Chance was still having a little trouble believing they were already at this point with Tri. Even as amazing as the dog’s response to her had been. As they headed out on US 290, he found himself second-guessing, questioning his judgment. Or more accurately, questioning whether she had adversely affected his judgment. He knew she’d affected it; he just wasn’t sure which way.
She’d affected a lot of things.
“Where are we going?”
“A ranch outside of Whiskey River. Town a few miles from here.”
“Why?”
“They’re friends. They have dogs I want to try him with.” He didn’t mention the other reason he’d chosen the Walker Ranch for this experiment.
“And he’s all right with strange dogs?”
“So far.” He grimaced. “Haven’t dealt with a pack this size though. They’ve got ten or so. Maybe more by now.”
“Wow.”
“They’re incapable of not taking in the strays that get dumped near them.”
She let out a long sigh. “Sometimes I really don’t like people. But then I meet someone like you, or your friends, and realize most people are better than that.”
Warmth blossomed in him at that “someone like you,” but he said only, “I don’t know about most, but the Walkers definitely are.”
He made the turn at the sign for “Walker Ranch Paints,” onto a long gravel road that made its way over the rolling hills. Just as at home, most of the numerous trees were leafless now in December.
“Paints?”
“They breed them.” He glanced at her, saw her brow furrowed, realized she’d made the mistake many non-horse folks did. “Paint horses, not paintbrushes. Pintos.”
Her brow cleared. “Oh. Sorry.”
“Not your life,” he said with a half-shrug.
They drove through a thick stand of trees, although they were leafless now.
“I’ll bet it’s pretty around here in the fall,” she said.
“The leaves put on a show,” he agreed.
They reached a spot where the trees cleared out and they could see the house. A big ranch-style that had a log cabin sort of feel to it. There was a big wraparound porch with chairs and flowerpots, and a porch swing near one corner of the house. And while there were a few tributes to the season—a wreath on the door, a Christmas tree visible through the window—it wasn’t overwhelming.
“That’s lovely,” Ariel said.
“It’s what made Mom decided she wanted a porch swing.”
He drove slowly past the house toward the large barn. Beyond the round pen next to the barn several fields spread out, many with horses grazing. As they neared a man came out of the barn, a tall guy with dark hair wearing faded jeans, battered boots, and a well-worn Stetson. He waved and was smiling as he walked toward them while Chance pulled to a stop. He had a few of the pack of dogs at his heels.
“He looks like a working cowboy,” Ariel said.
“That,” Chance said, “is two-time world champion saddle bronc rider Chase Walker.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean…like in that picture, at the store?”
He nodded. And got out of the truck before she could ask any questions. By the time he got around to open her door Chase was there, and he made a quick introduction.
“This your problem boy?” Chase asked, nodding at Tri, who was peering out the window with great interest as the dogs gathered around him, including two more who darted out of the barn to join the others.
“Yeah. But he’s changed a lot in just a couple of days.” He nodded at Ariel. “Ever since she arrived.”
And he’s not the only one.
She was bending now to greet the dogs who were clustered around them. Tri gave a little woof but left it at that.
“That one,” Chase said, gesturing at the black Lab-looking dog Ariel was petting, “is Johnny Cash. The dynamic duo there are Waylon and Willie. The blonde there is Dolly Parton. Hank and Loretta are off with my brother Marshall somewhere.”
Ariel smiled. “I’m noticing a theme there.”
Chase smiled back. Chance felt a jab of…something, until he remembered that Keller had said the guy was flat-out crazy about his lady, Ella.
“Blame my sister, Damaris,” he said. “She’s the namer-in-chief.”
“How’s the newest arrival doing?” Chance asked.
“Good, settling in. Come on, I’ll introduce you, then we’ll see how your boy does with this gang of troublemakers.”
They followed him into the barn and down to a stall where a white horse’s head stuck out as the animal watched them come. Chase reached into his pocket, took out a couple of sugar cubes, and handed them to Ariel. “Just hold them out on your palm when you meet her.”
“Okay,” Ariel said, with just enough nervousness in her voice to make Chance remember what she’d said about always liking horses but never having the chance to be around them.
