One Wild Cowboy and A Cowboy To Marry: One Wild Cowboy / A Cowboy to Marry. Cathy Thacker Gillen
Читать онлайн книгу.
the barn. There, he switched on both interior and exterior lights, the yellow glow a beacon of reassurance in the moonlit, starry Texas night.
He came back with two bunches of alfalfa leaves.
As always, Emily was raring to go. “You always feed them this late?”
“They require up to fifteen-pound rations of hay per horse per day. Because of their small stomachs, it’s better to feed and let them forage all day.”
“Makes sense.” Emily fell into step beside Dylan.
“And it’s a way to rapidly increase their trust of me and now you.”
The three horses were in a high wood-rail-sided paddock, linked by a fenced aisleway to the two round training pens—one with a roof, one without—on either end. From where the horses stood, they could see everything that was going on. Another schooling plus. By the time it got to be their turn, the mustangs knew what to expect. Which again, made it easier for all of them.
With the ease of someone who had grown up around horses, and loved them dearly, Emily followed Dylan into the paddock. “How invested are you in actually doing the naming?” she asked curiously.
“Not at all.” Focused on the feeding, Dylan tore off leaves of alfalfa and put them just ahead of the trio of horses. Emily followed suit.
And so they went—dropping, moving on, dropping another two leaves, moving on—until finally the horses were following them.
Emily kept her voice low and calm. “Does that mean you’ll let me do it?”
Dylan shrugged and replied before he could think, “If it makes you happy.”
Emily chuckled in delight. “Oh...so you want me happy now....”
Dylan rolled his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.” Clearing his throat, he nodded toward their equine companions. “So back to the stars of the show....”
Emily regarded them carefully. “The three-year-old should be Ginger. The yearlings, Salt and Pepper.”
Made sense. Dylan nodded. “I’ll let the interested parties know.” Finished, they stepped out of the paddock. As they strode toward the barn, Emily asked, “Do you have a horse of your own?”
Dylan slanted her a glance. “What do you think?”
“Can I meet him, too?”
Women didn’t usually ask him that. But then, Dylan thought, the women he saw usually weren’t interested in horses. “Sure,” he said.
* * *
EMILY EXPECTED A stallion, from a thoroughbred bloodline. Instead, she found a brown-and-white quarter horse–thoroughbred mix that would likely have ended up who-knows-where had someone not stepped in and seen the potential. The gelding came closer to Emily. He stuck his head over the stall door, lowered his head and sniffed her hair, and then her face. Emily reached up to stroke his face as his warm breath ghosted over her. His eyes were alert but gentle, and she found his presence calming and reassuring. Emily took the apple Dylan handed her and presented it to his horse. “What’s his name?”
“Hercules.”
Able to feel the strength emanating from the horse’s sleekly muscled build, Emily smiled. “It suits him.” And the horse, who was anything but blue-blooded, suited Dylan.
Dylan offered Hercules a carrot. Hercules took it and luxuriated in a nose rub from Dylan, too.
Emily’s heart warmed at the overwhelming affection between man and horse. She turned to Dylan. “How long have you been riding?”
“Since I was fifteen.”
Unable to resist, she prodded a little more. “Did you grow up on a ranch?”
Once again, she thought, in the silence that followed her question, it was like trying to get information out of a spy sworn to secrecy. Finally, Dylan said, “No. I spent time on one later, and that’s when I learned to ride.”
“And realized your calling was horses.”
“More or less.” He looked at his watch.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Emily grumbled good-naturedly. “Time’s up. But not before I say goodbye to everyone.” She headed for the paddock situated between the round pens and stood looking at the three mustangs. They were gathered together on the opposite side of the corral, ears moving, nostrils flexing, clearly relaxed.
Scattered among other paddocks and turnout sheds in the distance were other horses Dylan was working with. They all looked pleasantly settled and were enjoying the warm spring night, too. Thinking how much she loved the peace and the tranquility of this ranch, Emily turned back to Dylan and let her enthusiasm be her guide. “When are you going to start training the mustangs?”
He lifted one large hand in an indolent manner. “I’m going to work with Salt and Pepper tomorrow morning.”
As he spoke, Salt and Pepper approached them, one coming up on either side of them. First, they nosed the wooden rails and then eventually came over to Emily to investigate her. After several long moments, they put their heads on Emily’s shoulders for a nuzzle.
These young ones weren’t going to be that difficult to train, Emily thought, as she rubbed their faces and touched their manes. Already, they seemed used to people.
The three-year-old mare, on the other hand, was going to require more intensive schooling. Emily wanted to see how it was done. She turned to Dylan, watching as the two yearlings went over to greet him, too. “When will you work with Ginger?”
Dylan accepted their nuzzling with a grin. “Late afternoon, tomorrow.”
Emily eyed the beautiful mare, who had moved closer but not close enough to touch. “Mind if I come and observe and maybe help a little?”
Dylan lifted a brow. “Sure you got time for that?”
It wasn’t an invitation exactly, but it wasn’t an edict to stay away, either. Emily smiled. “There’s always time for something you want to do.” And she really, really wanted to do this.
“Looking at the Cowtown Diner is not going to make it disappear.”
Guiltily, Emily moved away from the front window. Five more minutes, and the Daybreak Café would officially be closed. But with the exception of the tall, handsome cowboy standing next to her, it had been a ghost town for the past hour.
“There hasn’t been a lull in the activity over there all day.” Utility trucks had come and gone for gas, electricity, water and sewer. Safety inspections had been done, a neon light on the front of the diner turned on and tested.
Emily wanted to protest the burnished bronze exterior of the diner didn’t fit in with the historic buildings on their side of the green, any more than proprietor Xavier Shillingsworth fit in Laramie. But the truth was the snazzy exterior and old-style-saloon design of the building added the kind of pizzazz that would have passing tourists stopping in droves.
Emily scowled. “There’s a lot to do if they’re going to open in two days.”
Dylan laid a soothing hand on her shoulder. He leaned down to murmur in her ear, “You keep saying if.”
Emily blew out a gusty breath. “Wishful thinking, I guess.”
Dylan said matter-of-factly, “People are going to go there, to try it out and see what they think.”
Their glances meshed. “You think I don’t know that?” She turned away from the window and headed back to the booth Dylan had just vacated. She picked up his empty coffee cup and dessert plate and carried both to the kitchen.
Dylan ambled after her.