He turned abruptly back to her. “I know I don’t know much about horses, but I’m assuming it usually helps to actually have one in order to learn to ride one.”
Caught staring twice in as many minutes, she felt the heat in her cheeks climb and wondered what it would take to get a grip where this man was concerned. Then he stepped closer and she realized his easy banter wasn’t as easy for him as he was making it sound. Not if the taut lines bracketing both his mouth and his eyes were any indication. That, and the fact that it looked as if the hands he’d shoved into his pockets were balled into fists.
Her smile came more naturally then. Just wait till you find out what class number one consists of. Reclaiming a sorely needed piece of her fickle control, she walked past him without pausing, motioning for him to follow her farther into the building. “This way. I’ll introduce you to your new partner.”
They walked past Bonder, who was still facing the rear corner of his stall, and on past a few of the other horses used for classes, before finally coming to a stop at the next-to-last stall. Still smiling, she turned and gestured toward the chest-high door with a flourish. “Mr. Santiago, meet Petunia. She’s going to be your riding buddy for the duration. I just know you two are going to hit it off.”
Petunia was the oldest horse at Dalton Downs, but far from retirement. Well, kind of far. A year or two, anyway. She was the gentlest mount they had and would pretty much put up with anything. They used her with the frailer kids, as well as the ones with more unpredictable behaviors.
It wasn’t that she thought Rafe needed such an easy mount; she was just, well, being a bit perverse. But he didn’t have to know that. For all he knew, this was standard.
“Petunia? What kind of name is that for a horse?”
“I don’t know—you’d have to take that up with Kate. From what I understand, Petunia belonged to her former college roommate, who was the one who got Kate interested in working with challenged kids. When Marti died, Kate inherited her.” It was a story everyone who’d spent any time with Petunia or Kate knew about. Except, apparently, Rafe. “She’s one of the favorites here.”
He didn’t do much more than glance at the horse. “Why is she still in the stall? Shouldn’t she be saddled and ready? I know your time is valuable—”
“Oh, you won’t be riding her today. First class is always meeting your horse, along with learning grooming, saddling, and the basic maintenance you’ll be responsible for as part of your classes.”
“Is that really necessary? Surely the kids who come to class don’t—”
“Those who can, cherish that part of their time. And believe me when I say, those who can’t wish they could.”
He did have the grace to look properly abashed. “Point taken, and my apologies. It’s just, as a fully functioning adult, I thought perhaps we could just move on to the actual riding part of the program. I don’t plan on buying my own horse, so—”
“Did you just get in a car and drive it the first time you saw one?”
Rafe stared at her for a long second, but said nothing. Finally, he turned his attention to Petunia. Then he frowned and stepped closer. “Is she…sleeping?”
Elena glanced at Petunia, who was, indeed, dozing. Her head was drooping low, and one front fetlock was relaxed and resting against the other. “She’s had a busy day, but trust me, she’s always up for a new adventure.”
Rafe’s expression was dubious at best, but he didn’t comment.
“Today I’m going to teach you how to halter your horse, lead her from her stall, properly cross tie her, and put on the saddle. If all that goes well, I’ll teach you how to mount up and we’ll adjust the stirrups and girth strap so you’ll know how to set them properly for your next class.” Most of which wasn’t necessary, as the barn help would be more than happy to saddle up any mount she requested, especially for one of the Trinity three. Even if he hadn’t been one of the Dalton Downs honchos, she was certain he’d have no problem getting any woman on the property to do pretty much whatever he wanted. But since the man said he wanted to learn to ride, the least he should do is learn to appreciate what he was riding.
“So, you’re saying I have to saddle her every—” He stopped when Elena folded her arms. “Okay, okay.” He looked back at Petunia, clearly not thrilled with this whole endeavor, and Elena wondered again why he was really down here.
“So,” he said, looking from her to the horse. “Where do we begin?”
“First, you talk to her.”
“Talk to her,” Rafe repeated.
“Yep.” He hadn’t minded her being spunky yesterday. She hoped that held true today. “Crazy as it sounds, most people who want to learn to ride these amazing animals, want to do so because they admire them, like them, or just plain want to be around them. This is usually a fun part of the lesson program.”
“Fun.”
She laughed and Petunia twitched her ears, lifted her head, and blinked at them. “Yes,” Elena said. “Fun. Is it that hard to believe horseback riding is fun? Or is fun a foreign concept to you altogether?”
“No, of course not.”
Which, from the look on his face, was blatantly untrue.
“Okay. When was the last time you had fun?” she asked.
“I have fun every day.”
“From what I can tell, you work every day.”
“Exactly. I love my work. It gives me great satisfaction. I enjoy it. Hence, fun.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
He shrugged. “You define it your way, I define it mine.”
“So why are you down here? When you could be having fun working?” She reached out and stroked Petunia’s blaze and nose. The mare bucked her head up a little, nickering in pleasure as she pushed against Elena’s hand. Elena noted that Rafe had flinched when Petunia swung her head up, but held his ground. If anything, he’d looked as if he was going to step between her and the horse. Interesting reaction. And it warmed her a little. Unless he was just hard-wired instinctively to protect those he viewed as weaker than himself.
