Even before Colton had actually met Samantha, she’d inspired him. And now that all those stories had been personified in a living and breathing, beautiful body, Colton was reluctant to let her slip away. Maybe it was selfish, but he didn’t want to just hear about those stories, he wanted to be in them.
“What’s that?” Samantha pulled on the reins to make Nutmeg stop and pointed to a run-down little log cabin, set back about fifty yards from the road.
“We call it The Shack,” Colton said. “I’m in the process of fixing it up so I can move in.” Not that he’d gotten very far. Colton had spent a few hours there the previous evening, mostly filling up garbage bags and setting out mouse traps.
“You’re serious.”
“Yep.”
“That is so cool.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Can I see it?”
“Um…” Colton thought about the warped wooden floor, the dust-and-cobweb covered windows, and all the dead mice or rats that were undoubtedly “lounging” around. Even dirty and purple-haired, Samantha didn’t belong in that cabin. Not yet anyway.
“Oh, come on,” she said, pulling on his hands to try and steer Nutmeg toward it. “It has an aura of mystery and neglect—a place where old and interesting stories hang out.”
“And spiders,” added Colton.
“Spiders?” Her fingers stiffened over his, and Colton smiled.
“Big, hairy, spiders. They look like tarantulas on steroids with fangs.” Okay, so maybe that was a little overkill because she was yanking on the reins again, apparently not buying any of it.
“Not that way, Nutmeg. This way.”
With a sigh, Colton fed the reins through her fingers and showed her how to gently guide the horse to the right. Nutmeg followed immediately.
“I would have known how to do that if you’d taught me some of the basics,” Samantha said.
“Yeah, yeah.”
They stopped in front of the house, and Colton slid off the horse, then carefully helped Samantha down. She immediately walked to the door and tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Is it locked?”
“Sort of.” Colton slammed his shoulder into the wood, and it flew open with a loud creak. Everything about this place either creaked or squeaked. It was old. Very, very old.
Samantha grinned. “So that’s how you lock doors around here.”
Colton eyed a nasty, flattened mouse in a nearby trap. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t keep the critters out.”
“Okay, that’s gross.” She had a stronger stomach than he’d expected because the sight of all the dead rodents didn’t keep her from wandering through the tiny cottage. She crossed the creaky floor, opened the squeaky bedroom door, and looked inside. A queen-sized bed was covered with a worn and dusty patchwork quilt that Colton’s grandmother had made. Two simple nightstands flanked each side, leaving the rest of the room barren.
“Quaint,” Sam said before moving on.
The bathroom door was already open, revealing a stained, yellow tub, a toilet, and a small vanity. An ancient stacked washer and dryer unit sat in the corner.
“No shower?” she asked.
“That’s going to be one of the improvements I make after I move in. I don’t like baths.”
“After a day like today, a hot bath sounds heavenly,” said Samantha. “But I couldn’t live without a shower either.”
She peeked in a small storage closet next, opened a few of the knotty pine kitchen cupboards, ran her fingers across the time-distressed wooden table, and finally looked Colton’s way.
“It’s charming,” she announced. “Or, at least it will be once you fix it up.”
“You think?” They must be looking through different colored glasses, because all Colton could see were the dead critters, cobwebs and problems.
“Yeah.” She glanced around again. “I could help, if you want.”
His eyes snapped to hers. Did she really just offer to not go away? To do something with him that could turn into a story?
“I do want,” he said quickly. “I mean, if you’re sure you have the time, I would love some help.”
She waved off his concern. “I’ve got the whole summer to kill. My job doesn’t start until the fall.”
Colton liked the sound of that—spending the entire summer with her, that is. “What job is that?”
“A junior graphic designer,” she answered. “I’ll be creating everything from images for t-shirts to CD labels, advertisements, invitations, and brochures. I can’t wait.”
That career choice seemed to fit her perfectly. Creative, interesting, and fun.
She sat down on one of the two wooden dining chairs and smiled when it squeaked and swayed under her lightweight frame. “I think you could use some new furniture.”
“Nah, I could never get rid of this stuff.” He wiggled the other chair and decided it would be safer to remain standing. “This house was built by my great-great-grandfather nearly one hundred years ago. He purchased the land from the government when Colorado Springs was nothing more than a baby. Together, with my great-great grandmother, they lived here for about five years while they got the ranch going. Then they built a larger home down the road where ours now stands. Forty years ago, my grandfather grew tired of living in a home with endless problems, but he liked the location, so he leveled the old house and built a new one in its place—where my family lives now. This house, on the other hand, still has the same walls and most of the original furniture.”
Colton looked around him, feeling the pride that came from a long legacy of hard-working family members who had labored to make something lasting out of nothing. Even though they called this place The Shack, Colton didn’t smell the must or rotted wood. He smelled history and a really good place to call home. “When my parents first married, they modernized it with indoor plumbing and electricity and added on that bathroom and laundry area. They lived here until they had me, then moved into the big house to take care of my grandparents before they passed.”
Sam’s finger followed the grain lines on the table, rising and falling with the waves of the distressed, warped wood. “Is that what you’re planning to do? Live here until you’re ready to move back to the big house and take over?”
