A Tall, Dark Cowboy Christmas

CHAPTER FIVE

MCKENNA COULD BARELY concentrate on the tasks at hand the entire day. Thankfully, the act of cleaning toilets was a relatively mindless one, and it gave her the opportunity to worry and look forward to the horse-riding endeavors she’d agreed to with Grant. She didn’t know anything about horses, except that of course she had gone through a phase when she was younger and had read books almost exclusively about kids who had them. Black Beauty. The White Stallion. My Friend Flicka. If there had been a horse and a scrappy kid, she had read it and fantasized about putting herself in that position.

But much like anything else, she learned early on that fantasy wasn’t reality, and it never would be.

She’d read Anne of Green Gables in one of her foster homes. Well, half of it. It had made her so angry she’d shoved it in a small space between the couch and the wall. When the foster mother had asked about it, McKenna had denied any knowledge of it, and had gotten a lecture on being more responsible with personal property.

McKenna was happy to take that one on the chin.

No one in that house needed to read that book.

It was filled with things that would never, ever happen. She couldn’t believe it. Not for one moment. No nice couple was going to show up at a train station and see a skinny, redheaded orphan girl they didn’t actually want, then take her back home and love her like a daughter. It wasn’t fair. Reading it had made her chest feel swollen, had made her cheeks feel prickly.

She had hated her. Anne with an E, who had unusual red hair and adoptive parents who loved her, and still complained about her life and her looks.

The horse books, she had decided, were a safer read. Because she didn’t harbor fantasies about living on a ranch or finding a beautiful, wild steed to ride. It had nothing to do with her life. It hadn’t even been anything she wanted. It had just been an escape. Something so different from the life she lived, being shifted between suburban neighborhoods.

A life riding horses over rolling hills with golden sun filtering through the trees. There was a lot of dappling sun in those books. And in McKenna’s mind, dappling sun was one of the most romantic images, to this day.

But it was a fantasy that didn’t get its claws into her soul, because it seemed impossible. Not like having a family someday, which seemed both impossible and like it should be as possible for her as anyone else.

It seemed surreal she was coming closer to actually having the horse fantasy than ever having the loving family fantasy. But who knew. Maybe the Daltons would fold her into their loving embrace.

The thought sent a sharp pang through her chest. Like she’d been run through with a shard of glass.

She stopped walking for a moment and stood, looking out at the mountains that surrounded the ranch. Maybe she had internalized that Anne stuff a lot more than she had realized. Because obviously part of her believed in it, even as she railed against it. Oh, that bright light of optimism that seemed to burn inside of her no matter what.

“Maybe I’ll fall off the horse and break my neck,” she said cheerfully, taking a step forward and kicking a pinecone out of the way. “Maybe the horse will hate me, and Grant will take it as a sign of my bad character and tell Wyatt to send me packing. Maybe this is all just a dream and I’m still sleeping in a hollowed-out cabin in the freezing cold.”

“Or maybe, you’re just about to have an uneventful riding lesson.” She looked up sharply, and saw Grant move onto the path.

“Good Lord, Grant,” she said. “Are you part puma? You scared the hell out of me.”

“Are you nervous?”

She flattened her mouth into a line. “I’m not the most Zen.”

“The horse I got for you could safely ride in circles at a kid’s birthday party.”

“Well. Now I feel condescended to.”

“Would you rather be condescended to, or did you want to get bucked off a horse today?”

“Condescension, please,” she said.

“Your horse is completely safe, and nothing is going to happen.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“Have I ever tried to make you feel better?”

“No,” she said, puzzling. “That’s the weird thing about you. You’re not too nice, but you’re not mean, either.”

“Is that weird?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s really weird. My experience is that when you have the kind of life I had, people either look at you like you’re a very sad little puppy that they pity deeply, or they want to lecture you about how something you’ve done has put you in this position. You haven’t done either thing.”

“Well, it sounds like you’ve had some things go down.”

“Understatement.”

