by Liza Kendall
“Sorry,” Jules said quickly.
“You didn’t say anything wrong.” He glanced wryly at the dirty claw marks in the seat leather beside her. “But I have a question for you: Who’s going to give Beast a home?”
“Well,” she said, stalling. It was clear that she hadn’t even thought about it.
“Well?”
“Maybe Grady . . .”
“Don’t they already have a dog at the firehouse?”
“Maybe my parents—oh no.”
“Is there a shelter in town?”
“Not officially, no.”
He waited for what he knew was coming next.
“So maybe I could, um, keep her out at the stables?”
Rhett sighed. “Just please, train her not to eat me—or any small children. The teenagers are fair game, though.” He winked. “Meet you at the stables in a few?”
“Yep. Just grabbing a couple of things at the store. My first lesson is coming up.”
“I’ll be in the office,” Rhett said, heading back to Scarlett.
“Hey, Rhett!” she called.
He turned.
“You’re not half-bad sometimes.” Jules gave him a blinding smile. “Too bad about the other half!”
Rhett snorted, shook his head, and got into his trashed car.
No.
He was not falling for Julianna Holt, Grady’s Little Sister. Not happening.
After all, he was a genius, not an idiot.
Everybody said so.
Chapter 12
Rhett sat in the tack room at the desk and made quick work of catching up on some lingering Dallas responsibilities. He found himself eager to finish and get out to the riding ring. He remembered the pull of the ring from his teen rodeo days. He could hardly ever wait his turn with the barrels, or to try a few rope tricks.
The mental math of his finance job was enjoyable in its way; he’d always liked puzzles. But the feeling of solving a math problem or even making a multimillion-dollar deal couldn’t compare to the pull of this life. He still felt it. He’d probably always feel it. It just wasn’t his path anymore. He glanced at his watch and realized that Jules would probably be out in the riding ring by now, working with the kids.
He cast a wry look down at his ruined shoes and figured a little sand in them wasn’t going to hurt any more than it helped. Next week, he’d go buy a pair of western boots from Sue. For today—screw it.
He wandered out to the ring, avoiding a pile of horse apples. He grinned, thinking back to the horse manure fights he and his brothers had gotten into. Absolutely disgusting, but the spice of life to preteen boys at the time. Especially when he and Ace ambushed Declan unawares. Ha!
Nobody would believe it of him now: that polished, urbane, wealthy Rhett had ever sullied his hands with horse manure. But he hadn’t been too good to get his hands dirty back then—and he still wasn’t.
Rhett leaned his elbows on the top rung of the riding ring. Jules looked radiant. She’d clearly showered, since her hair was wet and hung down over her shoulders, dripping onto the clean black sweatshirt she wore. In white block letters, it said: LIFE IS SOUP, AND I’M A FORK. He watched Jules patiently calm the little pigtailed girl on Blossom, who’d gotten spooked and burst into tears when her mount began to trot. Jules walked over to meet horse and rider, took hold of Blossom’s bridle, and brought her to a halt.
“If you squeeze her with your legs, sweetie,” Jules explained, “or if you kick her in the sides like that, she thinks you want her to go faster. So just sit calmly and feel her rhythm, her gait, through your seat. Sway to the way she walks, okay? Keep your lower back loose, and sway to and fro with her. Communicate with her through your body language: your seat, your legs, and your hands. Make sure not to pop her in the mouth. If you yank on the reins like that, the bit hits her, and she hates that. So be gentle.”
The little girl nodded.
“She’s also very smart emotionally. When she senses that you’re upset, she may get upset, too. So let’s dry those tears, honey.”
Little Pigtails mopped at her eyes with her sleeve.
“Awesome! See, Blossom is happier already. She likes you. She wants you to have fun. She knows you are gonna be a fantastic rider!”
Rhett’s heart melted like an ice cream cone. Really, it was sort of disgusting . . .
And it got worse as Jules approached Frost and made sure the kid on him was okay.
