“Not yet. You have to show me you can trust me first.” He swung over the fence and was at Sam’s side a moment later, removing his work gloves.
“You ready for—” He stopped and took a closer look at Sam then lifted the end of her ponytail and fingered the curls, sending a rippling sensation down her back. Sam steeled herself for what was to come. But instead of the expected snarky remark, he dropped her hair and looked into her eyes. “I can see you’re serious about that bucket list.”
“I am,” she said, though she planned to replace Ride a bull with Win a stuffed giraffe at the county fair.
“In that case, let’s get you on a horse.”
He started for the barn, and Sam had to speed-walk to keep up. “Really? That’s it? No jokes about me looking like I’m trying to pass for NYU’s mascot?”
“I’m pretty sure NYU already has a mascot.”
They entered the barn, and strong odors of leather, hay, and manure permeated everything. Kajsa was scooping up hay with a pitchfork and transferring it to the last stall on the left, while a medium-sized chestnut horse occupied the first stall on the right.
Colton grabbed a bridle hanging from a peg on the wall. “What do you think, Kaj? Will Samantha do all right with Nutmeg?”
Kajsa rested her cheek against the handle of the pitchfork and considered the question. “Yeah, I think Nutmeg’s a good choice,” she said before returning to her work.
“I agree.” Colton flashed a grin and lowered his voice so only Sam could hear. “I love that girl.”
For a brief moment, Sam wished she was a cowgirl at heart instead of just dressed like one.
“Hey, you got boots too.” Colton nodded at her new footwear.
“If I’m going to learn to ride a horse, I’m going to do it right.”
“Are you going to invest in chaps too, for when you ride that bull?”
“Chaps, gargantuan belt buckle, spurs, you name it,” said Sam. “I never do anything halfway.”
The sound of his chuckle echoed off the walls of the barn, filling the space with richness and depth. It made her wonder what a full-blown laugh would sound like. Probably really good. The kind of laugh that would make people stop, stare, and hope for more.
Sam mentally added another item to her bucket list: Make Colton really laugh.
“Have you ever ridden a bull?” she asked as he fitted the bridle on Nutmeg.
“Once.” He led the horse from the stall and handed the reins to Sam. “Hold her steady while I get her saddled.”
It was a little unnerving standing in front of an animal with a mass at least three times her size, but Sam forced her fingers to tighten around the straps as she tried not to tense or show fear. Nutmeg shuffled his hooves, and Sam shuffled her boots.
“Is Nutmeg a he or a she?” Sam asked.
“She’s Maverick’s girlfriend.” Colton yanked on a strap, tightening it around the belly of the beast. “Maverick’s my horse.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard all about him from Kajsa.” Sam lowered her voice. “She idolizes both of you, and frankly I’m a little jealous. I feel like I’ve been replaced.”
Colton finished tying off the strap before he dropped the stirrup. “Trust me when I say that you are still number one in her eyes. I could never compete with How to Host a Murder parties, tie-dying t-shirts to look like rainbows, or making water rockets.” He gave Nutmeg a quick rub on the neck. “Yesterday, when my mom said we feel like we already know you, it’s because we kind of do. Between Kajsa and the rest of her family, I’ve lost count with how many times your name pops up in conversations. Kajsa may love horses, but she adores you.”
As Colton spoke, a warmth radiated from Sam’s chest through the rest of her body, making her feel like one of those Glo Worms she used to sleep with as a kid. Sam knew she could never compete with Colton or Maverick or horses in general, but maybe she didn’t have to. Maybe it was like one of those delicious, layered desserts. Kajsa’s family was the crust that held everything together, this ranch was the yummy pudding layer, and Sam the fluffy whipped cream on top. And that was okay. Everyone’s life was layered. It was in the combining of the individual layers that turned a tasty life into something decadent.
Sam held out the reins, hoping Colton would take them back, which he did. “You said you rode a bull once. What’s the story there?”
