Horses, Hayrides, And Husbands (Country Brides & Cowboy Boots)

by Jeanette Lewis

  He gave her fingers a squeeze, loving the way her hand felt in his, fighting back the urge to stand up and pull her into his arms. Her necklace glittered in the lights, and Travis wondered what the delicate skin on her neck would feel like beneath his lips.

  But it was too soon. He didn’t need to rush things.

  “I hear they have an awesome chocolate lava cake,” he said. “Want to dance a little more first, then split a piece?”

  Chapter 4

  Misty unlocked her front door to find Ashley sprawled on the couch with a book balanced on her stomach. “How’d it go?” she asked.

  “Good.” Ashley looked up. “We played outside for a while, then I fed him and put him down about seven. He didn’t like dinner, though.” She pulled a face. “He ate the beef stew okay, but pureed prunes? What were you thinking?”

  “He needs them,” Misty said defensively. “He’s been having trouble with regularity.”

  “Ew.” Ashley dropped her book and put her hands over her ears. “Don’t need to hear it.”

  “Sorry.” Misty grinned.

  “So did you have fun?” Ashley asked, uncovering her ears.

  “Yeah, he’s really nice.” She could have stayed on the dance floor all night if it meant being in Travis’s arms. “He smelled good,” she added, aware she was grinning like an idiot, but unable to stop.

  Ashley raised her eyebrows. “Did he kiss you?”

  “I don’t kiss on the first date,” Misty said firmly.

  “But you will on the second,” Ashley guessed.

  “Maybe.” Thoughts of kissing Travis sent goose bumps dancing through her body.

  “Well, I’m glad you had a good time. You deserve it.” Ashley closed her book and stood up, reaching for her hoodie.

  “Thanks for babysitting. Want me to call Dad to come get you?”

  Ashley rolled her eyes. “No. One, if I needed to call Dad to come get me, I have a phone and could do it myself. Two, it’s just down the road. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay, but text me when you get there so I know you made it.”

  “I swear, you’re turning into as big a worrier as Mom,” Ashley said, stuffing her paperback into the front pocket of her hoodie.

  “Just do it?” Misty urged.

  “Fine, I’ll text you.” Ashley left, and Misty stood by the front door, watching as her sister walked down the road. Misty lived in the old farmhouse, and the new house Ty had built for their parents wasn’t that far away, but still … there was only a dirt road separating their farm from Chet’s family farm, and even though he was gone, memories of him could still make her angry.

  When she could no longer see her sister’s blonde head, Misty shut the door and went upstairs, sneaking softly into Wyatt’s room. It used to be her room, but now she’d taken over her parents’ old bedroom and given this one to Wyatt. She’d spent months decorating it with a cowboy theme, changing the wall color from buttery yellow to sky blue and staining and distressing her old oak dresser to the color of a faded pair of jeans. Her mother had made a quilt from red and blue bandanas, and her dad had hung a lucky horseshoe over the door. A wooden rocking horse and a life-sized stuffed sheep, both gifts from Uncle Ty, stood in the corner.

  Wyatt slept on his back with both arms flung over his head. His little tummy moved rhythmically to his deep breathing, and his eyelashes lay as soft as moth’s wings across his peach fuzz cheeks. Misty reached out gentle fingers to twist around the downy soft curls just beneath his ear. He needed a haircut, but she couldn’t bear the thought of chopping off his baby curls.

  She would forever rue the day she’d staked her heart on Chet, but if that’s what it took to get Wyatt, she’d do it again. Her baby was the best thing that had ever happened to her, and even during the hard times, there’d never been a moment she wished she didn’t have Wyatt in her life.

  But she did wish for a partner, someone to take the two a.m. shift when Wyatt was sick. Someone who would be just as excited as she’d been when he first rolled over. Someone who was planning his future as tenderly and anxiously as she was.

  Everything with Chet had been so … rushed. There’d been attraction and the excitement of discovery, but it all happened so quickly. One minute his head was bending towards hers and the next … it was like he was devouring her, his lips and hands everywhere all at once. It all happened so quickly, she couldn’t keep track of it all, couldn’t feel it all, couldn’t savor it all.

