Slade and Kally: Letting Go of the Reins, Book 1

by AE Rought

  Slade came around to my side. He patted Jack before tightening the straps. “Jack, here, is my pal and he isn’t a puffer. But I still tighten the straps twice.” The coarse hair of Jack’s neck slid beneath my palm when I stroked him. Slade gently tugged all the cinches again.

  Boot in the stirrup, Slade grabbed the pommel and pulled himself up onto the saddle. He turned to me, eyes bright, sky blue when he smiled. The barn, the snow falling outside, the orange tabby cat winding through my feet—everything—fell away. The world became my cowboy, his horse and me. Jack’s heartbeat danced across the skin of my palm, his warmth bathed my face, my gaze, my heart, were focused on Slade. The nurse’s words echoed in my mind. “He’s not some boy on a pony. There’s a man in the saddle.”

  My man in the saddle.

  With Slade’s help and only a little shoulder pain, I scrambled up onto the saddle, between his pelvis and the pommel. A tremor of discomfort blossomed in my chest, then withered beneath the heat of my healing heart. Reins in hand, Slade wrapped an arm around my waist. He chirped to Jack, a short whistle sound. “Gid-up, Jack.”

  The rolling gait was something to get used to, especially pinned between Slade’s body and the leather covered pommel. I focused on the horse and getting used to the rhythm of his motion before I could enjoy the scenery. By the time Jack carried us to the mouth of the timeshare drive, I had settled into the pace.

  The ranch was even prettier in the daylight. The dark wood houses nestled in the blanketing snow and rolling hills. A ragged tree line circled the broad open range, the deep color of the evergreens muffled with white. Wispy gray plumes drifted up from fieldstone chimneys. A chestnut horse stood outside a barn, swishing its tail, and a black-and-white cattle dog chased a chicken into a coop farther down. “The ranch is so beautiful.” I leaned back against Slade’s strength. “I love it here.”

  Slade squeezed me tighter, a physical response to my spoken word. Comfort enveloped me, warmer than any jacket. Jack trotted down the center of the lane, while I looked at the ranch houses. They were similar in structure, but each was unique. I knew Emma and Stewart’s house immediately by the large bookcase in the front window. I nudged Slade. “What’s up, Kally?”

  “Remind me to visit Emma sometime and mooch some books from her.”

  He laughed, chirped to Jack again and the horse picked up speed. “I most certainly will. Emma would love a visit from you.”

  The chilly air rushed against my cheeks and chest. Slade kept my back warm while we rode past Grace and Alan’s house, and up a hill to Rosie and George’s ranch at the end of the long lane. The wonderful scent of fresh winter air mixed with the smell of smoked meat. Rosie stood on her porch, shaking out rugs. I would have known it was her house regardless. Native American carvings decorated the porch walls, and a large dream catcher hung in the center of the plate glass window. I held the pommel with one hand and waved with the other. She returned the wave before shaking another rug.

  “Do they have a smoker?”

  “Yup.” Slade inhaled deeply. “Smells good doesn’t it? Rosie always smokes a venison roast for Thanksgiving.” He pulled the reins to the right, guiding Jack up a hill and into the tree line. Before I could voice a concern, he quieted my fears. “Don’t worry, Kally, we’ll have a turkey, and Grace always has a ham too. There’s always a huge meal on Thanksgiving.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  We continued on a narrow path leading along a ridge toward the hunting cabin. When I started to speak, Slade shushed me and spoke with a suppressed voice. “This is the path to our hunting lodge. I try to be quiet and not spook the deer.”

  Oh no. We wouldn’t want to scare them, would we? Silently, I hoped the animals had moved out of shooting range.

  We crested a rise, where the land fell away to a little dell lined with aspens. The hunting cabin was in sight, but Slade pulled back on Jack’s reins. “Shhhh.” He pointed across the dell to where an incline leveled off before rising further to the hill’s peek. His voice was nothing more than a whisper. “Look. Those are mule deer.”

  The hill was a blur of snow and tree trunks until I squinted. Then, the antlers I had mistaken for branches moved when the male deer lifted his head. I could make out the movement of three deer when a doe and a fawn moved in closer to the buck. Their ears were much larger than a Michigan Whitetail, and their coats were darker. They’re such beautiful animals. “I see them!”