“People end up in weird situations, McKenna. Situations they didn’t plan on. All the damned time. And anyone who doesn’t think that? They’re just scared. They can’t stand the idea that they might find themselves homeless, trying to find a cabin to sleep in on someone else’s property. If they don’t blame some kind of moral failing in you, then what’s to keep them from suffering something that puts them in the exact same place? It’s the same with a lot of life’s crap. Sickness. People always want to know what you did. If you prayed hard enough. If your body was alkaline, or you ate enough kale. They want to believe that in the end they would have been able to do something. And most of all, they want to believe that somehow you deserve something they don’t. Fact of the matter is I’m not sure any of us deserves to have good or bad things that happen to us. They just happen. So I don’t judge you. In the grand scheme of things, I don’t have a whole lot of reasons to pity you, either.”

McKenna blinked. “My mother abandoned me.”

“I’m sorry about that.” His face stayed that same shade of beautiful neutral it almost always was.

“But you don’t feel sorry for me.”

“If I did, would it change anything?”

She frowned. “It might... Affirm my feelings.”

His brown eyes were unreadable. “You don’t need your feelings affirmed. You just have to decide what you’re going to do.”

“Well, I’m here, so obviously I’ve made some decisions.”

She didn’t like the fact that he had now graduated to lecturing her. In fact, she preferred a little mindless pity over this.

“I speak from experience when I say that people feeling sorry for you doesn’t help you do a damn thing. Especially if they are sorry without offering help.”

“I guess you’re offering help.”

“That’s Wyatt and Lindy. I’m offering to teach you how to ride a horse.”

They approached the barn—one she hadn’t been in before—and walked inside slowly.

It smelled sweet. Dense and dusty, but not entirely unpleasant. She looked around and saw stacks of hay, and could just barely see the tops of a few horses’ heads in the stall.

“What’s the smell?”

“Everything,” he said.

“What does everything mean?”

“Shavings. Hay. Dirt.” He paused and looked back at her, his expression partly shaded by the brim of his cowboy hat. “Horse urine.”

“Well.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a bit... Earthy.”

“Horses are. It’s not a bad smell, though.”

She inhaled, letting it kind of roll over her. “No. I guess it isn’t.”

“You’ve really never been around horses?”

“No. I mostly lived in the suburbs. In around different places in Oregon. Predominantly the Portland area. I guess we went to...pumpkin patches and things? And did hayrides? But it seemed like everything was...cleaner.”

“Probably because it wasn’t a working ranch.”

“Well, okay, probably not. But I always thought it was fun.”

“This will be fun for you, too,” he said.

“Unless I do fall off and break my neck,” she pointed out.

“I won’t let that happen,” he said, his tone firm.

“Are you going to rush to lay a pillow out on the ground if my steed starts to act up?”

His green eyes were unbearably serious when they clashed with hers. “I said I won’t let that happen. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, McKenna.”

“Are you the horse whisperer?” she asked.

“I already told you I don’t make mistakes.”

She couldn’t give him a hard time about that. His tone was so very grave, and mostly, it had nothing to do with his sensibilities and everything to do with the fact that... She just wanted to believe him. Everything in her wanted to believe that Grant Dodge was a unicorn. A good man who did what he said, and who just might keep her from harm. Which made her wince internally, if only a little bit, because if life had taught her anything it was that she had to be her own savior. Not hope that someone else might be. But then, if winding up sleeping in a frost-ridden cabin with nowhere else to go had taught her anything, it was that sometimes someone had to lift you up and help you stand on your feet, or you were going to end up a tragic, modern-day rendition of the Little Match Girl.

Grant walked down to the third stall from the door, and lifted his hand to the bars on the door. A horse came forward, pressing his nose against Grant’s hand. “This is Sunflower,” he said. “She’s going to be your...what did you say? Your steed for the day.”

He unlatched the stall door, grabbing hold of a horse leash, or whatever it was, and lashing it to the thing on her face, leading the large beast out into the main area. His movements were unhurried. Easy.

