Her Steeple Ridge Cowboys

Chapter 2-2

“I might lose my mind if I have to do paperwork.” He chuckled and ran his fingers through his thick hair. He flinched the tiniest bit before a mask slid into place. “I mean, of course I know how to do paperwork. I just don’t want to start my day with that.”

Missy smiled. Something about his nervousness was endearing to her. “I never want to start my day with paperwork either.” She turned, a flirtatious look in her eye. “The horses then.”

* * *

Relief wound through Tucker, along with a healthy helping of desire he couldn’t quite understand. His friend and business partner had urged him to get back into the dating pool after his divorce, but the water was cold in New York City, and choppy, and sometimes infested with sharks.

He’d steered clear for years, but now, he thought perhaps small-town life really did hold something he couldn’t find in the city. He’d always suspected it did, and as he followed Missy into the main barn, the allure of the slower country life suddenly got a lot sweeter.

She flipped on lights, though natural daylight flooded in from both ends of the barn. She clucked at the horses as she unlatched the barred top of each box stall. Tucker copied Missy by unlocking the bars on the other side of the aisle. Horses clopped forward and hung their heads over the lower part of the stall.

“What are their names?” he asked.

She tapped a black box next to the stall she’d just unlocked. “We write their names here.”

Tucker glanced at the black horse that had just lifted its nose over the railing, then to the chalkboard square next to its head. “Cocoa.” He’d raised his arm six inches when Missy clamped her fingers around it. A streak of heat shot into the back of his throat.

“Cocoa doesn’t like men,” Missy said quickly. “I’ll handle her.” She nodded down the row. “You keep on unlocking the stalls. We’ll take this lot outside this morning to the pasture and switch them out with the back barn tenants this afternoon.”

Tucker took a deep breath of the air perfumed by Missy’s near presence, stared at the spot where her fingers still gripped his arm, and lifted his eyes back to hers. A perfect storm swirled within their depths, and she released him in a jerky movement. “Sorry.”

He nodded and moved to the next stall, his nerves buzzing like someone had injected live bees into his bloodstream. He hadn’t felt anything like this in a really long time. He’d wondered at one point just before buying the farm if he’d ever be able to feel something for someone again. He had no siblings, and he only saw his cousins every few years. He had his company, a few friends there, his business partner—but no one he really felt anything truly real for.

But as he watched Missy’s quick, deft fingers as she put reins on horse after horse and lead them out to the pasture, as she taught him how to harness the horses to the wash stalls and operate the water machinery, and as she led him into the office and showed him who to call to get the fertilizing of the hay fields scheduled, he found he really enjoyed her company.

After lunch, Missy handed him the reins attached to the tallest horse Tucker had ever seen and said, “This is Mint Brownie, and you get to wash him today.”

Tucker’s insides iced but thawed when she laughed. “It’s okay, Tucker. I’ll be down to help in a couple of minutes.”

“All right,” Tucker said, though he couldn’t quite get his feet to move. She stepped to the next stall and then the next, slipping the reins around the horses’ heads and leading them down the aisle.

Tucker jolted when he realized he’d been staring at Missy as she led the horses outside. As she did everything. The way the horses followed her everywhere—the way that golden retriever wasn’t ever more than five feet from her—spoke of her character, her gentle demeanor, her calm spirit.

He ducked his head and said, “C’mon, boy,” before taking his first step toward the wash stalls. He had the horse hooked to the lines to keep its head up, and he moved to the sink to start the water. He remembered to give it a few minutes to warm up, remembered to attach the shampoo line before lifting the hose and aiming it at Mint Brownie.

Tucker took a deep breath, unsure if this dark-chocolate creature would take the first spray well. He ran his hand down the horse’s back and gave a small pump of the water, the way Missy had. It shot against the cement, and Mint Brownie didn’t so much as move.

“Ah, so you’re one of the good ones,” Tucker said. “Well, let’s do this then.” He sprayed the horse’s flank and set about scrubbing the dirt and hay from the animal’s coat. “So how long you been here at Steeple Ridge?” he asked. When the horse didn’t answer, Tucker continued. “It’s my first day.” He moved in front of the horse and looked into its eyes. “How do you think I’m doing? I hope you don’t feel bad that you’re my first bath.”

He glanced over his shoulder but couldn’t see Missy. “I hope I don’t mess up too badly,” he said, moving around the horse and getting the job done, though the water soaked his shoes and made every step a sloppy mess.