He cracked a smile as he led the horse from the barn. “It was an amateur rodeo, and some of my friends who’d signed up for bull riding pressured me into doing the same. My parents thought I’d lost my marbles, but what teenaged kid listens to his parents, right? I mean, that wouldn’t be cool, and a certain girl I wanted to impress was planning to be there. So I signed up, cinched my hand to the back of a bull named Dominator, and made it two seconds before I was thrown against a fence. I managed to break both arms, and for six weeks, my right arm was in a full cast, from my shoulder to my hand, and my left from my elbow to my hand. It didn’t take long for the coolness factor to wear off and for me to come to my senses. And the nurse who helped fix me up was a man.”
Sam laughed. “But you still train horses, and I’m guessing you get bucked off a lot doing that.”
“I do, and I’ve gotten a few more broken bones in the process. But it’s different when you’re doing something dangerous for a positive outcome instead of for sport. There’s nothing more rewarding than gaining a horse’s trust, figuring him out, and teaching his owner to do the same. In my world, a horse that can’t be trained is ultimately a dead horse, so I do everything in my power to keep that from happening. And when I win, which I usually do, it feels pretty great.”
As Colton led Nutmeg through a gate and into a large pasture, Sam thought about what he’d said and wondered even more about layers and people. What made Colton Colton? He was handsome and grinned more times than he didn’t, but he was also nosy and snarky, with a confidence bordering on cockiness. And yet he’d taken a little girl under his wing, adopted a wild mustang to save it from a sad fate, and offered a few riding lessons so a girl could cross something off her bucket list.
Like most people, Colton was layered. But when all those layers came together, was he more like a rainbow Jello salad that looked better than it tasted, or was he more like a luscious berry trifle with color and flavor and a taste that made Sam’s mouth water just thinking about it?
Yesterday, Sam wasn’t sure she wanted to come back to the McCoy ranch, but now she wanted to stay, learn, and uncover all the layers of all the people in the McCoy family—especially Colton.
“Hold your hand under her nose like this so she can get used to your smell,” Colton said, showing her what he meant.
Sam did as he asked, praying Nutmeg wouldn’t open that large mouth and chomp down on her fingers. But the horse only sniffed and brushed her surprisingly soft nostrils against the back of Sam’s hand.
“Now rub her gently right here and say something nice,” Colton said in Sam’s ear, guiding her hand to Nutmeg’s neck. A flurry of warmth and chills flooded up her arm and into her body, making her want to lean into Colton. Did he really expect her to say something intelligent to a horse when all she could think about was his breath on her neck or his hand touching hers?
“Say, ‘Hi, Nutmeg,’” Colton coached when Sam didn’t say anything.
More chills. More warmth. “Hi, Nutmeg.”
“My name’s Samantha.”
“My name’s Sam.”
“When I ride you,” he continued.
“When I ride you,” came her echo.
“I want you to run faster than you’ve ever run before.”
“I want you to—whoa, what?” Sam pulled her hand free and backed away from Colton in an attempt to unfog her brain. “What kind of sorry excuse for a teacher are you? I don’t want Nutmeg to run. I want her to walk. Slowly. Like a turtle.”
And then it came. His real laugh. A hearty sound that stretched across the field, over the hills, and into the valleys, filling, spreading, e
ncompassing until it had wrapped around her in a tight embrace as though saying, I think you’re something special.
It was a silly way to feel because he was laughing at her, not with her. People didn’t laugh at special things. They laughed at silly, ignorant, foolish things.
“All right, Nutmeg. You heard the lady. Let’s take it slow.” He chuckled again and interlaced his fingers to create a make-shift step then nodded toward the saddle. “Up you go.”
“What, now? Already?” Sam glanced around the pasture. Several unleashed horses grazed in the distance with no fence or natural barrier between her and them. At any moment, they could stop eating and decide to play a game of tag with Nutmeg. Was Colton really planning to teach her here?
Apparently so. Apparently he was a jump-in-with-both-feet type of teacher.
“But I don’t even know how to control her.” No way would Sam sit on any horse, even one as sweet as Nutmeg seemed, without a crash course in how to use the reins.
“You don’t control a horse. You work with her.”
“And how do I do that?”