  “Yeah. If I had a gun with me they’d be breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

  “Slade!” I twisted around and smacked him on the shoulder. The sound of my elevated voice scared the deer, and they thundered off into the brush around the far side of the hill.

  He snorted, tipped his Stetson down over his eyes and aimed Jack for home. “Remind me not to take you hunting.”

  I pushed back hard against him, matching his snort with one of my own. “Not a problem.”

  Instead of getting mad, like Matt would have, Slade laughed, long and hard until I laughed too. We’d ridden nearly back to the timeshare lane before the last snickers subsided. He let go of my stomach and pushed me square between the shoulders. “You’re a feisty one.”

  “I warned you before I could be an ornery kind of stubborn.”

  “Yup, and I said I like a challenge.” He leaned back, and before I knew it, he’d tipped me off from Jack and into the snow bank beside the barn. Thankfully, the snow was soft and deep. My shoulder didn’t even hurt. “There, now you don’t have to worry about falling off a horse anymore.” I came up sputtering, but he dismounted to the other side and led Jack back into the stall.

  “Oh, ha ha.” I packed a snowball. “Thanks for that. You’re lucky the snow was soft and your little stunt didn’t hurt my shoulder more.”

  “Soft, you say?” When he peeked out of Jack’s stall, I nailed him full in the face. He blinked twice and then wiped the snow away with his sleeve. “If I didn’t have to take all this off Jack and get him fed, I’d whitewash your hind end.”

  I thumped my chest like a male gorilla. “Bring it on, cowboy.” I pitched softball for six years. I’m a damned good shot.

  Slade shut the stall door, and I hit him in the chest with another snowball before he wrapped me to his chest and landed us both in the snow bank. I huffed and blew snow and hair from my face with Slade still pinning me to the snow. His gaze devoured me. His hand slid up my side and along my arm to wrap in mine. Neither of us moved. Then he brought his face close to mine, the brim of his hat brushing my forehead.

  “Be careful what you wish for.”

  The energy between us built. A heated desire for his lips rose within, no matter how cold the snow was beneath me. Slade would not push the moment farther, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for him to. Slade seemed to sense it. He rocked back onto his knees, and then extended a hand after he stood.

  Slade stayed behind in the barn to curry Jack while I walked to the main house. In the office I checked the phone messages, there was only a call from Ilene. She and Steve would be happy to come to the Fourth Moon the night after Thanksgiving. A ranch hand had dropped off the postal mail on the desk in the office, and I sifted through the envelopes sorting them into the appropriate bins. On the chair sat a small box, no bigger than a box of tea, addressed to Slade personally, so I brought it out to the kitchen with me while I brewed a pot of coffee.

  Stomping his feet by the back door, Slade knocked the barn muck from his boots before coming in. He hung his coat on the row of antler pegs by the back door. “The coffee smells good!”

  “I thought you might appreciate a cup.” I met him in the doorway, package held out. “This package came for you.”

  He turned the small parcel in his hands and read the return address. “Oh good. It’s here.” He tucked the little box under his shirt hem and hurried past.

  “Well, what is it?”

  He turned crafty eyes on me. His grin was the most mischievous I’d seen. “Never you mind, Kally Jensen.”


  Well, now my interest was piqued. Turning to busy my hands with the mug and coffee pot, I pretended the box didn’t matter. “I sorted the rest of the mail in the office. And Ilene called.”

  “Are they coming after Thanksgiving?”

  “Yep.”

  “Butch’s should be a blast then.” Slade hurried through the great room, and his boots clattered up the stairs. He reappeared a few minutes later, taking his coffee into the breakfast nook. We sat with a notebook and planned out the Thanksgiving meal and Ilene and Steve’s visit. His voice was soothing, and I found myself lost in the lines of his face, swimming in the blue of his eyes. He noticed me staring and smiled. My heart flittered. Matt had never bewitched me like this before.

