Summer at Mustang Ridge by Jesse Hayworth Page B

to pick her battles.”
    “She’s not a pet,” she said, her voice sharper than she’d intended. Blowing out a breath and forcing herself to level off, she added, “Sorry. I’m frustrated with her, which isn’t fair. And maybe I’m a little nervous about riding. It’s been a long time.”
    “I haven’t lost a beginner yet, and I don’t intend to start with Gran’s new favorite assistant.” He gave her an up-and-down. “What are you, maybe a fourteen, fourteen and a half saddle?”
    “I rode in a sixteen as a kid.”
    “English and Western measure different.”
    “Right. Then whatever you think is best.” She followed him into the tack room. “I want a helmet.”
    “Good call, role model and all. Besides, it’s just smart riding.”
    “You don’t wear one.”
    “I do when I’m starting colts or riding hard and fast, but I’ll admit I get lazy when I’m on dude-herding duty.” He dug out one of the bicycle-type helmets and handed it over. “Adjusts in the back. See if that works.” He pulled a saddle off a wall rack, slung a thick saddle pad and another pad over the top of it, and then added a dark leather bridle that gleamed with silver accents and looked far more expensive than the rest. As he headed through the door, he glanced back to say, “Oh, and lose the belt.”
    She followed him out. “Excuse me?”
    He set the saddle down on its horn and patted one lean hip, indicating his empty belt loops. “A real backcountry cowboy stays away from anything that could get caught.”
    “On what?”
    “Branches. Saddles. Cow horns.”
    She shuddered. “I thought I was just doing arena laps today.”
    “The safer you start, the safer you stay. When you’re riding, it’s best not to wear anything that won’t break loose.” He plucked at his shirt. “Snap studs give. Buttons don’t.”
    She suddenly found herself staring at the smooth, tanned skin at his throat, and the way it moved when he swallowed. Her flush had faded, but now it came back with a vengeance and settled in her lower belly, reminding her just how long it had been since she’d done any riding of the more intimate kind, or even seriously wanted to.
    A really, really long time.
    What were they talking about again? Oh, right. Safety. “What about Ty? He wears button shirts and a big, shiny belt.”
    He arched an eyebrow. “You want to be a real cowboy or a TV rodeo wannabe?”
    “Neither.” But she undid her belt and hung it on the wall, stifling a
boom-chicka-wa-wa
she didn’t think either of them could handle. Then she held out her hands and gave a showy twirl. “All set, boss?”
    He didn’t even crack a smile. Just nodded. “All set. Let’s introduce you to your horse and get this show on the road.”
    •   •   •
     
    As Foster led the way to Loco’s stall, he knew he was in big trouble. Heck, he’d known it since this morning, when she was the first thing he thought of. Not Vader, who’d had his paws on the bed and a breakfast-hopeful look in his doggy eyes, or all the stuff he had piling up on his not-really-a-day-off list. Nope, he’d been thinking about a fancy piece of city woman who might be getting along okay at Mustang Ridge, but didn’t belong at a ranch long-term. No way, no how.
    “Down here,” he said over his shoulder. “You’re going to be riding this guy.” He rolled open Loco’s door to reveal the chiseled bay gelding, whose coat had an extra bloom thanks to an early morning groom.
    Her eyes widened. “He’s a rescue?”
    He chuckled. “No. He’s Loco.”
    “Really?”
    “Nope. He’s lazy as a slug.” Actually, the gelding had plenty of get-up-and-go, but he knew how to take it down a few notches for a less experienced rider. Foster could’ve pulled almost any of the horses out of the dude string for the job, but there wasn’t another horse he trusted like he did this one, and he didn’t want anything to go wrong. Granted, you couldn’t guarantee anything when it came