“Sit there.” He chuckled and went to get Winner from where he stood with Zack and the old man.
“Don’t mind saying,” the old man muttered, “that woman looks good on a horse.”
Cory glanced back. Eloise sat atop Lexie’s golden back, her fiery curls already working loose from her ponytail. With her sparkling eyes and skin as pale as new milk, he couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips. She reached forward and stroked Lexie’s neck cautiously.
“Yeah, she sure does.” Cory took the reins from his friend, tipped his hat to the men, then swung up onto Winner’s back. Winner took several steps as he mounted—another bad habit to curb, Cory thought. He tugged the reins and guided the stallion back toward Eloise and Lexie.
“I’ll lead the way,” Cory said. “Just follow me.”
He squeezed Winner’s sides and angled toward the gate. Zack trotted across the yard to open it.
“How?” Eloise called.
“Squeeze with your knees,” he said. “You’ve probably seen this on TV.”
Eloise complied, but Lexie was less than cooperative.
“Lexie!” Cory called, command in his tone. “Get a move on!” He made a clicking sound with his mouth and the mare obediently walked after Cory. When she caught up, Cory shot Eloise a grin. “She knows you’re a newbie. You’ve got to show her who’s boss.”
“I think she knows exactly who’s boss,” Eloise answered.
Cory and Winner led the way to the gate, where Zack stood back, holding it open for them. He met Cory’s gaze with a mischievous grin and flicked the brim of his hat in a salute. The horses sauntered through.
“See you in a while,” Zack called, and the gate clicked shut behind them.
Green field spilled open before them, rolls and dips of endless ripples as the wind strummed the grass with invisible fingers. Sunlight shone brightly, and the shadow of clouds slipped over the fields in the distance. The stress and pressures of life melted off Cory’s shoulders. He reined Winner back as he pawed at the ground in anticipation and Cory turned to catch Eloise’s eye. She stared out at the scene before them, her lips parted, and eyes bright. He knew that feeling all too well.
“You ready?” he asked.
Chapter Ten
Cory was a patient teacher, showing her how to guide the horse, lean back into the saddle, and let her hips move with the rolling gate of Lexie’s body. It felt counterintuitive to sit and let the horse simply go, but when Eloise complied, her balance returned. The sensation of trusting an animal’s step was reminiscent of a ride on her father’s shoulders when she was young. She remembered how her father would tease her, pretending to trip, and the way her heart would leap.
“Daddy, be careful!”
“Not so hard, right?” Cory asked.
Eloise grinned. “I think I’m getting the hang of it.”
“Come on, this way.”
Cory reined his horse left and they moved over the rolling land in a slow canter. Green grass stretched before them, sliced in two by a dusty dirt road in the distance. Golden afternoon sunlight warmed her shoulders. The scent of grass swam along the breeze and Eloise shook her head, letting the wind work through her curls.
“So this is what you do when you need space?” Eloise called ahead.
Cory slowed his horse until he was beside hers. The soft plod of hooves made a soothing rhythm, and Eloise caught his dark gaze on her.
“I normally take this ride alone,” he said.
A smile touched her lips. “I can see why.”
The golden sunlight caressed the lush fields, and from the crest of a gentle swell, Eloise spotted cattle far in the distance. She felt tiny on this vast landscape, the sky almost swallowing them.
“There’s something about big, open spaces that lets me feel more,” Cory said. “I don’t have to be so careful out here.”
“Careful about what?” she asked, shading her eyes with one hand to better see his face.
“I’m a big guy.” He shrugged. “If I get upset—” He looked away. “Well, you know what I mean. You’ve seen me angry. I learned pretty early that when you’re bigger than everyone else, you’ve got to be gentler than they are, too.”
“So you’re always reining it in?” she asked.
“Not always. But when I am upset, I come out here. There’s no one to offend, or scare.”
“You didn’t scare me when you and your father hashed things out this morning, and you didn’t offend me, either.”
“No?” He laughed, the sound low and warm. “I’m glad of that.”
She couldn’t imagine being afraid of Cory. He was big, and he was most certainly strong, able to toss her up on a horse without much effort at all, but with his strength came tenderness, too.
They rode in silence for a few minutes, and Eloise’s thoughts settled on this muscular cowboy, quietly attempting to make sense of him. His dark eyes moved over the landscape with easy familiarity. The reins hung loosely in his broad hands, and she couldn’t help wondering what made him worry about scaring people. Something must have happened, she imagined, something that made him wary of expressing his emotions without restraint.
“Whom did you scare?” she asked quietly.
“Hmm?” He glanced over.
“You must have scared someone at some point. Who was it?”
Cory didn’t seem inclined to answer at first; then after a moment, he said, “My cousin.”
Winner shook his head restlessly, then eyed Lexie. Cory tugged the reins, easing the stallion away. They fell into silence again, and Winner shook his head a few more times, trying to launch into a gallop, but Cory held him back. When the horse finally gave up, Cory moved closer to Eloise once more.
“Behave yourself, Winner.” Cory sighed. “You’re not looking very nice in front of the lady, you know.”
