally, she inched toward me, close enough that I could gently angle her to where she needed to be. It got a little awkward as we shuffled around each other, and I tried my damn hardest to focus on the task instead of inhaling the smell of her shampoo.
“If you can reach, grip the front of the saddle,” I murmured close behind her.
Louisiana reached high and looked over her extended arm. “Now what?”
“Foot into the stirrup.”
I guided her boot into the loop, successfully managing to avoid touching her smooth looking leg, but I’d be damned if I didn’t welcome touching the curve of her waist as I boosted her up into the saddle. Her ass and thighs close to my face made me want to pause time, even for a few seconds. While she got settled, I busied myself in fussing with the stirrup length to hide how breathless she made me.
Chapter 10
Louisiana
I barely contained a gasp when Brandon set his warm hands on my waist. Each palm and flexed fingers created a wash of heat that tingled throughout my body, potent enough to erase the memory of how I ended up sitting on the white and black spotted horse.
I looked down at Brandon with my mouth parted and each breath coming in short and sharp.
“I’m on,” I panted in surprise.
An earth-tilting grin broke out over Brandon’s face. “You sure are, darlin’. Nice job.” His business face slid back into place. “Now, hold the reins like this…”
He pried one of my hands from the crest of the saddle, set the leather strap underneath, then pressed my hand back down. With a subtle squeeze on my fingers, Brandon’s hazel eyes locked on mine.
“I’m going to lead you around the yard a couple of times so you can get used to the roll of the saddle. Try not to squeeze your legs—Dottie here will think we’re going for a trot.”
When I frowned down at him, he clarified, “It’ll make her go faster.”
Oh shit!
My hands shook so badly and my legs were beginning to tremble as fear set in. Dottie didn’t look too big from the ground, but now I was sitting on her back. It was so damn high.
“Relax, jailbird. You’re in good hands. If he can teach me to ride, Bran can teach anyone,” Jake reassured me from where he leaned against the fence on my other side, watching us silently until now.
I nodded despite being unconvinced this was a good idea. I had no choice but to hold on and try not to clamp my legs when Brandon started to lead us.
He looked back over his shoulder with a smile as big as Texas. “You’re doing great, darlin’. A true natural, I’d say.”
A flurry of giddy, praise-induced bubbles rose in my belly and popped under my ribcage. “Now I know you’re lying.” I laughed a little shrilly.
“I’m not, Louisiana. You look perfect up there.” His eyes held something that hadn’t been there before. A spark of affection. Of pride, perhaps. Either way, it had me ducking my head and biting down on an uncontainable smile.
Damn that cowboy for making me feel like a first-place competitor instead of a loser who’d tripped at the start line.
Dottie’s mane moved against her neck with every step, and after a few laps of the yard, I began to get used to the tilt and roll of the saddle. Eventually, I found enough confidence to sit a little straighter and loosen my death-grip on the saddle.
My attention glided over the expanse of Brandon’s back again. It angled sharply at his shoulders and the muscles in his tanned forearms flexed and moved as he guided Dottie down the lane in the direction I headed yesterday.
Yesterday seemed like forever ago, and as I followed the gradient of Brandon’s back lower, I found myself checking out his ass all over again. I now held a new appreciation for cowboys and why women thought they were so darn sexy. Brandon was a living, breathing, sauntering case in point.
The further we walked, the more I became aware of heat gathering against my thighs. I lifted one leg a little and found instant relief, but as soon as it touched back down on the saddle, the burning returned. I glanced down and groaned under my breath when I saw what Brandon described as saddle burn. I thought he was grossly overstating the importance of wearing jeans. Now, though, I understood why he had been so damn persistent.
“Brandon?”
He looked back over his shoulder without slowing his pace. “Yeah, darlin’?”
“How far are we going?”
A hint of surprise passed over his expression before it became smug. “Why’s that?”
“Oh, you know, just wondering,” I said flippantly, while making sure the pain on my legs wasn’t echoed on my face.
“I thought I’d take you up to the top pasture-”
“No!” I interrupted. That sounded much too far. “I mean; my back is getting sore, so I don’t want to overdo it on my first lesson.”
Brandon stopped walking and came to my side. His smile tipped one side of his mouth. “Your thighs are burnin�
��, aren’t they, Louisiana?”
I scoffed. “My thighs are definitely not burning. Truth be told, I’m growing a little bored.”
Brandon obviously didn’t believe a word I said. Quick to react, he set his hand on my knee and lifted it with ease. He leaned closer and got a good look at the underside of my thigh before I managed to kick out of his hold.
“Looks sore,” he stated without a hint of irony or condescension. There was true concern bunching his eyebrows at the center, and his eyes looked me over as if assessing the rest of my general well-being. “I need you to dismount for a minute.” He held up his hands to help me off.
I didn’t move. “What? Why?” There was no way I’d be able to walk back to the house with chafing that bad.
“I’m going to drape my top over the saddle for you. It’ll stop the rubbing.”
Reluctantly conceding, I leaned toward him until his firm hold gripped my torso. Brandon lifted me down with ease and steadied me for a second while I found my footing. Holy crap, my legs ached and felt as if they had been forcefully bowed. Shaking some feeling back into them, my movements halted when I noticed Brandon quickly working open the buttons on his shirt. It fell wide to reveal a tight black undershirt that hugged his body like a second skin. My eyes followed each defined bump from his chest to lower stomach and didn’t stop until I’d passed his belt and zipper.
Brandon didn’t falter. However, when my eyes returned to his face, I was taken aback to see him watching me intently. His eyes held enough heat to leave me scorched ten layers deep.
I couldn’t help the hitch of my breath or the erratic jump of my pulse when he finally turned his back and slung his shirt over the saddle.
During those moments, it was as if we were both mentally pulling ourselves back into check before facing each other again. I took several deep breaths and held the last one for as long as I could, while Brandon fussed with the shirt more than necessary.
Despite clearing his throat, his voice was tight and gritty when he spoke. “Good to go, darlin’. L’me help you up.”
