A Holiday Romance. Carrie AlexanderЧитать онлайн книгу.
in the afternoon. What she’d called an easy start had seemed plenty adventurous to Alice, particularly now that she was face-to-face with a cowboy and a horse. She wasn’t afraid of horses. Or cowboys. She just had a healthy caution about riding—or kissing—either one.
That darn Kyle Jarreau. He’d put the notion in her head.
Denver hooked a rope to the horse’s halter and handed the end of it to Alice. “By gosh, you’re cute as a pigtailed pup when you’re blushin’.”
He flirts with every woman. Alice was certain of that, but she was flattered all the same. Back home on the island, she knew everyone as well as they knew her. Flirting with Keith at the inn or Bill the kayak guy would be like flirting with a cousin.
Standing at the end of the horse’s lead, she looked sidelong at Denver. Her lips curved invitingly. “I’ll bet you make all the women blush.”
With an unabashed wink that did nothing to deny her claim, he tossed a saddle blanket over the horse’s back. His lashes were as thick as a girl’s.
So were the horse’s, fringing large brown eyes that watched her with interest. Alice swallowed and stepped closer to the animal, determined to make a friendly overture there, too. “Nice horse.”
She extended her hand. Loco thrust his nose at her. She flinched before realizing that the horse’s muzzle was soft and velvety beneath the bristle of whiskers. He didn’t chomp at her fingers, but moved supple, leathery lips against her palm.
Denver took her hand and pressed something into it. “Old Loc’s looking for a treat. Hold your fingers out straight.”
Slices of carrot. The horse gently lipped them up, crunching greedily. He returned to her palm, nostrils fluttering, the nibbling lips smearing her with spittle.
She giggled. “That’s ticklish.”
Denver clasped her hand for a moment before releasing it. He gave the horse’s neck an affectionate slap. “Loc’s a good beginner’s horse. He’ll take care of you just fine.”
What about you? she wondered as she rubbed her palm on her jeans. The way he’d touched her had made her ticklish inside, too, even when she reminded herself that she shouldn’t take the cowboy seriously.
She stroked Loco’s nose. He butted her, scraping her chin with his bony head. Ouch. She pushed him away, her fingers tightening on the rope as the horse threw his head high.
“Steady, boy.” Denver lifted a saddle onto Loco’s back, then reached beneath the horse to snag the dangling cinch. The motion rippled impressive muscles beneath the clinging tank. In the still heavy heat of the stable, his skin glistened with perspiration.
Alice’s mouth felt like cotton. “Are you a real cowboy?”
He straightened. “Worried ’bout how I’ll handle your lesson, Allie?” He doffed his hat and raked a hand through his burnished blond hair, studying her.
“I, uh, I’ve never ridden before.”
“No need to fret. Most of our guests are greenhorns. Trail ridin’s no challenge at all. You’ll do as well as any of ’em once I teach yew the basics.”
Oh, boy. She gulped, distracted from the fact that he hadn’t answered her question. Maybe she didn’t care whether he was genuine.
Denver hung his hat on the saddle horn and finished the tacking up, going off on a rambling, colorful story about riding broncs on the rodeo circuit and winning the silver buckle prominently centered on his tooled leather belt. Alice’s eyes dropped to the bulge below it, then darted away. Smirking, he picked up the reins and matter-of-factly took Alice’s hand in his, leading both her and the horse outdoors into the glaring midmorning heat.
The riding ring was empty. A couple of horses occupied a nearby corral, dozing in the shade of a stand of cottonwood trees. Denver told her that the rest of them had gone out on the early trail ride.
“Let’s get you mounted up.” His accent seemed to come and go. He retrieved his hat and set it on his head, tugging the brim low with a devilish, one-sided grin. “I’ll turn you into an easy rider in no time.”
Alice shuffled in the dirt. Loco seemed enormous to her again, the saddle perched high on his back. She looked uncertainly at the stirrup.
“Y’want a leg up?”
She didn’t know why she was hesitating. Riding a horse was nothing to be timid about. Rock climbing or skydiving, yes, but this was a small start. “I want to try it myself.”
Denver guided her hands to the saddle, then held the stirrup for her. “Go ’head. Stick a foot in here, take a bounce on the ball of your other foot and up you’ll go. Easy as pie.”
She was less than elegant, but she managed to haul herself into the saddle. “Yawp,” she croaked from atop her perch, hastily sticking her right foot into the stirrup. The ground was a long way down. “What do I do now?”
“Grab the reins. Leave some slack. You don’t want to be jabbing Loco’s mouth.”
The leather reins slithered in her damp hands. The horse’s ears flicked back and forth, but he didn’t move. “Now what?”
“Y’feelin’ okay in the saddle? Got a good grip with your thighs?” Denver’s eyes glinted from beneath the hat brim.
Sweat trickled along her hairline. “I think so.”
“Then go ahead and squeeze him with your heels.”
She prodded the horse. Loco twitched a shoulder and swished his tail, his head hung so low she wondered if he was taking a nap.
Denver chuckled. “Try again.”
She dug her heels in. The horse turned his head and rolled an eye at her before lazily picking up his hooves to walk toward the opposite side of the corral. At first, Alice felt a bit queasy at seeing the ground moving beneath her. When she looked up and realized that they were traveling at no more than an amble, she began to relax.
“Follow the rail.” Denver stood in the center of the ring with one hip cocked and his thumbs hooked in his pockets. “Get used to his rhythm.”
Trying not to apply a double entendre to the words, she concentrated on the creak of the saddle and the bobbing comfort of Loco’s head.
They completed one circuit of the ring without disaster. That small achievement seemed significant.
She was doing it. She was riding.
No need to get excited yet. Even the rankest amateur could sit on a horse for a walk.
She wriggled in the saddle, getting more comfortable. Loco felt steady and reliable beneath her, despite his name. She was able to take a look around at the lush green grounds of the resort. Desert stretched way in the distance, sere, brown and strewn with cactus and rock formations. Tomorrow, she’d ride into it, as bold as you please.
When she closed her eyes, she could almost see herself, mounted on Loco, no longer timid or awkward. There was a man riding beside her, sitting tall on a flashy black stallion, silhouetted against the backdrop of the setting sun.
But who was he?
Denver, Alice decided. She inserted his green eyes and easy grin into the picture, but before long the glib cowboy’s face transformed into the serious features of Kyle Jarreau.
She shook her head. That wouldn’t do.
“Give him a kick with your heels,” Denver called. “Get him trottin’.”
She settled down to learning to ride. A quick hard squeeze earned Loco’s attention. His ears flattened, but he set off at a trot, bouncing Alice up and down in the saddle. She grabbed the saddle horn, not caring that the move branded her as a tenderfoot. She was a tenderfoot.
Loco jogged along the rail. Alice’s rein hand jerked in time