Look at him, the former trickster imp Appaloosa, patiently plodding along with a little boy on his back. As if he knew he carried precious cargo. He was attuned to the fact that the kid didn’t know what he was doing up there. But Frost wasn’t taking advantage of it, as some horses would.
Huh. Frost had sure tried to take advantage of Rhett, back in the day. He’d bucked him off, tried to scrape him off on a tree, and taken the bit between his teeth and galloped hell-for-leather with a twelve-year-old Rhett clinging like a burr to his saddle.
Finally, foaming at the mouth, steaming and wet from sweat, Frost had run out of gas and had gloomily allowed himself to be steered back to the barn.
Rhett himself had gotten a round of applause. He had a bruised and muddy backside, mesquite needles in his hair, a busted-up knee. But he’d stayed on and eventually gotten the horse under control. His first triumph of many to come. And Declan had given him a thumbs-up, awarding him respect on that long-ago day.
How times had changed.
Rhett gazed at the little coal-haired boy on Frost and envied him. He longed to feel that pure joy in his eyes, the sense of adventure and possibility that radiated off him in waves. He coveted his uncomplicated innocence and the assurance of his family’s love.
What he’d give to be that kid again, to not know the heartbreak and loneliness that was heading his way. To not understand that life involved more than Tonka trucks and Tinkertoys, wrestling with brothers, or tormenting little sisters.
“Yah!” said the little kid on Frost. “Giddyup!”
Frost’s ears pricked up, and he picked up speed, breaking cautiously into a trot.
“Yee-haw!” whooped the kid.
“Carlos, I need you to just walk for now, all right?” Jules called.
“But I wanna go faster,” the kid whined. “Walking is boring.”
“Stay with the class. We’ll go faster once everyone is ready to do that, okay?”
Carlos pouted and pulled back hard on the reins, popping poor Frost in the mouth.
Rhett winced.
Frost stopped completely.
Carlos kicked him in the sides.
Frost leaped forward.
Carlos yelled, “Whoa!” and teetered in the saddle, hauling back on the reins again.
Poor Frost. He rolled his eyes and tossed his head, but slowed to a walk.
“Hey, kiddo,” Rhett called. “Let me show you something.”
Jules looked up and frowned, but she was busy with another kid on Shiner.
Rhett walked into the ring and approached Frost and Carlos. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Rhett. Frost used to be my horse, when I was just a little older than you.”
“You’re super old now,” Carlos informed him.
Rhett blinked. “Well, yes. That’s true. How old are you?”
“Seven.”
“I’m four times as old as you are.”
“Close to dead!”
Rhett coughed. “Well, I hope not. Anyway, let me show you how to hold the reins. Right now you’ve got one in each hand, like a rope. And what you want, since you’re riding western, is to take them both in one hand, like this . . . good. Now, the other thing you should remember is that the reins are not something to hold on to to keep you on the horse. They are only a way to communicate with the horse. What holds you on is your own balance, in your heels and in your seat. If you have to
, it’s okay to grab your saddle horn. But you don’t hang on to the reins like they’re some kind of climbing harness, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Frost wants to help you be a good rider, but it totally confuses him if you tell him to giddyup and then you yank back so hard on the reins . . .”
Once he was satisfied that Carlos understood, Rhett patted Frost’s neck, dropped a quick kiss on his muzzle, and went back to the sidelines.
Frost seemed grateful. And he also seemed to enjoy having a kid on his back again.
He was part of something, part of the evolution of a new generation of riders and horse lovers.
Rhett felt an ache growing in his chest. Had the old boy been bored, out at Silverlake with nothing to do? Had Declan seen that? Perhaps realized that he could have a better life and more regular exercise here at the Holt place? A purpose?
Rhett kicked idly at one of the posts that anchored the riding ring. Was he a jackass who’d misjudged his brother out of some misguided, territorial impulse?
Oh hell. Probably.
He didn’t much like thinking about it.