“I’ll show you. Once you’re in the saddle.” With his fingers still clasped, he nodded toward the horse.
Sam sighed and lifted her right boot.
“Other foot.”
Oh, right. She switched feet and grabbed hold of the saddle horn. Colton tossed her onto the horse like she was a flyweight. She settled into the saddle and took the reins from him, keeping a firm grip on the horn, while Colton took the horse by the bridle.
“Okay, so the first thing you need to know is—” He stopped abruptly and squinted at something behind her—something that sounded like pounding hooves. “How the heck did she get out?” he muttered under his breath.
Sam twisted in the saddle and froze when she saw a large black horse stirring up the dirt as it ran toward them. It was the nameless, wild mustang that that seemed to like Sam about as much as it liked fences. Nutmeg started to back up, pulling against the hold Colton had on her bridle.
“Easy there, girl. Just stay put.” Much to Sam’s horror, Colton let go of Nutmeg’s rope and moved to stand between the wild horse and Sam, holding out his hand as though the gesture would somehow keep the wild horse from taking him down.
“Colton, move!” Sam yelled, sickened at the thought of what was about to happen. What should she do? What could she do? Why wasn’t Colton moving? Why wasn’t that stupid wild animal slowing down?
And then Nutmeg bolted.
Sam dropped the reins and grabbed the saddle horn with both hands, holding on as tight as she could. Her beautiful hat flew off her head, yanking several strands of hair with it, and her body thumped against the saddle, bouncing like a ping pong ball against the rhythm of the horse. Her muscles stretched and strained to hold on as she struggled to get her body to move with Nutmeg’s. Eventually, she got the feel of it and was finally able to glance back.
Colton was nowhere in sight and that horrible black horse was gaining on them. What would happen when it caught up? Would it bite down on Sam’s leg, rip her from Nutmeg’s back and trample her to death? Was that how this was going to end?
About one hundred feet ahead, a wooden fence stretched across the field, perpendicular to them. Instead of changing directions, Nutmeg increased her speed, racing toward the fence as though she meant to jump it. Fear seized Sam’s heart, and she had the crazy thought that if she died, she’d be put to rest for all eternity with putrid, purple hair. She ducked her head, clutched the horn with all the strength she had left, and squeezed the saddle between her legs.
The horse’s hooves left the ground, and Nutmeg sailed up and over what Sam assumed was the fence. When they reconnected with solid ground, the force tore her fingers from the horn, and she flew off the back of the horse. Her shoulder hit the ground first—or maybe it was a rock—followed by the rest of her body. She lay in a daze for a moment before lifting her aching head and looking around for the crazed mustang. It strutted around behind the fence, as though attempted murder was something to be proud of.
Something inside of Sam snapped. She struggled to her feet and limped forward, letting her anger overshadow her pain. “What is wrong with you?” she screamed at the horse. “I’ve done nothing to you. Nothing! Was I the one who captured you? No! Was I the one who brought you here? No! Am I the one trying to tame you into submission? No! I only came to bring Kajsa and ride a nice horse. I want nothing to do with you. Nothing! So do me a favor and leave me alone!” She was at the fence now, gripping it hard and screaming so loud it made her throat raw.
The mustang sniffed, scuffed the ground with its two front hooves, then cantered away, leaving Sam fuming. When the horse was finally out of sight, Sam turned around to find that Nutmeg was nowhere to be seen either.
Awesome. Her beautiful straw hat was no more, the color of her body now matched her hair, and her throat hurt from screaming at a horse. She sank down to the ground and leaned her aching back against a wooden post. In only a few short days, she’d gone from being an enthusiastic graduate with a bright future ahead of her to someone who belonged in the psych ward. Her summer was cursed, and that’s all there was to it.
The four-wheeler buzzed beneath Colton, refusing to go any faster. He stood on the machine, absorbing every bump and obstacle with his legs as he surged in the direction the horses had run. He cursed himself for ever taking Sam into the field and putting her on the horse. But mostly, he cursed himself for entering that stupid mustang makeover contest.
First thing tomorrow, that horse was going back where it came from.
