Her Small-Town Cowboy. Mia Ross
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for him to sniff. When he was satisfied, he offered a paw that she shook as if he was a small person. “Hello, Sarge. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
With a quick yip, he went back toward his spot, glancing over his shoulder in an unspoken request for her to follow him. Which, to Mike’s amazement, she did. When she saw the filthy old horse blanket he had there, she turned to Mike with a curious expression. “Is that really where he sleeps?”
“I know it looks bad, but he likes it that way.”
“Why?”
“It’s kind of a long story.”
“That’s okay,” she said, sitting down on the scuffed plank floor to pet the dog. “I like stories.”
Mike had planned on getting through her lesson as quickly and painlessly as possible. Since he didn’t want to seem rude, he put aside his impatience and carefully balanced himself on a three-legged stool. “Well, his owner was an older lady who lived in the area. She had a horse named Captain that she’d owned since he was a foal, and he was getting on in years himself. When his stablemate died, she was afraid he’d be lonely, so she got him a dog.”
“Sarge.” Lily smiled down at the mutt, who seemed to be listening intently to his story. “What a nice thing for her to do.”
“Last year, she got really sick and had to move into a nursing home. She asked me to take the two of them and make sure they stayed together. One of Captain’s blankets dropped off the side of the stall one day, and Sarge took to sleeping on it while he kept his friend company. Now Captain’s gone, and this little guy refuses to sleep anywhere else.”
“That is so touching,” she murmured in a voice filled with sympathy. Smiling down at the dog, she cooed, “If we all had such faithful friends who’d stick by us no matter what, our lives would be so much better.”
Even though she wasn’t speaking to him, Mike caught the wistfulness in her tone. At some point, someone had disappointed this bright, engaging woman. While it had absolutely nothing to do with him, just the thought of it made him angry.
“What’s this?” she asked, fingering a label sewn to the corner of the blanket. Giving Mike a knowing grin, she said, “It says ‘do not wash.’”
“My sister Erin’s a neat freak, and she’s in charge of keeping the blankets and saddle pads clean. That one—” he pointed “—still smells like his old buddy, and Sarge likes it that way. I figure one dirty blanket more or less doesn’t make much difference.”
“Not to you maybe,” Lily told him with an admiring smile, “but to him it means a lot. It’s so considerate of you to recognize that. That must be why his owner chose you to take care of her animals. She trusted you to do what was best for them.”
Mike wasn’t accustomed to being praised for simply following his instincts, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Most folks’d probably think it’s nuts.”
“I think it’s sweet,” she corrected him in a gentle but firm voice that he imagined worked wonders on her students.
Hoping to joke his way out of an awkward situation, he forced a chuckle. “I’d appreciate you not spreading that around.”
“Deal.”
Standing, she brushed her hands off on her jeans and looked over the beat-up collection of riding boots that had found their way onto the shelves. Some had been outgrown, others donated. One pair had even been tossed at Mike’s head when a young diva-in-training threw a world-class tantrum and stormed out of her one and only lesson. When he shared that detail with Lily, she laughed again. This woman did that more than anyone he knew, and he had to admit the light, carefree sound was beginning to grow on him.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that kind of nonsense with me,” she assured him. “If I end up being a hopelessly terrible rider, I’ll assume it’s my fault, not yours.”
She reached toward the upper shelf where the smallest sizes were, but she couldn’t quite stretch far enough.
“Here, let me.” To his surprise, she pointed out a pair of well-worn brown boots that had once belonged to his mother. “You sure? They’re kinda plain.”
“They look like they’ve had a lot of experience. Maybe they’ll help me catch on quicker.”
Interesting theory, he mused as he brought them down for her. Sitting on a chair outside the storage room, she shed her sneakers and pulled on the boots. They seemed to work, and she held out her feet to admire them. Then, to his surprise, she looked up at the shelf where Abby was perched. “What do you think of these?”
“Perfect,” she announced, her ponytail bobbing as she nodded. “Just like Cinderella.”
“Well, don’t get your hopes up,” he teased. “We’re fresh out of princes around here.”
For some reason, Lily’s smile disintegrated, and she sighed. “I’ve had my fill of princes. The ones I meet always seem to turn into frogs.”
Mike wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he decided it was best to ignore the comment. “Ready for your lesson?”
“Definitely.” She shook off her momentary funk, and that playful grin was back. “Are you?”
Despite his plan to keep a professional distance from her, he found himself returning her smile. “I guess we’ll find out.”
He strolled over and let Abby climb onto his shoulders, then lowered her to the floor.
“Daddy, can I go have a snack with Grammy while you give Lily her lesson?”
“Sure, but save me some of those cookies. They smell real good.”
She thanked him with a quick hug, and he smiled as he watched her zoom back toward the house. Hard as it had been for him to leave his ranch foreman’s job in New Mexico behind, his daughter was happy here, surrounded by his large, chaotic family and now a class full of new friends. Much as he hated losing his independence, her happiness made it all worth it to him.
Hauling his mind back to reality, he led the way through a sliding door that opened onto the paddock where Gideon was dozing in the sun. When Lily moved out of his sight, Sarge let out a pitiful whimper and jumped up to follow her. To Mike’s knowledge, the dog had never shown much affection for anyone but Captain. That he seemed to have taken a shine to the soft-spoken teacher had to mean something. But right now, Mike couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was.
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