So he focused on Jules again. At how patient and kind and understanding she was with these little kids . . . teaching them to love and communicate with the horses. To conquer their fears and grow in confidence and skill. She had a gift for teaching. A gift for training.
As he stood there admiring her—and, okay, covertly checking out her backside—she suddenly bent, braced her hands on her knees, and took several shallow breaths.
“Jules? You okay?” he called.
She shook her head. Then she straightened and sprinted for the barn. “I need you to hold the fort for a minute!” she called over her shoulder. “Need a break.”
Rhett looked around the ring at the four tiny Tater-Tots perched high on horseback. He smiled reassuringly, even though he was completely out of his element. “You’re all doing just great,” he said.
“I want Miss Jules,” Pigtails whined.
“I’m scared,” said another little girl with a short blond mess of curls.
“I want to gallop like the Lone Ranger!” Carlos whooped.
“I have to pee, real bad,” said the last kid, clutching himself.
“Uh . . .” Rhett was at a loss. “Miss Jules will be back soon,” he promised them. “There’s no need to be scared. We are not doing any galloping, so don’t even think about it. And no cowboy pees in his saddle, got it? It’s just not done. So man up and hold your water, son. Because I think Miss Jules is in the restroom.”
“Yessir,” said the would-be little pisser. “But I could go behind a tree?”
“Keep your pants on and stay on your horse till Miss Jules gets back, señor. Got it? Won’t be long.”
“I’m hungry,” Pigtails informed him next.
“Uh . . . well, Miss Jules has apples and carrots in her fanny pack.” And probably Lunchables in the mini fridge in the tack room. “So hold your horses.” Literally.
This was going okay. Fine, really. He could handle this.
Then Blossom got too close to Shiner, who swished his tail into her face.
Annoyed, Blossom reached out and nipped Shiner’s hindquarter.
Shiner kicked out at her; Blossom sidestepped, tossing her head, and her rider shrieked in alarm. This in turn spooked Blossom, who bolted with a wailing Pigtails on her back.
Rhett vaulted clean over the railing of the ring and intercepted her.
“Hey! No fair. She got to gallop!” Carlos shouted.
“Don’t even think about it,” Rhett warned him as he caught hold of Blossom’s bridle and brought her to a halt. “Hey, sweetheart,” he crooned to Pigtails. “You’re fine. You’re just fine. You just had yourself a little adventure, okay?”
“Whaaaaaaah! I want my mommy . . .” Tears mixed with snot trailed down her chubby little cheeks. “I want Miss Jules . . .”
“Okay, darlin’, okay.” He hesitated. “Here, why don’t you just come down from there. I’ve got you—see? Right under the arms.”
And just like that, Rhett had a little girl cradled to his chest, her head tucked under his chin. It was awkward. It was terrifying. And it was oh-so sweet. She smelled of Johnson’s baby shampoo and watermelon Jolly Ranchers.
Blossom nuzzled her gently, as if to say she was sorry for scaring her.
That made her scream louder, so Rhett did his best to calm her down. “Blossom just wanted to give you a kiss, honey. She’s not scary. She’s just tall. And she didn’t know what to do when you screamed like that—so she took off running. But everything’s okay now. We’re all friends. See?”
“I don’ wanna be friends,” Pigtails howled. “I want my mommy!”
“What is going on here?” Jules called, coming back through the gate.
“Just havin’ our own little rodeo,” Rhett said, behaving as if he held little girls in his arms every day.
Jules’s eyes softened as she took in the scenario. “Oh . . . you look almost comfortable with her.”
“Sure, sure.” Rhett fought a completely irrational urge to set down the little girl and take Jules in his arms instead. When she looked at him like that, he felt like a superhero. “Everything’s fine, except we need a mommy for this one and food for that one and a restroom for . . .” He cast a questioning glance at Pee Wee.
“Justin,” the kid supplied. “I gotta pee, Miss Jules!”