They’d see about that.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked.
He shifted his gaze to her. “Why ask permission now?”
She smiled at that. At least he was learning that demure and retiring wasn’t exactly her style. Best he understand that early on. “Are you sure you’re not doing this on some kind of dare from your partners?” It was the only explanation she’d come up with in the past few days. He didn’t seem any more enthusiastic today than he had when he’d asked—demanded, really—that she give him lessons. “No offense intended,” she added quickly. “I know how guys can be. I’ve worked around them my whole life.”
“And how is that?”
“I worked with my father growing up—he trained show horses, then branched out into a field that also happened to be dominated by men. Not by choice, that part, it just happens to be the way the racing world is. I guess not many women take after the thundering thoroughbred types, preferring the show ring to the racetrack.”
“I meant, how is it that you think men act? But, regarding the thundering thing, women ride horses, too, right? Professionally, I mean. I see them in the Olympics and—”
“Steeplechase and show jumping is hardly the same thing.”
“I know, but it’s still thundering, of sorts.”
“It is, but that field is male-dominant, too. I suppose that women like me, those who enjoy the thundering aspect, as you put it, would lean more toward those routes. They’re more acceptable, for one, and available through established channels. There’s also barrel racing and the whole western rodeo aspect of that type of racing as well.”
Rafe glanced at Petunia, then reached out and stroked the side of her neck. For someone who didn’t seem particularly interested in getting up close and personal with his horse, she was pleased to see that his touch was confident, almost casual, as if he’d done it a thousand times before. Petunia leaned a bit closer t
o him.
Maybe he was just good with anything female, Elena thought, and found herself looking at his hands. They looked strong, with wide palms, solid, long fingers, and she found herself abstractedly wondering what they’d feel like stroking the length of her—
“So why don’t you race?” Rafe asked, intruding into her reverie and thankfully pulling her back to the moment literally at hand.
“What? Oh, me, race?” She shook her head. “No. I enjoy riding, but I’m too big to be a jockey. Not that I really wanted to be one, anyway. I enjoy working with the horses themselves. All animals, really.” She smiled. “I thought about being a vet when I was little, but it turns out I don’t do too well with the sight of blood.”
His lips curved just a little and, too late, she remembered that part about his charm being more lethal when he was amused. “That would certainly put a damper on things.”
“Pretty much. One of the farms I spent time on as a child was run by a woman who did all kinds of rescue work with animals. She was amazing. And I thought that’s what I wanted to do when I grew up, heal wounded animals. Turns out the wounded part was a little hard for me. I ended up following my dad’s footsteps more instead.”
“You said he was a show-horse trainer.”
“He was. A very good one, in fact. He worked hard to build his reputation, but we moved around a lot as a consequence of his popularity.”
“What about your mother? Did she work with horses as well?”
“Not at all. In fact, she didn’t even ride.” When Rafe lifted his eyebrows, she explained further. “My mother and father met on one of the farms where he worked. He trained the horses, she worked in the main house as a housekeeper.” She held his gaze steadily now. She was quite proud of her parents, but not everybody who heard their story reacted the same way.
“My mother worked as a maid in a hotel in New York City. Amongst other things,” Rafe responded.
Apparently her surprise showed on her face, because his resulting hint of a smile was sardonic at best. “Why are you surprised?”
“I don’t know. I guess I wouldn’t have pegged you as being from a blue-collar background.” Which wasn’t entirely true. She’d noted before that for all his casual elegance, there was something edgy about him that spoke of a life not completely without challenges. She just wasn’t sure what those challenges had been. “And given that I, of all people, should know better, that was horribly hypocritical of me. I’m sorry.” Her smile was more than a little abashed. “My mother would have had such a lecture for me right now.”
He did smile then, and it wasn’t any less powerful this time around than it had been in the barn the other day. His entire aura changed when he did that. He looked like someone who not only understood the concept of fun, but would enjoy getting you into trouble when he had it.
“I’ve received that same lecture more than once,” he said.
He was already sorely testing her sense of balance. Their chance bond was as unexpected as it was unwanted. At least on her end. She didn’t mind him being more approachable, but she could ill afford to let herself become any more attracted to him. For one thing, she hadn’t yet determined if he was friend or foe. But even if it was the former, she couldn’t risk it. Letting anyone get close right now would be a major risk. Besides, her time here was limited, so what was the point? All she had to do was resist temptation. Very potent temptation.
Putting Springer at the very forefront of her mind, she worked to keep the conversation cordial, but professional. “I guess I had that reaction because you seem so…refined.” She gestured to his clothes. “Even in khakis and a polo shirt you look more dapper than most men would in a tailored suit.”
That got a choked laugh from him. It wasn’t exactly a joyful sound, but it was nice to know he had it in him.
“Dapper. That’s rather…stuffy, isn’t it?”
She merely raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not remotely stuffy,” he protested, but she could see the wheels turning, analyzing, wondering. As if no one had ever mentioned that to him before. She had a hard time believing that.
