Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81401 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
We stop in front of Willow’s horse. “This is Abby,” I tell Zara as I hold her hand out to pet the bridge of Abby’s nose. Abby moves her head up and down, asking for more.
Zara laughs and continues to pet her. “She’s beautiful.”
That she is with her light brown coat and dark mane. “Abby’s an American Quarter horse and very easy to ride. She’s easily the best horse I have ever owned.” My hands run through her mane, but she seems more interested in getting to know Zara. Not that I can blame her. Horses have a keen sense when it comes to people. “This is who you will ride.”
“Okay,” she says, but I sense some hesitancy in her voice.
“She’s gentle, and I’ll be right beside you the whole time.” I want to offer to ride tandem, but know that doing so would be inappropriate.
“Okay, if you say so.” Her voice wavers, but I can hear a bit of determination in there.
Abby moves her head up and down rapidly, causing Zara to laugh. “I think Abby agrees with me.” I leave Zara there so she and Abby can get acquainted while I ready my Tennessee Walking Horse. His name is Night because of his jet-black coloring. There isn’t a speck of another color anywhere on his body and when people first meet him, they’re scared and automatically assume he’s mean.
As soon as he sees his saddle, he’s bouncing, ready to get out and stretch his legs. Being in Los Angeles has really put a damper on our rides together, which is another reason I want to get back here permanently.
“Whoa, boy,” I say as I run my hand over his back and down his leg. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve been in his stall with him. I treat each time as if it were the first. Anything can spook the best-behaved horse, and I’m trying to prevent that.
Once he’s saddled, I guide him out and head back to Zara. Her eyes are wide as Night, and I approach. “He’s huge,” she says as Night comes to rest near her. “And gorgeous.”
She reaches her hand out to pet him, and he lowers his head. I’m rather shocked by his gesture toward her since he’s normally standoffish. Maybe he senses that Zara’s someone he can trust. “This is Night,” I say as I pet him. “He looks scary, but deep down he’s a big softy. Extend your hand,” I tell her, placing a sugar cube in her palm. Before she can give it to Abby, Night takes it from her like a little thief.
“Oh, that feels funny.”
I can’t help but laugh at the face Zara makes. It’s a cross between nervous and excited because Night has a massive tongue with very large teeth, but he’s gentle with her. Maybe he knows that I like her and is the only one to admit any true feelings.
I take Zara into Abby’s stall and repeat the same process I did with Night, making sure it’s Zara who is touching Abby, so they get used to each other. When Abby is saddled, I give Zara more sugar cubes, and she doesn’t hesitate to feed them to Abby.
“Not all horses are like this, right?”
“No, their temperaments can vary. It really depends on how they were raised and trained. Because of the girls, I made sure our horses were fully trained before we bought them. Stormy’s horse is a sweet girl but used for racing, and I don’t think you’re ready to have the wind in your hair just yet.” I wink at her as I take Abby’s reins and pull her out of her stall. I take hold of Night’s as well and lead them out of the barn and into the sun. Both horses dance around, eager to go for their walk.
“Am I dressed okay?” Zara asks, giving me the opportunity to gawk at her without being caught.
“You’re dressed fine,” I tell her even though she could put on jeans, but seeing her bare legs turns me on, and I don’t want her to cover them up. Besides, we are riding out in the open, and the chance that she gets any scratches on her legs is minimal. Still, I pull my flannel off the nail by the door and hand it to her. “Just in case you get cold.”
Zara takes the offered shirt and slips it on immediately, causing a stirring that I have been trying to ignore since the day she came over to the house. I shake my head and tell myself that it’s only a shirt and nothing more, that we’ll never be anything more than friends.
“Okay, put your right foot in the stirrup and your hand on the horn. You’re going to pull yourself up and swing your left leg over. The first time won’t be easy, so I’m going to help you.” I try to clear my mind of any impending thoughts that are threatening to surface about how my hand is about to touch her. It’s for her benefit. Otherwise, she’ll struggle and give up, and I can’t have that.