  Of course, Chet hadn’t been interested in savoring anything. His goal was simple and his needs were immediate, and he took care of business without much preamble. Or postamble, for that matter. They hadn’t been together that many times, but afterward, there was never the leisurely moments where they could lie entangled in one another’s arms the way they did in movies. They’d straighten their clothes, he’d drive her home, and that was that.

  Then her period was late, and Misty drove an hour to the Walmart in Jerome to buy the pregnancy test, terrified the whole time someone would see her.

  Later, at home, she stared in disbelief as two pink lines steadily darkened on the test. And despite everything, she felt a rush of joy. Okay, maybe the baby wasn’t exactly coming in the right circumstances, but what mattered was that she and Chet loved each other. She was nineteen, he was twenty-two, and they were young, but people got married at their age all the time. She’d fallen asleep with dreams of a little house not far from their families and chubby baby cheeks to kiss any time she wanted.

  The next day she’d slipped into a coat and turned her face away from the icy October wind as she crossed the road. She threaded her way among the outbuildings of the Coleman farm until she found Chet in the machine shed, fixing a broken chainsaw. When she told him about the baby, his face had blanched, his mouth making the perfect O of a hooked fish. He made that same look of desperate surprise the fish does when it’s yanked from the water, and all her hopes died.

  “Great!” The chain from the saw clattered as he threw it onto the oil-stained workbench. “Now what?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you going to put it up for adoption? Or maybe you should get an …” He trailed off, and the suggestion hung in the air between them.

  She didn’t miss the singular pronoun, and she spread her hands protectively over her still-flat stomach. “Chet, it’s our baby … your baby. How could you even suggest—”

  He clutched the wooden edge of the workbench, sputtering curses. “How could you be so stupid? I thought you were on the pill!”

  “Obviously not,” she snapped. “Besides, why is that my job, anyway?”

  Chet ground out several more bad words, ignoring her question.

  Misty forced herself to take a deep breath; she had to be calm for the baby. “So it’s not the best time,” she reasoned. “But there’s work on the farms and our parents will help us. Families start out with much worse.”

  He blinked at her in disbelief, and a mocking grin sprang to his lips. “Wait … you think I’m going to marry you?”

  “Well, what else …”

  Chet rolled his eyes. “Are you seriously this dumb? No way am I marrying you, and no way am I having a kid. So if you want to keep it, then keep it. But I never wanted it, so don’t come bawling to me for money or babysitting or whatever.”

  Misty stared at him for a moment, then spun and marched quickly back the way she’d come, fighting sobs. The icy breeze sent her coat flapping around her hips as the weight of single motherhood settled onto her shoulders.

  She was in her second trimester when Ty won the lottery and became a billionaire. Chet was furious, but he’d already signed away all his parental rights, and Ty’s expensive lawyers made sure the paperwork was ironclad.

  The phone in Misty’s hand vibrated, and she looked down to see Ashley’s message. She’d made it home safely.

  She breathed a sigh of relief and left Wyatt’s room, leaving the door open a crack. She went back downstairs and straightened up
the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, then roamed through the living room, picking up Wyatt’s toys and returning them to the basket by the stairs.

  The memories of Chet could still burn, but they were slowly being replaced by better things: Wyatt’s smile, the way he said “mama,” how he squealed when Ty tossed him into the air …

  And now she had other memories to savor as well, like the warmth of Travis’s fingers enclosing hers … dancing … the smell of his shirt when he’d hugged her goodbye … the shiver of energy she felt at the thought of seeing him again.

  Misty hugged one of Wyatt’s stuffed dinosaurs to her chest and smiled to herself. Things were going to be okay.

  Chapter 5

  “You gonna give the other hairs a turn?”

  “Huh?” Travis looked up from the brush in his hand into the twinkling eyes of Duke Soter, owner of Sun Valley Clydesdales.