She was completely glued to his every motion as he prepared the horse for the ride. The horse was beautiful, a light caramel color, all the way down to her hooves, with a white mane and tail. And as for Grant...his hands were large and firm, his muscles working with an ease that she couldn’t help but marvel at.

He did the task with the skill of a person who had done something a thousand times. She realized then that she hadn’t done anything a thousand times ever. Nothing beyond the basics.

She’d never stayed anywhere long enough or had the time or inclination to learn anything like that.

She had a skill for picking things up quickly, because in her life, adaptability had been king. She prized that. But this was...

Grant made putting a saddle on a horse look like art.

Or maybe it was just because he was so gloriously...hot.

He went to another stall, and got another horse out, this one a black, glossy animal with slim legs and a longer nose than Sunflower. And she watched him repeat the process over again, watched as a line pleated the space between his brows, watched his mouth firm as he worked.

He lifted his hat up for a moment and wiped his forearm over his brow, then set the hat on a hook on the wall, leaning forward while he tightened the horse’s saddle. His hair fell into his eyes and she felt overcome with the desire to push it back into place, even more overcome by the desire to run her fingertips over his jaw, over the bristly-looking hair there.

She had known the guy for three days, and she was obsessing over him. She wondered if she was really just that sad. That all it took was a decently good-looking man being nice to her and she was halfway to buying him a rabbit just so she could boil it later.

In fairness to her, he wasn’t just decently good-looking. He was stunning. Like he belonged in a movie and not on a ranch. Except he wasn’t as refined or polished as any of the men in movies.

She wondered if Grant even had any idea of just how good-looking he was.

He didn’t have that cockiness that gorgeous men typically possessed. Hell, she’d known men with much less going for them than Grant Dodge. Men who had swanned around like they were glorious lights of masculinity put on earth to make women swoon.

McKenna was not given to swooning.

Grant didn’t posture. He didn’t swan.

He just was. In all of his glory. And it was a whole hell of a lot of glory.

“What’s his name?” She directed her focus to Grant’s horse.

“He’s a she,” Grant responded.

“Oh, really?” She crouched down slightly, taking a peek beneath the horse’s belly. “I suppose she is.”

Grant shook his head. “Just verifying that I was correct?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I imagine if he were a he it would be pretty apparent. The phrase hung like a horse doesn’t come from nowhere.”

His face did several things right then. His brows pinched together slightly, the corners of his mouth pulling down, before returning to their neutral, flat position all before she comment on any of it.

She smiled, hoping to diffuse whatever tension had just walked its way up his spine and left him standing there stiff.

“I expect it does,” he grunted.

“I would think you know,” she said. “Having been around horses for such a long time.”

“True,” he said. She gave him her best impish grin. Men often found that charming. Many people found it charming. She could be charming when she wanted to be.

He didn’t seem charmed. Instead, he continued to ready his horse in a rather taciturn manner.

“Her name?” she pressed.

“Guinevere,” he said.

“As in... King Arthur?”

“King Arthur. Lancelot. The whole bit.”

“Did you name her?”

“Hell, no,” he said.

She didn’t know why she found that vaguely disappointing. Maybe because it seemed, for a moment, that Grant might have something of a romantic soul. He did not. Apparently.

“Well, what would you have named her?” she pressed. “If given the choice.”

“I don’t know. Something less ridiculous than Guinevere.”

“What’s a nonsilly name for a horse?”

“Jessica?”

She let out a guffaw of laughter. “Jessica. A horse named... Jessica?”

“It’s a sensible name, McKenna,” he pointed out, his tone deadpan.

“Why did you say it like that?” she asked through a gasp of laughter.

“Why did I say what like what?”

“McKenna. You said it as if Jessica is sensible, while McKenna is firmly in the same column as Guinevere, which you do not find sensible.”

He lifted a shoulder. “It’s a weird name.”

“Okay. Grant.”

He took his hat off the hook. Then he ran his hand over his head, sweeping his hair back before putting it in place. She was sad she wasn’t the one to do it. “Grant is a normal name.”

