The Ryders: Jared, Royce and Stephanie. Barbara Dunlop
Near the cookhouse, Jared helped Melissa down from Tango’s back. She staggered to a standing position, and he could see the pain reflected in her expression as she stretched the muscles in her thighs. If the woman had ever been on a horse before, he’d eat saddle leather.
“There you are,” came Stephanie’s accusatory voice.
Jared felt a twinge of satisfaction at the thought of Melissa getting her comeuppance. But then he realized Stephanie was talking to him. He’d obviously missed her jumping practice.
“I gave Melissa a lift,” he explained.
Stephanie looked at Melissa. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I was—”
“Downriver,” Jared quickly put in. “Walking.” The explanation earned him a confused look from Melissa.
Too bad. He’d worry about that one later. For now, he didn’t want to plant any thoughts about the old cabin in Stephanie’s head.
Stephanie looked from Jared to Melissa, then back again. “Well, you missed a no-fault round,” she told him, putting her pert nose in the air.
“I guess you’ll just have to do it again.”
“You think it’s easy?”
“No,” he acknowledged. “I think it’s very, very hard. But I also know you’re a perfectionist.”
“I wish,” Stephanie retorted. But Jared knew it was true. You didn’t become one of the top-ten show jumpers in the country without a strong streak of perfectionism.
He handed Tango’s reins to Melissa. “He’s all yours. When you’re done taking off the tack, put him back in the red-gated pen.”
Melissa glanced down at the leather reins. Then she looked at Jared, her eyes widening with trepidation.
Yeah, he thought so.
He gave a heavy sigh and took back the reins. “Or I could give you a hand,” he offered. “Then you can grab something to eat.”
He felt Stephanie’s curious gaze behind him, and he twisted his head to give her an I-told-you-so stare. If she wanted him to have time to watch her jump, she shouldn’t have hired such a hopeless case.
He wrapped the reins around the horn of his saddle, clipped a lead rope onto Tango’s bridle, then walked the few steps to the hitching rail in front of the stable.
“You can start with the cinch,” he called over his shoulder, and Melissa quickly scrambled into action, hoofing it across the loose-packed dirt of the pen.
Stephanie watched them for a moment longer. Then he saw a small, hopeful smile quirk the corners of her mouth before she turned away.
Great. His good deed was obviously not going to go unpunished. He was helping Melissa out of pity, not out of attraction. She might be a gorgeous woman, but he liked his dates with a little more gray matter and a whole lot more ambition.
She came to a halt a few feet back from Tango’s flank. Her hands curled into balls by her sides, strands of her blond hair fluttering across her flushed cheeks as she blinked at the tall black horse.
“The cinch,” Jared prompted, releasing the reins and gently drawing the bit from Tango’s mouth.
Melissa didn’t make a move.
He flipped the stirrup up and hooked it over the saddle horn. “The big, shiny silver buckle,” he offered sarcastically.
She took a half step forward, then wiped her palms down the front of her jeans.
Jared turned, planting his hands on his hips.
She pursed her lips, reaching her hand toward the buckle. But Tango shifted, and she snapped it back.
“He’s not going to bite you.”
“What if he kicks me?”
“Just don’t do anything sudden.”
“Oh, that makes me feel a whole lot better.”
This was getting ridiculous. “You know, you might want to think about another line of work.”
“I was perfectly happy scooping out pens.”
“Nobody’s happy scooping out pens.”
“I was.”
“Well, that’s a dead-end career.” He took a step forward and captured her hand.
She tried to jerk away.
“The trick is,” said Jared in the most soothing voice he could muster, “to let him know what you’re doing.” He urged her reluctant hand toward Tango’s withers. “That way, nobody is surprised.”
“Is ‘surprised’ a euphemism?”
“I mean it literally.”
Tango craned his neck to see what was going on.
“Your touch should be firm,” Jared advised, keeping himself between Melissa and the horse’s head. He gave Tango a warm-up pat with his free hand before placing Melissa’s palm on the horse’s coat. “That way, he knows you have confidence.”
“I don’t have confidence.”
“Sure you do.” He let go of her hand, and she immediately pulled it back from the horse.
Jared drew a frustrated sigh. “I’ve seen five-year-olds with more guts than you.”
She glared at him.
“Lots of them,” he affirmed.
Her glare lasted several seconds longer, but then she squared her shoulders, screwed up her face and turned to the saddle.
“Buckle first,” Jared instructed as her small soft fingers tackled the leather. “Now pull the strap through the rings.”
It took her a minute to get the mohair strap untangled and dangling straight down.
“You want to take the saddle and blanket off together. Grab it front and back. Lift, don’t drag it. Then carry it into the stable. I’ll show you where to put it.”
He stepped back to give her some room.
Tango was sixteen hands, so it was a reach for Melissa to get a firm grip. But she grabbed the saddle, lifted, pulled back, stumbled in the loosely packed dirt and nearly fell over backward.
Jared quickly wrapped his arm around the small of her back, averting disaster. Her waist was small, her body and frame light. No wonder she was such a wimp when it came to physical work.
“You okay?” he asked reflexively.
“Fine.” She firmed up her grip on the heavy saddle and straightened away before he could get used to the feel of her in his arms. But not before he realized how easily he could get used to the feel of her in his arms.
He wondered if she danced. Then for a second he allowed himself to imagine her in a dress. A dress would suit her, something silky and flowing, maybe a bright blue or magenta. Despite her hesitancy in the stable yard, something told him she’d have self-confidence in a different setting.
She all but staggered into the stable, and he was forced to give her points for grit.
“Third rack from the end,” he instructed, following with the reins.
She plunked the saddle down.
“You can clean it after lunch,” he told her.
She nodded, obviously out of breath. Then she dusted off the front of her navy tank top.
“But first we