  Travis had often wondered how old his boss was. Maybe late fifties, though you couldn’t judge based on his looks. He always wore button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled up, and everywhere the sun touched, his skin was as brown and tough as the leather collars that hung in the tack room. But under the brim of his hat, his forehead was as white and smooth as buttermilk.

  “You’ve been brushing that one spot on Sherlock for about ten minutes now. I’d say it’s as smooth as it’s gonna get,” Duke said.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Travis flushed and moved the brush farther along Sherlock’s back. Good thing he was so patient. Some of the other horses would have started stamping their feet and flicking their tails into his face by now.

  Duke’s light gray eyes twinkled. “I know that look. Is she pretty?”

  “She?”

  “Whatever woman’s got you so whooped.”

  Travis couldn’t stop the grin from springing to his lips. “Yeah. She’s pretty.”

  He’d driven home from Calico Pete’s in a haze and lain awake most of the night thinking about Misty, going over their date and then trying to remember everything his mother and sisters had taught him about women. Had she had a good time? Would she want to see him again? Had he made a fool of himself dancing?

  When was the last time he’d wanted to impress a girl so badly?

  Well, there’d been Ashlyn. But she almost didn’t count anymore. Maybe it was maturity, or maybe it was because it’d been so long, but what he remembered feeling for Ashlyn couldn’t hold a candle to what he was already feeling for Misty. It felt like she was someone he’d always known and had always been missing. Now that she was here, he couldn’t imagine life without her.

  Duke chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll let you get back to your daydreaming.”

  “I’ll try to pick up the pace,” Travis said quickly, then had a thought. “Her son loves horses. Is it okay if I take them out in the wagon sometime?”

  The wrinkles between Duke’s eyebrows deepened, and he nodded. “Better not wait too long. I might have to make some changes around here.”

  Travis’s blood turned to ice water. Was he about to be fired? “Sorry about the daydreaming,” he said quickly. “It won’t happen again.”

  Duke’s face registered confusion for a moment, then understanding, and he gave Travis a reassuring smile. “Don’t go getting worried; it’s not you. I’m hitting a snag with the grazing pasture.”

  The grazing pasture was federally owned land about ten miles to the east of Sun Valley. It was open for all, though the use had dropped off significantly over the last two decades as the smaller farmers and ranchers had gone out of business. Travis and Doug usually took the horses to the pastures in the fall, when the grass was long and plentiful and before the start of the busy Christmas season. A few weeks grazing in the mountains, under the watchful eye of the Sun Valley Clydesdale staff and dogs, gave the horses some freedom, a new diet, and, importantly, saved Duke thousands of dollars in feed.

  “What’s the problem?” Travis asked.

  Duke shrugged. “Government red tape. Not much to do about it.”

  Years of working for Duke had taught Travis that more questions would only make his boss clam up. Unless Duke wanted to talk about it, Duke wasn’t talking about it. He nodded quickly. “If I can help, let me know.”

  “Yup.” Duke let his eyes rove over Sherlock. Then he sighed and patted the big horse on the neck. “Yup,” he said again before disappearing into the barn.

  Travis started brushing Sherlock again as his thoughts drifted, automatically it seemed, back to Misty. How long were you supposed to wait after a date to text a girl, anyway? He didn’t want to come across as desperate.

  Hang it all. He also didn’t want to let his dumb insecurities get in the way. Travis ground his teeth and dropped the brush into the bucket at his feet that held the grooming tools. He dug his phone from his pocket and pulled up Misty’s number.

  * * *

  Misty’s heart was as light as a helium balloon as she loaded Wyatt into the car and drove the half hour to meet Travis. Two dates in less than a week? That had to be a good sign.

  He was already waiting, leaning against his battered truck in the gravel parking lot of the Wild West Disc Golf Park. It was a beautiful day, and he wore a pair of loose shorts and a T-shirt that accentuated the muscles in his chest and arms. Her nerves tingled at the thought of those arms wrapping around her.

  She parked and he came around the car to open the door for her. When she stepped out, she was practically in his arms already.