  Slade and Kally: Letting Go of the Reins, Book 1

  Chapter Ten

  Thanksgiving Day’s Eve

  Thanksgiving caught them sooner than Slade believed possible. Life’s pace was hectic. There was always something to do when they had actually settled down to a more normal ranch life. Kally busied herself learning the ins and outs of the ranch business. While he was out tending cattle, feeding the livestock or dealing with timeshare issues, Kally made all the preparations for the holiday meal. She even rousted out Bonnie’s special table linens, washing them and pressing them. The night before Thanksgiving, Kally set the good china out and polished the silverware.

  Bundled up in jackets, boots and quilts, they took their dinners of chicken stew out onto the porch, which was one of Kally’s favorite things to do. Slade took up one half of the porch swing, and she snuggled in next to him. At first he thought eating in the cold was silly, but when she scooted closer he decided he liked it just fine. He enjoyed the wistful expression she had when she looked out at the ranch under the moonlight.

  She nudged him under the blankets. “Slade?”

  He gulped his last spoonful down. “Yeah, darlin’?”

  Her elfin look returned, only lit with an inner strength instead of seeming so fragile. “Thanks for sitting out here with me.”

  “My pleasure, Kally.”

  Her smile was huge when she whipped the blankets off him and the cold air rushed in. “Mine too.” Laughing, she grabbed up the blanket and hurried through the door before he could gather up his quilt. “I get the bathroom first.”

  Racing him in for a hot bath after sitting on the porch was one of her other favorite things to do. “Oh, ha ha, Kally.” He stuck his tongue out at her.

  Slade rinsed the dishes and stowed them in the dishwasher. Switching off lights, he walked through the house and stoked the fire before he followed Kally’s path up the stairs. The scent of lavender suffused the hall and he knew she was in the bathtub. He inhaled deeply when he passed the bathroom door, images of washing her hair rose in his mind, and he entertained them, instead of chasing them away. He hardly saw the doorknob or the carpet of his bedroom. The small box in the basket of his dresser had his attention.

  The hinges creaked when he opened the box. The stone wasn’t perfect, never was, but the imperfections were a great part of its charm. The white metal shimmered in the moonlight coming through his window. He lifted the ring from the box, and polished the band with his cleaning cloth.

  Thanksgiving was hours away. Slade, however, looked forward to Christmas.

  Thursday morning came early, with Slade knocking on my door well before sun up. I groaned, rubbed my eyes and rolled to the wall. The knocking did not stop. “Come on, girl. We’ve got to get the bird in the oven.”

  “All right. Keep your drawers on.” I pulled loose from the tangled sheets, shuffled over to the bureau and shoved my feet into slippers. Bleary eyed and smoothing my hair with my hands, I opened the door and followed Slade down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  “Birdzilla”, as Slade affectionately called the turkey, sat in the fridge, taking up a damned good portion of the cubic meters of space. Pine’s favorite recipe for sausage stuffing had been prepared the night before, and I crammed the cavity full while Slade crosshatched strips of bacon over the bird. We wrestled the monster into a custom-sized roaster pan and then into the oven.

  I yawned and stretched. “Can we go back to bed now?”

  “Not really enough time, but how about a snooze on the sofa?”

  I needed no more prompting and steered clear of the ingredients for Susan’s garlic mashed potatoes on my way to the fireplace and the sofa. Dropping down on one end, I fluffed a pillow and nestled in. Slade, however, disrupted my comfort zone with his long legs when he stretched out in the other corner. With some blanket tugging and leg twining, we ended up tied in a knot from the waist down and covered with the same fleece blanket. I watched one movement of the fireplace ballet before nodding off.

  The timer on the stove ding-ding-dinged into my dream of Susan’s pumpkin pies. Startled, I sat up, afraid we’d snoozed away the day and it was time for dinner. “Ohmygod! I don’t have the table set.” I tried to extricate myself from Slade’s legs and only ended up on the floor.

  “Calm down, darlin’. I set the timer so we wouldn’t sleep too long.” His blue eyes were all mirth and laughter while he helped to untie our tangled limbs and blanket.

  “You set the timer to wake us up? You’re a pretty smart guy, Slade.”

  “Thank you kindly. Though I prefer ‘genius’.”

  Of course you do. “Okay, smart guy, we need to get a move on.”