On the other side of the fence, Colton spied a riderless Nutmeg cantering down the road. He sped toward the fence and slammed his foot into the emergency brake at the same time he squeezed the handlebars. The machine slid to the side and skidded to a stop, and Colton was off it and over the fence in seconds. He ran to Nutmeg, spoke softly to calm her down, then jumped on her back. “Take me to Samantha, girl.”
Colton had worked with horses his entire life. He’d been bitten, kicked, stepped on, charged, and thrown. But he’d never felt true fear because of any horse until now. Where was Samantha? What had happened to her? Had she fallen off before or after Nutmeg jumped the fence?
“Samantha!” he shouted. “Where are you?”
No answer.
He continued cantering along the road, calling out her name over and over again. Finally, he heard a weak reply.
“I’m here,” she called.
Colton let out a breath of relief and directed Nutmeg off the road, toward her voice. He found her sitting next to a fence, with her arms wrapped around her bent, denim-clad legs. Her purple curls looked wild and untamed, and her face was streaked with dirt.
He swung down from Nutmeg and jogged to her side, squatting down beside her. “You okay?” he said, brushing her hair away from her face.
“I told you that horse hates me.”
At least her sense of humor was still intact. There were no tears in those beautiful green eyes either. Only frustration. And possibly embarrassment. Colton held out a hand. “Can you walk?”
She ignored him, saying glumly, “My hat is gone, my hair is purple, and I smell like dirt and maybe something worse.”
“I found your hat, the smell will wash off, and the purple is growing on me.”
“Liar,” she said. But at least the corners of her mouth no longer drooped.
Colton placed his hands under her elbows and gently lifted her up.
“Ow,” she complained as she stood.
He touched her shoulders lightly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Not broken. Just bruised.”
Colton wondered if she’d ever want to ride again. Probably not. He hated himself because of it.
She shook her head when he led her back to Nutmeg. “I know if you fall off, you’re supposed to get right back on, but I really don’t want to.”
“It’s a long walk with a bruised body.” A beautiful bruised b
ody that curved in all the right places. Even with her wild, purple hair, Samantha was still easy on the eyes.
She blew some air from the corner of her mouth and sighed. “Okay.”
“We’ll go slow. I promise.” He eased her up on the horse then swung up behind her, holding her trim body between his arms. He picked up the reins and urged Nutmeg into a nice and easy walk. After a few strides, Sam relaxed her back against Colton’s chest. She felt soft and good, and he noticed that her hair didn’t smell like dirt. It smelled like mangos and pineapple and coconut.
“Is this how you teach all your clients to ride?” Sam said. “Toss them on a horse with no instruction and release the wild mustang?”
A snicker escaped his lips. The things that came out of her mouth sometimes. “No. I reserve that treatment for only the special clients—the tough ones I know can take it.”
“You pegged me wrong.”
“I don’t think so. You got back on the horse, didn’t you?”
“Only because I didn’t want to hoof it back, no pun intended.”
Even after all she’d been through, Samantha still had a healthy dose of spunk. Colton appreciated that. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be taking the mustang back first thing tomorrow.”
“Why?” She tried to twist to look at him, but her face pulled into a grimace of pain, and she quickly turned back.
“That’s why,” Colton answered, his jaw clenched tight.
“But Kajsa—”
“Will understand.” After today’s episode, Samantha would probably crawl into that yellow Bug and speed out of here as fast as she could. There would be no more riding lessons, no more wild, purple hair or toned legs, and no more unexpected comments that would make him laugh like he hadn’t laughed in a long time.
Colton hadn’t exaggerated about all the stories he’d heard about Samantha. They had piqued his curiosity. He’d always wanted to meet the girl who’d strung a clothesline between her house and the one across the street, creating a make-believe world where two young girls became secret agents, charged with decoding mysterious secret messages that would come in through the window. The girl who’d buried Kajsa’s cut-off hair in the garden after Adi had cut it too short, promising that planting it would make Kajsa’s hair grow faster. The girl who built snow caves and painted them to look like fairy houses.
Stick in the Mud Meets Spontaneity (Meet Your Match, book 3) Page 5