Rider’s Block

18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter eighteen

“Somebody Like That,” Tenille Arts

E ver since the storm my love for Roper has been irrationally devoted. The idea of leaving this farm in the next two months—because yes, Nancy weaseled her way into logically explaining why I couldn’t leave until at least after the last nearby rodeo—makes me sad.

I try not to attribute this sadness to leaving the people around me as well. It’s easier to say I’m going to miss a horse and assume the people around me know they’ll be missed as well, than to admit out loud I don’t want to leave this group of people who have quickly starting to feel like family.

But I think Roper likes me too. Not as much as Eric, obviously, but when I walk up and stroke his nose, I see a little sparkle of recognition in his eye. He still elects to follow Eric, of course, but the way that stubborn horse looks back at me makes me think he’s sentient on a level that shouldn’t be allowed. I can just see his eyebrows raising every time he looks over his shoulder at me when Eric adds another one of my bags to his saddle.

“Last one, buddy,” Eric says as he adjusts a pack on the rear of the saddle. Roper gives an indignant puff as Eric pats his back. “Shouldn’t be too bad, and she’s a lot lighter than me so it’s about even.” Roper looks over to Star, who’s holding all of Eric’s stuff, and lets out another puff.

“I’m sorry, big guy, but I just couldn’t risk a split-pants situation without backup, and denim takes up a lot of room.” I try to win him over with extra pats along his shoulder, and he seems to accept them. “Where’s the third horse?” I ask, looking around. I see the pile of stuff that’s supposed to get strapped to him, but I haven’t seen the horse in question.

“Denis is on the other side. I’ll go get him once I finish packing up Star.”

“Wait, I’m sorry, did you say you have a horse named Denis?”

Eric looks at me blankly for a moment before admitting, “Trevor named him.”

“But Denis? Is he here to do my taxes as well?”

“Ha. Ha.”

“But seriously, that’s the least horsey name I’ve ever heard.”

“And you’ve been around a lot of horses? Isn’t that why you’re here?” I would almost be insulted if he didn’t have such a cute smirk on his face. “But you’re right, we stopped letting Trevor name horses after he named Denis.”

Eric goes back to get the accountant horse in question while I continue to pet Roper. I think he likes me. Not Eric. Roper. Not Eric.

When Denis comes into view his name is even funnier. Aside from Ringo, I haven’t met a meaner-looking horse.

“Oh, buddy,” I softly whisper to Roper. “Looks like he doesn’t like his name either.”

Roper lets out another puff of air, and I think we’re going to get along just fine this trip.

***

We’re only three hours into the trip and my ass is on fire. Not the good kind of fire where I’m wearing jeans that are flattering and someone uses that statement as an attempted compliment. No, the kind of fire where I’ve been sitting in a leather saddle for longer than I’ve ever done before, and no one thought to warn me that it starts to get a wee-bit uncomfortable after a while.

I try to shift my weight back and forth, but that starts to agitate Roper. And the saddle squeaks with each movement, giving me away.

Looking over to Eric, I try to get a read on if he’s at all uncomfortable, but no. The smug bastard is perfectly stationary in his own seat, handling his own horse with one hand while the other one is casually braced on his thigh.

Denis at least looks to match my discomfort. I mean he just looks pissed in general, but at least I’m not alone in my distress. He’s a massive horse. Much stockier than Roper or Star, thick all around in sheer muscle. But he has to be strong to carry the load he’s got. He doesn’t even have a saddle attached to him, just some poles and bags of supplies. I don’t envy his role.

“Does anyone ever ride Denis?” Eric and I have had small amounts of conversation so far. He almost seemed a little distant once we left. Closer to the grumpy cowboy I encountered when we first got here. It affirms that I don’t think the man is as interested in me as Dean claims. A true man who’s inclined to woo a woman wouldn’t pass up a romantic situation like this. I mean, come on.

“No. He’s a work horse, meant for heavy lifting. I’ve only gotten on him a few times, and each time I’ve ended up flat on my back. But everyone else took their horses with them, so he’s all we had.”

“I didn’t realize some of the horses belonged to the other guys.”

“Yeah, we let them keep ’em here while they’re working with us. Most guys can hop on any horse no problem, but we’ve found there’s comfort in working with your own horse, so we let everyone bring theirs while they’re here.”