“What happened with your cousin?” Eloise asked as Lexie danced a few steps away from the other horse.
“We were both about sixteen. I had a crush on a girl at school and I’d almost worked up my courage to ask her out. Then my cousin swept in and asked her first.” He shrugged. “It sounds silly now, but it mattered a lot then. I was furious. It wasn’t like I hit him, even though I probably did consider it, but when I was angry—I saw the look of terror on his face.”
“Well, he had it coming,” she said.
“Deserved or not, I didn’t want to see that look in anyone’s face again. So then and there, I asked God to help me control my temper. I took my feelings out here to deal with them.”
“I can’t imagine you that mad,” she said.
“I’d like to keep it that way.” Humor sparkled in his eyes.
Eloise looked away. This conversation was getting personal—all her own fault, of course. She’d been the one to go down this avenue with him. She sucked in a deep breath. Cory was a friend, she reminded herself, and his deepest emotions weren’t really her business, no matter how much she might want to know. She had to bring things back to a more casual level, and quickly.
“In my line of work, I have to be calm, collected and professional constantly. My patients and their families are dealing with grief. They don’t need my feelings to complicate things. So I think I get it. Sometimes we have to protect others.”
There, that should do it, she thought in satisfaction.
“I hope you don’t lump me in with that group of people.”
Eloise glanced toward him. “Of course I do. You’re my patient’s son.”
“I’m different. I barely know my father.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that you’ll have an emotional response to his passing,” she replied quietly.
“Sure I will.” Cory nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the countryside. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not stro
ng enough to handle the real you, either.”
Eloise felt a jerk and she heaved forward. She clutched at a handful to mane to keep from catapulting into the grass and she sucked in a breath, her heart hammering as she regained her balance.
“Careful, Lexie,” Cory said. He looked at the ground behind them. “She stepped into a hole.”
Eloise nodded, then laughed breathily. “I’m not used to this.”
She released her grip on the horse’s tough mane. “Sorry, Lexie. I hope that didn’t hurt.”
“Oh, a tug on her mane won’t hurt her,” he said. “You’re doing well. You’ve got a good instinct.”
A rush of warmth passed over her at his compliment. The group of trees drew closer, and Eloise wiped moisture from her forehead. A bee buzzed up from the grass, circled her head and then droned off again. Cory’s horse stamped impatiently.
“Easy, Winner.” Cory’s tone stayed low but commanding. “We’re taking it easy today.”
“He wants to run?”
Cory nodded. “He’s still learning to listen to me. This is good practice for him. He’s getting better, but training a horse takes time and patience. It’s a relationship as much as a job.”
The trees were coming up quickly, and Eloise wiped the back of her hand over her moist forehead.
“Too hot?” Cory asked.
She nodded. “I could use some shade.”
Cory made a click with his mouth and eased Winner toward the trees. Lexie fell into line behind, the two horses finally seeming to cooperate with each other.
“After we cool off, we should head back,” Cory called over his shoulder.
Time to go back. The words brought a wave of responsibility. Eloise couldn’t stay out here in the fields all day. She had a patient waiting for her. Eloise straightened her spine, enjoying the cool touch of the breeze through her shirt, and the shade of the overhanging branches was a relief. She wiped her forehead and looked around.
Before she had a chance to enjoy the view, a crack tore through the quiet, and Winner reared up, the massive horse pawing the air. Winner’s hooves, his tossing mane and Cory on his back, reins clutched in his fists, were the last thing Eloise saw before she felt herself whirled around. She lurched backward as Lexie broke into a gallop. The movement nearly tore Eloise right off Lexie’s back, but somehow her feet stayed in the stirrups. Her hair whipped around her face, blinding her as she bent forward, clutching at anything she could hold on to.
Lexie bolted across the field, her feet thundering beneath her, and for a split second Eloise felt herself falling—or perhaps flying. Then Lexie’s feet hit the ground once more, speeding her across the verdant fields toward the distant barn.
Oh, God, she prayed desperately, don’t let me fall!
* * *
Cory grabbed the reins and pushed up in the stirrups as Winner reared. A falling branch and a leaping hare had been the culprits for this spook, and it took all of his strength to stay on the stallion’s back. Winner shook his mane and whinnied, and by the time he hit the ground, Cory took control of the reins once more. Horses were like anyone else—you couldn’t reason with them when they were upset.
Winner took a full circle, and as he came around, Cory saw the empty space of grass where Eloise had been. He whipped his head around and spotted her—the back of her, at least—disappearing across the field, Lexie in full gallop.
“Oh no...” Cory heeled Winner into motion and they catapulted across the field in pursuit.
“You wanted to gallop,” Cory muttered through gritted teeth.
Winner stretched out to his full length as he thundered across the field. Cory crouched low over the stallion’s back, balanced on the stirrups, as those hooves drummed so loudly that he could feel it in his chest. Winner might not listen well, but that horse could run!
The gap between Eloise and Cory slowly closed. Lexie was tiring, her pace slowing, but Winner still ran strong. The barn loomed closer than ever, and Cory steered Winner closer to Lexie. The smaller horse darted away as he made a reach for the reins, and Cory breathed a prayer.