Between Colton and his brothers, one of them was expected to carry on the McCoy legacy, but for Colton, instead of feeling like a no-way-out responsibility, it felt like a privilege—the grand prize for being born a McCoy and learning what it meant to work hard. Ranching was in his blood, just like the property and houses were in his blood. Nothing could change that. He didn’t want anything to change that.
“I plan to eventually take over, but I don’t want to move back into the big house. We have a lot of property here, and I’d prefer to build my own place someday.” At least that’s what Colton hoped would happen. But maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe he’d never marry or have a family of his own. Maybe he’d stay here, in this shack, for a good long while. Who knew what life held in store for him? He’d worry about it when the time came.
Samantha nodded. Then her gaze drifted out the tiny kitchen window, to where Nutmeg stood grazing. Her brow furrowed. “Why did Nutmeg jump the fence but the mustang didn’t?”
Colton held out his hand and pulled her up, leading her out of the house. He yanked the door closed behind him and said, “Back in the day, Nutmeg was a jumper—a really good one—until she tore a major tendon. That kind of injury takes a year or more to heal, and Nutmeg was close to retirement anyway, so the owners cut their losses and sold her to us. Now she’s one of the best riding horses we have. But that doesn’t mean she’s given up her jumping days. Every once in a while we find her outside the pasture, trotting down the road like she owns the place.” He smiled as he helped her on the horse, noticing she didn’t wince as much this time.
“She’s definitely earned my allegiance,” said Samantha. “Though I’d rather not be riding her the next time she decides to relive her glory days.”
&n
bsp; Colton swung up behind her and guided Nutmeg back toward the road. “Your hat is back on my four-wheeler. Other than a little dirt, it’s still good as new.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m going to need it a lot during the next seven days to cover up this beautiful hair of mine.”
“You can always cross off the part about keeping it purple for a week.”
“I will not,” said Samantha. “What’s the point of having a bucket list if I’m allowed to revise it?”
“You revised the part about having a fling with a cowboy.”
“That was before I finished the list. Now that it’s finished, it’s set in stone.”
Colton nodded, not liking the idea of her dating someone else. Maybe he’d been too hasty in saying he didn’t do flings.
Wait, what was he thinking? Not only were flings a waste of time, but they created awkward messes in the future. They weren’t worth the long-term consequences no matter how fun or gorgeous the girl. Colton wanted a relationship with the potential to go beyond summer and into the rest of his life. He wanted someone who would be happy settling down with him on this ranch in that poor excuse for a cabin and find the lifestyle as invigorating as he did.
Samantha Kinsey would never be happy here. Would she? Who was she, really? What sort of life did she see herself living? She came across as the type of person who bounced from one adventure to the next, refusing to put down any roots. The type of person who was okay with dyeing her hair purple, sculpting ice, and having flings because it was all temporary.
Maybe she feared permanence.
The house came into sight, and moments later, Samantha’s body stiffened between his arms. Colton followed her gaze out to the pasture and gripped the reins hard. His first instinct was to yell out Kajsa’s name and spur Nutmeg into a run, but Sam’s gentle touch on his arm kept him quiet and steady.
“Wait,” she whispered.
Growing up on a ranch, Colton had experienced many things he considered to be sacred. Like the day he’d helped bring his first foal into the world, the time he’d known just where to find Spencer, who’d gotten lost in the mountains during an overnight camping trip, and the awe he felt every time he rode high into the mountains and looked over what had become of the Colorado Springs valley.
Colton was no stranger to miracles. So when he saw the wild mustang nuzzling Kajsa’s cheek and allowing her to stroke its jaw, he knew he was witnessing something extraordinary.
Kajsa ducked under the mustang’s neck to rub its shoulder then giggled when the horse’s nose tickled her back. If Colton didn’t know any better, he would think the beautiful black horse was tame and gentle—the kind of animal he’d let a toddler ride. But it hadn’t been tamed or gentled. It had just charged Samantha and Nutmeg, and only yesterday it had tried to tear apart the trailer and take down the corral fence.
Colton tensed, half expecting the mustang to rear back and do the whole Jekyll/Hyde thing again, but she only nuzzled, sniffed, and stood there. He would have spurred Nutmeg on anyway if he wasn’t worried about upsetting the mustang again.
“Look at them,” whispered Sam. “You can’t take that horse back tomorrow.”
Colton didn’t know what to think. Would the horse continue to run down some people then turn around and play Mr. Docile to Kajsa? It was crazy.
Eventually, Kajsa grabbed hold of the halter and led the mustang through the wide open gate and into the corral, which made Colton wonder how the animal had gotten out in the first place.
As Kajsa locked the gate, the horse lifted its head, looking in the direction of Samantha and Colton then turned and began trotting around the corral as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“At least she didn’t charge you again,” Colton said under his breath.
“We had words,” said Samantha. “I told her in no uncertain terms to leave me alone.”
Colton’s lips lifted into a partial smile. If only he’d been privy to that conversation. A purple-haired, boot-stomping, name-calling image came to mind, and his smile widened.