She nodded. “All right.” She cast a sidelong glance at Rhett. “I don’t suppose you could take Justin to the bathroom, while I talk to Abby, here? Abby, we don’t need to call your mommy . . . she’s coming in ten minutes anyway. Listen to me: You’re a brave girl, and you’re just fine.”
So Pigtails was Abby.
Rhett hesitated. “I—uh, I don’t have much experience with this.”
“I know how,” Justin said, offended. “And I don’t need anyone to take me, Miss Jules. I know where it is.”
“Yes, but we have a policy out here. No unaccompanied minors anywhere on the property. Sorry.”
Rhett nodded. “Okay, kid, let’s go.” He swung him down from the saddle and handed the horse’s reins to Jules. “You all right?”
She shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe something didn’t agree with me.” She added quietly, “Or maybe it’s just that I keep thinking about my dad. I don’t know.”
Rhett frowned. She looked jittery and anxious. Of course she was worried about her dad. Thanks to the Silverlake grapevine, Rhett knew Billy had made two trips to MD Anderson for consults in just the short time he’d been in town. Again, Rhett fought the urge to put his arms around her; to smooth her hair back from her forehead, and make her feel better.
He did none of those things. But he did drop a quick kiss on her forehead, which appeared to stun her. “It’s all going to be okay, Jules. Your dad’s going to be okay.”
* * *
Jules finished the lesson, helped the kids lead their horses back to the barn and remove the saddles and bridles. She babysat them, essentially, until their parents came to pick them up. The sun was already going down.
When Rhett appeared out of the blue to help her groom the horses, she had mixed feelings. There he was, in her space again. Taking up too much oxygen. Doing things like easing her mind about Dad and then kissing her on the forehead, which was a complete and total invasion of personal space . . . besides which, it wasn’t where she wanted him to kiss her.
Wait. That was a disturbing thought.
She didn’t want Rhett to kiss her at all. Not even a little bit. Not on the forehead, not even on the rubber toe of her boot! Rhett could kiss her ass. That’s what he could kiss . . .
Oh, but he’d been so completely disconcerted and adorable with little Abby this afternoon. Holding her in his arms and soothing her. And he’d taken Justin to the bathroom, even though he’d been
uncomfortable and out of his element. And he loved Frost. That was clear.
Jules swallowed. She had to come clean with him about Frost. That the old rodeo horse had some health issues.
Rhett was in Frost’s stall, brushing him from head to toe until his coat shone in the last bit of waning sunlight coming through the window. He was, in fact, giving him a special back-and-hind-end scratch by rotating the brush in circles. Frost bobbed his head up and down in appreciation and shifted the weight between his back legs to guide the brush where he enjoyed it most.
Gone were the fancy watch, the designer sunglasses, the cuff links. Rhett looked like any normal guy, standing there in old cross-trainers and Levi’s, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows. There was a look of peace and contentment on his face, mirrored in Frost’s.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Doing my job?”
He glanced at her over Frost’s haunches. “You mind?”
She shook her head. Then, provocatively, she said, “You know, Rhett, we can hire that done.”
He laughed. “Touché, Jules.”
She stood there and watched them: man and horse. So elemental. Change the contemporary clothing and they could be in any century at all . . . before the advent of the automobile. How long had human beings and horses taken care of each other? And now, in the twenty-first century, so many people barely even encountered a horse.
Rhett and Frost had been quite a team back in the day. And they clearly still were. The affection between the two was palpable. As she stood there, Frost turned his head and pushed his nose under Rhett’s arm.
A lump rose in her throat. “I’ve been meaning to . . . trying to . . . find a way to tell you this. But—”
Rhett’s hand stilled, brush and all. “He’s not well, is he?”
She shook her head.
Silence.
“It’s part of why Declan wanted me to take him. He wanted him to have more personal attention, Rhett. More affection. We’ve been keeping him active, which is good for him. He likes the kids. He likes having something to do, and . . .”