“Sure. I guess if you’re a film star from the 1920s.”

“I take it that’s a reference to Cary Grant. And he was not a star in the twenties.”

She lifted her hands, simulating surrender. “Fine. Grant is a sensible name. McKenna is King Arthur levels of silliness. I would lecture my mother about it but I don’t know where she is.”

“Mine’s dead. So I can’t exactly scold her for mine, either.”

Her stomach hollowed out. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I mean, I didn’t say that because I was trying to one-up you. Actually, I think your situation might be worse. My mom didn’t choose to leave.”

“No,” McKenna said. “I guess not. We can just agree it sucks. No one has to out-suck the other.”

One side of his mouth lifted. “Is that so? That’s not my experience with hard knocks. Typically, people want theirs to out-hard yours.”

“People with terrible lives so rarely have chances to go on and compete in the actual Olympics. Training is expensive, and all that. The Life Sucks Olympics is basically the best we’ve got. So, it’s understandable in some ways.”

He snorted. “I’ll share the gold-medal podium with you.”

“No,” she responded. “The gold medal is mine, Grant Dodge. You were not sleeping curled up on the hardwood floor a few days ago.”

“Fair play,” he relented. “I’ll take silver.”

“Silver would also be a nonsilly name for a horse, I imagine.”

“Not a black horse.”

She shrugged.

Grant took both horses by the reins and began to lead them out of the barn. She followed closely, watching as he walked between the two large beasts. He led them with no effort, without a single concern. It captivated her. The animals were huge, and they made her feel uncomfortable. Grant was guiding them around like they weighed nothing, like they were an extension of his own body.

The horses had to know that they were stronger than him. They had to. But they seemed happy to follow where he led.

When they got outside he put the reins into position, and gestured to Sunflower. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to help you get on, all right. You come up beside her and put your hand on her.”

McKenna froze. She wasn’t scared of much. Honestly, when you lived with the threat of hunger, possible rape and inevitable homelessness hanging over your head, it was tough to be too scared of the average, everyday nonsense in the world. But for some reason the big-ass horse scared her.

Grant reached out, wrapping his fingers around her wrist, and lightning scorched her. All the way down to her toes. If there were blackened footmarks beneath her shoes, she wouldn’t be surprised.

His green eyes were steady, giving no indication that he felt the same heat that she did.

He drew her closer to the horse. “I’m right here with you,” he said, his voice steady. “Remember I said nothing was going to happen to you.”

Calm washed through her, interspersed with crackles of lightning. A storm of epic proportions raging inside her.

He guided her as she pressed her palm flat against the horse. One of the horse’s muscles jumped beneath her touch, and McKenna nearly jerked her hand back, but Grant held her steady. Her heart was racing hard, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the feel of his hand, wrapped so tightly around her wrist, the touch of his calloused, bare skin against hers or because she was standing in front of a giant animal.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said.

She realized that he would be able to feel her pulse, pounding in her wrist, the way that he was holding on to her.

She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Now what I want you to do is put your left foot in the stirrup.”

“My left foot?”

“Yes.”

“It seems backward.”

“No. Backward is what you’ll be if you don’t follow my instructions. Now. Lift your left foot and put it firmly into the stirrup.”

She followed that direction. And he was still holding on to her wrist.

“Now reach up,” he said. “Grab hold of the horn.”

“I assume that’s the knob on the saddle?”

“You assume correct. Now grab hold of that and hang on to it.”

“Okay,” she said, extricating herself from his hold, and grabbing the horn of the saddle with both hands. “Now what?”

“Heft yourself up there.”

“Heft myself.”

“Yes,” he said. “Heft yourself.”

“I, sir, have never hefted myself in my life.”

“Better get started if you want to go for a ride.”

She lifted, using the muscles in her leg, and her arms, finding it surprisingly easy, and a little bit faster than she anticipated.

“Swing your leg up over her,” he guided. “That’s a girl.”

And then she found herself seated on the back of the horse, perilously high off the ground.