Kajsa spied them as she jogged toward the barn.
“I was just taking a quick break,” she said, as though worried she’d get in trouble for not working.
“Quick?” Colton questioned, lifting an eyebrow.
Kajsa bit her lower lip. “I wanted to try out her name to see if she’d come, and when she did, I took her back to the corral.”
A clang sounded, and Colton looked up to see the mustang lift the lever on the gate with her nose and push it open.
“Why you little…” Colton let his words trail off, not wanting to say out loud the word he was thinking.
“Smartypants?” Samantha filled in the blank, making all of them laugh.
“I think I might need your help to catch her again in a bit, Kajsa,” said Colton. “You seem to have a knack with her.”
“Just call her Your Majesty, and she’ll come,” answered Kajsa in a matter-of-fact way, as though certain the horse would come when called.
Colton wasn’t nearly as certain. He slipped from Nutmeg’s back and helped Samantha down as well. “Your Majesty, huh?” he said. The name didn’t exactly roll off the tongue. “How did you come up with that?”
“I was working in the barn and it hit me. Before Adi left, she read me a story about a girl who wanted to be a queen so she pretended she was. She had to be in charge and made all of her friends call her ‘Your Majesty.’”
Colton didn’t make the connection. He’d expected her to come up with a name like Storm or Mad Hatter. Not Your Majesty. What kind of name was that anyway? His brothers would never let him hear the end of it.
“Don’t you get it?” Kajsa said.
“Afraid not.”
“Your Majesty is just like the girl in that story,” she explained. “She wants to be the center of attention and boss people around. So we need to call her Your Majesty. Now do you get it?”
Like fitting the right key to a lock, something clicked in Colton’s mind—something he’d been trying to figure out since he’d brought the mustang home. Kajsa could be right. The mustang did seem to crave attention. Maybe she’d been the leader of her herd and was used to commanding a crowd. Maybe that’s why she’d charged Samantha—because she’d never really focused on the horse. Colton knew because he’d been a little too focused on her.
“You’re telling me that when you called out ‘Your Majesty,’ the horse came?” said Samantha.
Kajsa scuffed the ground with her booted foot before shrugging her shoulders. “Well, I had a carrot too.”
Colton laughed. This day had been one of the more interesting days he’d had in a long time, and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.
As Kajsa scampered off to finish her chores, Samantha turned to him with a question in her eyes. “You look like you’ve just had an epiphany that I don’t understand. Your Majesty is a mouthful. Are you sure you want to name the horse that?”
“No. But if the shoe fits…” Colton grinned. With one hand on her back and the other clutching the reins, he guided her toward the barn with Nutmeg trailing behind. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to be at Samantha’s side, and for a moment, he forgot all about his dislike of temporary things.
The following morning, Kajsa was out of Sam’s car before it came to a complete stop. She waved to Colton, who was working with Your Majesty in the corral, and jogged toward the barn—no doubt motivated to get her chores done as fast as possible so she could help with the training.
Sam tightened the yellow bandana around her hair Cinderella-style and forced her still-aching body out of the car. The early morning was cheery and sunny with only a hint of crispness, and the air smelled like hay and nature. She stifled a yawn and stretched her back, letting the peaceful scenery invigorate her. Out in the pasture, Mr. McCoy rode a horse through some sort of obstacle course that she assumed was used for training purposes, while Spencer filled a massive watering trough with a hose. Dustin
was probably in the barn with Kajsa.
Sam walked to the corral and stopped a few feet away from the fence. Like yesterday, Colton stood in the center while Your Majesty cantered circles around him. He wore a bright yellow t-shirt, and Sam had to stifle the childish impulse to point to her bandana and say, “Hey, we match.”
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” she said to the horse, wondering if it could detect her sarcasm.
The mustang pulled up short and bobbed its head up and down in an antsy, frustrated way, then trotted to the opposite side of the corral, keeping her back toward Sam.
Colton’s rich laughter almost made up for the mustang’s bad manners. “I think you just got the cold shoulder,” he said. “Apparently Maj is a holder of grudges. What exactly did you say to her yesterday anyway?”
Sam ran her hand over the fence rail and shrugged. “‘Say’ isn’t the exactly the verb I’d use. ‘Yelled’ is a better word. I’m surprised you didn’t hear me.”
Colton grinned as he disconnected the lead rope from the harness and gave the mustang a pat on its back. Sam noticed that the gate was now kept closed with a chain and lock, and she had to smile at that. How are you going to get out now, Your Majesty?
Real mature, Sam. Real mature.
Colton hopped the fence and stood next to Sam a moment later. “Check it out,” he said, gesturing from her bandana to his shirt. “We match.”
She grinned. “I was just thinking the same thing. You wore that color on purpose, didn’t you?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever worn a certain color on purpose. Why would I?”
“To subtlety hint that I should go back to being a blonde. Admit it.”
Colton tapped her bandana. “Is that why you’re wearing this? To remind yourself that you’d rather be a blonde?”
Stick in the Mud Meets Spontaneity (Meet Your Match, book 3) Page 6