Eloise clung to the horse’s mane with a white-knuckled grip.
“Eloise!” Cory shouted, and she turned wide, panicked eyes toward him.
Lexie swerved again, and Cory eased Winner back toward them. Lexie was headed home—that much was certain. The barn loomed, and he knew that if he didn’t stop her soon, she’d either break a leg in a gopher hole or hurl Eloise from her back when she tried to stop. With one more swipe, he grabbed Lexie’s reins and tugged her closer to Winner’s side.
He guided both horses into a large circle, slowing them to a trot, their sides heaving.
Eloise was trembling from head to toe.
“You okay?” he asked.
She didn’t reply. Not a good sign.
Cory swung off Winner’s back and let the horse wander off a few paces. He stroked Lexie’s neck and gave her some reassuring pats.
“Come here.” Cory held up his arms to Eloise, and she accepted his help in getting off Lexie’s back. Her hands shook as she placed them on his shoulders. When Eloise’s feet hit the ground, her knees buckled.
“Hey, keep breathing,” he said, holding her close against his side as she regained her footing. He put a finger under her chin to get a better look at her blanched face. “You look pretty scared.”
She nodded, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m okay.”
“That’s called a spooked horse, by the way.”
“Good to know.” She pushed her wild curls away from her face. “I thought I’d fall off and get trampled.”
“Feel better now?” Cory glanced at the barn. It was still a fair distance from where they stood. “Do you think you could ride the rest of the way home?”
Eloise shot him an incredulous look. “Not a chance. I’m walking.”
Cory shrugged and collected the reins of both horses to walk them. Eloise set off ahead of him, tramping through the deep grass. Her tangled curls fluttered out behind her.
“Wait for us,” Cory called.
She slowed her pace and looked back at him. “What on earth happened out there?”
“A dead branch broke from a tree, and a hare jumped in front of Winner at the same time. It startled him. I guess Winner’s spook set off Lexie. When they’re scared, they run for home.”
Eloise rubbed her face. “I’m going to leave the leisurely Sunday afternoon rides to you from now on.”
“Oh, come on,” he cajoled. “It was scary, but you did great. You’re a natural when it comes to riding.”
“I don’t care,” she retorted. “Nothing felt natural about that.”
She plowed on ahead, stepping high to make her way through the grass.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked.
Eloise turned, her snapping green eyes meeting his. “I’m furious.”
“It wasn’t my fault. You have to know that.”
“I didn’t say I was mad at you. I said I was mad.” She arched an eyebrow as if that proved something, but she waited as he caught up.
“Fair enough,” he said, scooping up her hand in his.
“I’m fine.” She tugged her hand free, but as she did so, her foot dropped into a gopher hole. She went down with a squeak. Cory caught her under one arm and helped her back up.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand once more. “Let’s get you home.”
Eloise consented to hold his hand, leaning on him when the ground dipped unexpectedly, and Cory tightened his arm, gently lifting her back up. She didn’t weigh much, and he glanced down more than once, trying to decipher what lay under that brittle anger. The horses plodded cooperatively after them, no sign that they’d just bolted for the barn minutes before, except for the gloss of sweat on their sides.
“Don’t worry about it,” she replied. “I should be working anyway.”
“It’s Sunday. Don’t you ever rest?”
Eloise didn’t seem in the mood for banter. She marched on, and when they reached the gate, she tugged her hand free.
“Do you think you’ll give it another try one of these days?” he asked.
Why did he find himself filled with fragile hope when he asked that?
“No.”
“Hey.” He touched her arm. “Why are you so upset?”
Tears misted Eloise’s eyes and she blinked them back. “It’s better than crying.” Her chin trembled, and Cory pulled her against his chest. She crumpled handfuls of his shirt into her fists as she sniffled into his chest. Then she pulled back and wiped her eyes.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “I’m done now.”
“That scared you pretty bad, huh?” he asked.
She wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks with the flat of her palms. “That’s the last time I ride a horse.”
Cory led the horses toward the barn door and Eloise beelined toward the fence where Robert and Zack waited.
A spooked horse made her cry.
He could hear the guffaws of the ranch hands already—if he chose to tell the story. They loved a good city slicker yarn, and Eloise seemed like the perfect heroine for countless tales of inept city people trying to do the basics on a ranch.
He couldn’t tell it, though. He knew that already. She might not be much of a cowgirl, but she didn’t deserve to be mocked.
Don’t fall for her, you idiot, Cory chided himself, and he turned away from her receding form, those fiery curls whipping in the wind, and led the horses into the dim, dusty barn.
“Lexie,” he murmured. “You should have known better than that.”
Yet somehow blaming the horse seemed too easy.
It wasn’t Lexie’s fault, and it wasn’t Eloise’s, either. It was his, for having expected something that he never should have hoped for.
He could hear his mother’s voice echoing in his head: “Let people be who they are, son. You can’t change them, so it hurts less if you don’t expect it to happen.”
The Rancher's City Girl Page 13