“Hey, you ol’ nag,” Chase said affectionately when they got to the stall, “meet some new friends. Pretty one first. Ariel, this is our new addition to the Walker Ranch, Sugar Lips. Sugar, be nice.”
“Sugar Lips?” Ariel said, relaxing into a smile again as she held her hand with the cubes out as instructed.
“For obvious reasons,” Chase said with a grin as the white horse gently swiped the cubes from her palm with nothing but lip, not a trace of teeth.
“That tickled!” Ariel was grinning back now.
“And that’s her thank you,” Chase said when the horse gently nudged Ariel’s hand. “You can pat her now.”
“Hello there, you sweet thing,” she said, reaching out to pat the horse’s neck. The animal nickered softly.
“Try rubbing under her jaw,” Chase suggested. “She loves that.”
Ariel did so, and after a moment the horse’s eyes started to drift closed blissfully. “She’s so sweet!”
“She is,” Chance said. “Very…docile.”
“She’s pretty mellow,” Chase agreed, glancing at Chance. Chance nodded at him to go ahead, as they’d discussed when he’d arranged this yesterday. “You’d never guess she stomped me hard enough to put an end to my rodeo days.”
Ariel went still. Looked from Chase to the horse and back. “What?”
“Bucked me off in a couple of seconds, like a rank beginner. Broke my shoulder, then stepped on me and cracked a couple of ribs. My final wake-up call.”
She stared at him. “You’re saying she threw you, stepped on you, and you…bought her?”
“Pretty much.”
Chase patted the horse’s head, and the mare nuzzled his hand affectionately. And Chance saw Ariel, belatedly, realize.
“Wait a minute… She’s a bucking horse? A rodeo bucking horse?”
“She was. She’ll be focusing on motherhood now. Plan on getting some good bucking stock out of this girl.”
“Doesn’t seem too abused, does she,” Chance observed neutrally.
Ariel shifted her gaze to him. “You learned well at your mother’s knee, apparently. Nice setup.”
He couldn’t read her expression, but he risked a slight smile.
“Is she mad?” Chase asked.
“I can’t tell,” Chance answered, not looking at her. “I hope she’s not.”
“She might be if you keep talking about her in the third person when she’s right here,” Ariel said. But she still didn’t sound genuinely angry.
“Sorry,” Chase said, “but for some reason Chance here wanted you to have the truth. She’s a sweetheart, and bucking is her job just like pulling a wagon or plow is for some horses, jumping over fences is for others. It’s her job, and she knows it well. And when she’s not working—” he gestured at the mare who had nudged Ariel’s hand when she stopped rubbing her “—she’s this.”
She shifted her gaze to Chance. Chase coughed and excused himself hastily, saying something about rounding up the rest of the pack. Chance braced himself as he said, “You laughed when my mother did it.”
“So you thought I’d laugh when you did it to me?”
“No. Just hoped you wouldn’t take my head off.” He made himself meet those blue eyes. “I know about your temper, but you said you didn’t get mad anymore.”
She let out an audible breath. “No. No, I don’t.” Then, in a slightly different voice she added, “Especially at the man who decides if I get Tri or not.”
He felt as if she’d punched him in the gut. Was that what was behind all of this…whatever it was? The conversations? The getting him to talk? Going with him last night? Was it all an effort to get on his good side, to influence his decision about Tri?
“If you think anything but his welfare would change that decision, you’re wrong,” he said, his tone cooler than he’d even meant it to be.
For a long, silent moment she just looked at him. Then, the corners of her mouth—that damned, luscious mouth—twitching, she said softly, “Gotcha.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?”
He stared at her. Memories raced through his mind, of tales told, of laughs shared as Dean talked about the folly of ever trying to best his Red, who wasn’t just gorgeous, and had a temper like an IED, she had a mind like a steel trap except more devious. And he’d just stepped into it.
“I’ve been set up twice in twenty-four hours, is that it?”
“Something like that.”
“So, are we even?”
“For now,” she agreed, rather blithely.
And as she turned to greet the new canine arrivals, Chance was left to ponder why what he was feeling was pure relief. Because that was crazy. She was Dean’s widow. Yet this relief made it seem like he wanted everything he was feeling, had felt since she’d arrived, to be real. And possible.
And it couldn’t be.