  “Hey, you.” He grinned, and gathered her into a hug.

  “Hey, yourself.” Butterflies took flight as she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his shirt, breathing in his musky cologne mixed with the ever-present smell of fresh hay.

  They stood for a moment, and she wondered if he would try to kiss her, but then a squeal erupted from the back seat, and Travis loosened his grip to lean down and look into the car.

  “Well, if it isn’t the famous Wyatt! How are you, little man?”

  Wyatt grinned and pounded on the arms of his car seat.

  “He’s anxious to get out,” Misty said. She hurried to unlatch Wyatt and lift him out. She’d dressed him today in denim shorts and a plaid shirt and a pair of tiny cowboy boots that were too expensive for her budget, but way too cute to pass up. She balanced Wyatt on her hip and rummaged in the back seat for the baby harness. “I brought the baby carrier,” she said.

  “I’ll wear it,” Travis offered.

  “You sure? He can get pretty heavy.”

  “Are you questioning my stamina or trying to handicap my golf game?” Travis demanded with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Who says I can’t do both?” She grinned, relieved at the thought of not having to wear the harness over the hilly terrain of the eighteen-hole course. Wyatt did get heavy.

  The harness was really a glorified backpack, and Misty started giggling as Travis slipped it on. It had been sized to fit her and she had to loosen the straps—a lot—so they would fit across his much bigger frame.

  “This is almost worse than hitching up the horses,” Travis observed. He held Wyatt out of the way as she scurried around him, pulling on straps and buckles.

  “I know,” Misty agreed. “Maybe after this you’ll appreciate what they go through.”

  “Okay, but I’d better get a treat after this the way they do.”

  She buckled the last strap and came around to face him. “Sure. A nice big helping of oats?”

  His eyes dropped to her mouth, and his lips quirked in a smile. “I’m sure we can think of something better than oats.”

  Misty’s fingers trembled as she picked up the diaper bag and dug out the sunscreen.

  “Did I make you uncomfortable?” Travis asked into the sudden silence.

  “Nope.” Misty smeared the white cream along Wyatt’s chubby arms. It made her excited more than anything. Her head buzzed. Would it be bad form to call off this whole outing and just get to the kissing? He was talking about kissing,
right? The way his eyes had lingered on her lips, she was fairly certain she’d got his meaning, but memories of how badly she’d misread Chet were enough to pull her back.

  Instead she plopped a wide-brimmed hat on Wyatt’s head and held out her arms. “I’ll put him in the seat if you’ll turn around.”

  Travis’s eyes were thoughtful, but he handed Wyatt over and obediently turned so Misty could slide him into the harness and strap him in. Once Wyatt was settled, Travis retrieved a black bag from the floor of his truck while Misty shouldered the diaper bag, and they set off. At first Wyatt wasn’t too sure about the arrangements and kept a wary eye on his mother. But once they started moving, he settled in and seemed to be enjoying the ride.

  After a short walk, they reached the first hole, nothing more than a patch of grass set among the spruce and horse chestnut trees, bordered by sagebrush and lavender. A wooden box held scorecards and tiny pencils below a sign that designated the hole as par three.

  “Okay, give me the rundown,” Misty said.

  “Disc golf is like regular golf with a lot of the same rules,” Travis said. “But instead of clubs and balls, we use these.” He reached into his black bag and pulled out several flat discs in various colors.

  Misty gave him the side-eye. “So … Frisbees?”

  “Okay, if you want to be a peasant about it,” Travis said with a shrug. “But those of us who are serious about it call it disc golf.”

  “Do you play often?” Misty asked, not liking her chances of winning.

  “Nope,” Travis said with a grin. “I’ve never done it before, but I watched a couple of YouTube videos about it last night, so I’m one hundred percent more prepared than you are.”

  She slugged him lightly on the shoulder. “Yeah, because you didn’t tell me what we were doing! If you had told me, I would have studied up, too. And where’d you get the Frisb— … sorry, I mean discs, if you’ve never played?”