Tucker probably needed to invest in some cowboy boots, a hat, maybe a shirt that didn’t have to be buttoned from top to bottom. He hadn’t been in Island Park long, but there wasn’t much to explore. He’d been to the grocery store last night and found a pizza joint, a couple of places to drive through to get a burger, the coffee stand, and an assortment of shops—including a department store—lining Main Street. Surely he could find something more farm-worthy to wear.

He kept talking to the horse like it cared what he wore, or where he’d come from, or that he thought Missy was the prettiest woman he’d met in a long, long time, concluding with, “That Missy, she runs a tight barn, doesn’t she?”

Mint Brownie had no opinion on the matter, and Tucker finished the bath before Missy showed her pretty face again. “Wow, Tucker,” she said. “This is great.” She ran her hand down the horse’s nose. “Not even any leftover suds.” She grinned at the horse, flashing those straight, white teeth. “Now you brush him dry.” The voice she used with the horse was completely sugar-coated, while the tone she used with him held more power and authority.

Tucker turned back to the shelf above the sink and retrieved the brush. He slicked the water out of the horse’s hair as Missy got a brown-and-white horse set up for a bath in the stall next to his. She barely finished before the first rider showed up at the farm. Missy promptly put on a glorious smile and hugged the woman, who was probably five or six years older than Tucker.

Missy stepped back and said, “Tucker, this is Susan DeWitt. She’s been riding for about a year.”

Tucker smiled, said hello, and shook her hand.

“She rides Mint Brownie. Can you bring him out to the arena?”

“Sure,” Tucker said, but he had no idea how to get a horse ready for a riding lesson. Or where the arena was. He figured he could find Missy and Susan easy enough, so he simply turned back to the stable, where he’d put the horse back in his stall after the washing.

Missy sidled up to him and whispered, “Just bring him out, Tucker. I’ll get all the equipment from the tack room.”

He glanced down at her, and though she didn’t linger long, that zing of attraction slipped down his arms and leapt across the small space between them. He blinked, then breathed, and she backed away.

It took every ounce of Tucker’s willpower not to turn around and watch her retreat. But he did it. Put one foot in front of the other and collected the horse from its stall. When he made it outside, he realized the arena was inside, so he backtracked and went through the first door just inside the barn. A viewing room sat just to his left, but Susan had come to her lesson alone.

When he passed Mint Brownie to Missy, she said, “Will you finish with Strawberry and bring her out too? Her rider will be here next.”

“Sure,” Tucker said, thinking maybe he wouldn’t be any good for much more than escorting horses to their lessons. “Which one’s Strawberry?” he asked under his breath as Susan set about saddling her horse. He wondered if every horse here was named after a food.

“The one I just washed,” she said. “We try to make sure our horses are ready for their riders.”

“How often do they get baths?” he asked.

“Every couple of weeks,” she said. “Or when they get dirty.” She gave him a smile he wanted to catch in his palm, curl his fingers around, and release whenever he needed to know someone on this earth cared about him.

Not that Missy Marino cared about him. He turned away from her and hurried away, confusion coiling through him with the power of a cyclone. He’d expected to be out of his element in Island Park. He’d expected not to know anything, to feel out of place, to have to work ten times harder than he ever had.

He hadn’t expected all of that to come with a woman who muddled his mind and stole his breath.

Tucker took a few minutes to stand in the observation room and watch Missy as she turned in the middle of the arena and called instructions to Susan. Susan nodded, adjusted her helmet, and set Mint Brownie to go at the jump again. Missy watched, rotated as the horse moved around the arena, smiled, and yelled more directions.

He hadn’t realized what a gem the stable manager would be. He’d assumed she would be crotchety, upset about the sale of the farm, and determined to make his life more difficult. But the truth couldn’t be further from that.

Missy simply loved horses, and they loved her.

Tucker turned away from the arena and went to get Strawberry before his mind started wandering to doing something crazy like asking Missy to show him around town. Just maybe they’d end up at the only Italian restaurant in town, or maybe he could walk around the park with her hand in his.

It had been so long since he’d thought about a woman in a romantic way, he didn’t quite know how to react, or what to say, or if his feelings were even real. When his marriage had ended five years ago, he’d paid a hefty price, and not just monetarily.

His heart had been shredded, the pieces spread from one side of Manhattan to the other. He held Strawberry’s reins loosely in his hands, his dress shoes slipping on a bit of straw on the cement in the aisle, and tipped his head back. “Lord,” he prayed. “Help me to understand how I feel.”

He didn’t expect the earth to shake or a voice to rain down on him from heaven. He did expect the peace that came whenever he turned to the Lord for help. Though he didn’t rely on his faith as often as he probably should, Tucker felt assured that his decision to leave the big city in favor of this farm was the right one—and maybe for reasons he wasn’t even sure of yet.