  Soon, we were showered, dressed and eating a light breakfast. Slade produced a coffee mug with the epitaph “GENIUS” slathered across the front. I raised my eyebrows, pretending not to notice when he purposefully held it up in front of me. I drifted into the dining room and busied myself with setting the most beautiful table in my life. The wine glasses sparkled. The silverware cast a beautiful gleam.

  Our guests appeared two-by-two, laden with trays of food. Rosie brought a smoked venison roast and cheesy potatoes, Grace brought a ham and green beans and Emma brought three kinds of desserts.

  The dining room table appeared ready to collapse beneath the weight of the food when we sat to dinner. Slade to the seat on my right side and Rosie to my left. Thankfully, he’d left his braggart coffee mug in the kitchen. Emma and Grace’s husbands actually showed up for the meal, although the word was they planned to go back to the hunting cabin after dessert.

  Slade held out a teensy weensy bite of Rosie’s smoked venison. The dark meat hung before my face when I gave him the “you’ve got to be kidding me” look. I shook my head, but with Slade begging me and the entire table watching, I eventually crumbled beneath the pressure. It was rich, smoky and warm, so much better than I had expected. When he offered me a second bite later, I accepted it. Of course, when eyes were averted, I chased it with a big fork of mashed potatoes and gravy, and washed it all down with sips from my glass of wine. Okay, so venison is not so bad. It’s still not better than ham.

  I really missed Sue and the boys when the desserts came out. Pumpkin pie was Sammy’s favorite and mine too. The plate sat before me, smelling of pumpkin and spice and slathered with whipped cream. A tear welled up. I wiped it away before Slade or Rosie caught sight of it.

  The group migrated to the great room with cups of coffee or tea, and a few of the men, Slade and the Billings mostly, had seconds on dessert. Grace, in her grandmotherly way, asked how I liked Wyoming, and I had to admit I loved it, other than the culverts. Emma invited me over for tea and to troll her sizeable library. But I think the best invitation, by far, was Rosie inviting me to her house to learn how to weave baskets. I used to love crafting before Mom died, and the offer to try a new craft intrigued me.

  Evening shadows settled outside of the ranch house, and the guests slipped, one by one, through the back door. I watched through the steam rising from rinsing the dishes while they loaded their vehicles with leftovers and then drove through the squeaking snow and out of the circle drive. Rosie turned and waved before they left for home. I waved back and then wedged the last dirty dish in the dishwasher and sigh
ed. “This Thanksgiving has been my best holiday in at least two years.”

  “I’m glad.” Slade hung his dishtowel over his shoulder before placing a hand on mine. I reached across my body and covered his hand with my own. We stood there a few moments in the quiet kitchen, enjoying the silence and each other’s company.

  The orange tabby cat walked out into the circle of light cast down by the lamp atop the barn. A breeze buffeted his fur, and a part of me yearned to bring him into the house where it was warm. Acting on impulse, I grabbed a dish from the cupboard and filled it with turkey scraps. Slade tipped his Stetson back and scratched his head. “What’re you doing?”

  “Just watch!” I hurried out the back door, and stood on the edge of the porch with the bowl between my toes. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”

  The tomcat stood and loped toward the house. His orange fur was nearly the color of pumpkin pie filling in the shadows. Stopping before the porch steps, he sniffed at the dish with his ears back. “Come on, kitty.”

  He climbed the steps, ears back and eyes wide. “It’s okay. Come on, kitty.”

  I stood still while he crept up and took a tentative bite. He looked up at me and then wolfed the food. Bending over, I petted his back before he retreated to the barn.

  Slade met me in the kitchen. “Well, look at you, wild cat tamer.”

  “Yep, I am.” I walked past and he cracked my left butt cheek with a towel corner. The home phone rang then. I picked up the line expecting it to be Susan or Ilene. “Hello. Fourth Moon, this is Kally.”

  “Well, hello, Kally.” The voice was deep, rich and happy. “This is Pine, Slade’s father. We just wanted to call and wish you both a happy Thanksgiving!”

  “Well, thank you, sir. Happy Thanksgiving to you too. Slade’s right here, would you like to speak with him?”