“Maybe stuffy isn’t the right word,” she said. Guarded, she decided, was closer to it, but thought better than to say it out loud. “So, it looks like neither one of us was born with the silver spoon.” She glanced down at her own battered overalls and boots and brushed at the ever-present mud and dirt that caked the front of her pants. “One of us just looks more the part than the other,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. “So, what about your father? What did he do?”
“No idea. Never met the man.”
“Oh.” And maybe her heart tilted just a tiny bit. It was only natural, she told herself. She was a sucker for all things orphaned or in need. Not that he was either of those things, but still, she couldn’t imagine a life without the strength and wisdom both her parents had given her. “I’m sorry for that.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Don’t be. My mother is a hell of a woman. I think she did okay by me.”
Elena couldn’t help but think so, too. As much as she wanted to distrust this man and keep her distance, he wasn’t making it easy. She hadn’t expected to have anything in common with him, and she still felt they were diametric opposites, probably in more ways than not. She hadn’t gotten all that far away from her roots, whereas, while he might have had a rough beginning, he’d certainly gone a long way toward polishing off any rough edges from his upbringing. He was downright burnished, in fact. “I’m sure she’s very proud of you. With good reason.”
“We all have our lives,” he said. “All paths lead somewhere. Mine hasn’t turned out so bad.”
All paths lead somewhere. Elena couldn’t help but wonder about her own, and wished she could say the same. “Where is your mom now?”
“Florida. She’s retired, although someone needs to tell her that. Woman volunteers more hours a week than most people put in at a paying job.”
That last part sounded familiar. “Maybe that’s her way of relaxing. My mother was happiest when taking care of others, no matter what my dad and I said.”
“You two would get along famously,” he said dryly. “She’s worked so hard her whole life, she should be out playing golf or something now.”
Elena laughed. “I couldn’t imagine my mother on a golf course. My dad could have probably gotten her out there, though.”
“Where are they now?”
“Gone. Car accident, almost nine years ago now, during a freak ice storm.”
“I’m very sorry,” he said, quite sincerely. For all his dark intensity, he had a very warm, soothing tone to his voice. It made a person want to lean closer.
She nodded and shifted away. It was an easier physical shift than the mental one she really needed to make. “Thank you. I am, too. I miss them very much.” She put on a smile. “Well, I suppose we should get on with the lesson, huh?”
Thankfully, he didn’t press any further. It was going to be difficult enough being around him and keeping her guard up. The less they shared the better. It was just…a lot harder than she’d expected it would be. In less than twenty minutes, he’d already learned more about her than the people she worked next to all day, and had for the past two months.
She turned back to the horse. “Continue to stroke her neck,” she instructed. “Talk to her. Get her used to your touch, your smell, the sound of your voice. It’s important that you not only trust her, but that she trusts you.”
Of course, Petunia wouldn’t really care if Rafe were the demon saint from hell. She was notoriously easygoing, but Rafe didn’t know that, and regardless, it was good procedure.
Sensing that Rafe wasn’t completely comfortable with the whole meet-and-greet routine, much less in front of her, she said, “I’m going to the tack room to get a few things. You two continue to get to know each other.” She didn’t wait for him to respond, but ducked back down the row of stalls to the tack room located in the center of the two-aisle building, along
with her small office.
She already had the things laid out in the parallel aisle and grabbed the halter and lead rope from where they lay next to the western saddle and saddle pad she’d slung over the bench rest. She could have just as easily set up the gear in their aisle, but she wanted him to have the experience of leading the horse, however briefly, before saddling her for the first time.
She walked back through to the other side, but paused at the corner between the tack room and the aisle where Rafe stood at Petunia’s stall door, and watched the two get acquainted.
As she suspected, without her presence, he was less guarded. Earlier, when he’d stroked Petunia’s neck, his touch was very natural. She suspected he liked animals well enough, but maybe he just hadn’t been around one this size before. At least, not up close and personal. Or maybe he was just a tactile sort, and touching came naturally to him, she mused. She cursed the thought when her gaze drifted to his hands, presently stroking along Petunia’s neck, and her body reacted to the renewed image of what those wide palms would feel like stroking her.
Petunia moved forward a bit more, lowered her head, and nuzzled his shoulder, bumping him a little with her nose. A definite sign of affection from the old mare. Of course, Rafe was probably used to females asking for more attention. She should have gotten him a gelding instead.
What, you’re jealous of an old horse now? She shrugged off the notion as ridiculous, which it totally was, and stepped into the aisleway. What did she care what kind of relationships Rafe had with the opposite sex? She was his riding instructor, nothing more, nothing less. Nothing less was all she could afford to be. That more part would only get her in trouble.
And she was in enough trouble already.
Chapter 5
Rafe had never touched a horse before. The closest he’d ever come to being near one was on the opposite side of the paddock fence. He’d always been perfectly okay with that.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like animals, he did. Small animals. Smaller than he was, anyway. He stared at Petunia, who was looking at him with soulful brown eyes from behind ridiculously long eyelashes. “You look innocent enough,” he said quietly, “but I’ve met plenty of women who looked equally innocent, only to bounce me on my ass at the first turn.”
The Black Sheep and the Hidden Beauty Page 5