“Is that why you have such a big barn?”

“Not exactly. We were breeding horses for a while and used the big barn for that, but I’m not sure if we’ll keep doing that now that the barn was hit with the tornado.”

“Why not?”

“That was sort of my project. Once I take over the whole operation, I’m not sure I’ll have time to add that to the plate.”

“Is it not profitable?”

“Oh, it is, but mainly for the guys that specialize in it. As a side project it can be more of an expensive hobby.”

“And you did all of the training I’m assuming?”

“I did.”

“Do you like that more than ranching?”

“You know, I’m not sure. I haven’t thought of it much. I’ve always loved working with horses directly, but the legacy of the family ranch takes precedence.”

“This might be a weird question, but once you take over, what about Trevor and Dean?”

“I’ll always keep them around as long as they want to stay. I don’t want to hold them back, so I try not to say anything that will make them feel pressured to stay. But if I had it my way they’d stay and work with me.”

“I think you should tell them that.”

Eric looks over to me with a serious look in his eye…that is, until I shift on the saddle again and must wince from the discomfort.

“You okay over there?”

“Of course,” I get out a little too quickly, earning me a left eyebrow raise. “Well, I mean, no one told me the saddle would be this uncomfortable after riding in it for so long. I feel like that would have been important information.”

“See. Research, it’s important.” The bastard is smirking again.

“Did you purposefully leave that out?”

“No,” he laughs. “I didn’t do it on purpose, but now that you know, please promise me you’ll make sure to add that little detail to your book. It drives me nuts when I watch one of Mom’s cowboy romcoms and the city slicker is riding his horse with no soreness the next day.” He’s smiling from ear to ear now. I don’t believe for one second he “accidentally” left this out of my preparations. He was too thorough on random topics to have left this out. I would have packed Advil.

“I’m going to be sore?!”

“Oh yeah, baby. I’m sorry, but it’s inevitable.”

I don’t know how to handle the fact that he so casually called me the term of endearment I, as an author, use as a specific indicator that the man is about to claim the female character as his own. I’ve actually never been called “baby” before. I look up to try and get a read on his face, and his small smile shifts ever so slightly. I think the ease in which the term of endearment slipped from his mouth caught him off guard, too. At first the thought puts me at ease, but then I watch his brow furrow marginally—a movement so small I mentally smack myself for noticing it because I would wager the average person wouldn’t notice it, but because I pay way more attention to this man than I’d care to admit…I do notice it. I look down at Roper to try and distract myself and I swear the turd of a horse is smiling behind his bit.

After another hour we finally stumble on the river I was told about. It’s lined on each side by a random placement of trees, and the entire setting looks like it could be a painting. The aspen trees have their characteristic white bark, and the medallion green leaves are dancing in the slight breeze as a greeting to stop and stay awhile. Eric leads our small herd to the riverbed and gracefully slides off of Star, leading him to get a drink of water.

I try to shift and assess the level of pain in my derriere, and a small movement reveals I’ll be walking about as unattractively as I could imagine for the foreseeable future, bent over with a limp. Nice. Super sexy. It’s a good thing I’m not interested in Eric, right? Because my sashay has entirely been thrown in the gutter. I’m working my foot out of the stirrup when I feel two steady hands come down on my hips, lifting me off of Roper and settling me onto the ground without so much as a puff of efforted breath.

Face to face with Eric, I prepare myself to get the full-force effect of a twinkle in his eye, but then there and gone in a split second, I see a wall go up instead. He stiffly lets go of my hips and makes his way over to Denis, seemingly making sure he’s getting water as well. As he walks away, his shoulders practically up to his ears, I feel a shift. I don’t know how I can tell there’s been a change, but the air feels different. Our distance feels different. He just feels different.

Roper nudges my shoulder before walking off to get some water for himself, and I’m left to wonder what the hell just happened. We spend the next hour making sure the horses are taken care of, and Eric doesn’t mutter a coherent sentence to me. Not one! When Dean went out of his way to prepare me for all of the romancing that would potentially happen on this trip, I was in no way, and I mean no way prepared for the grumpy silent cowboy to resurface. It’s like the feel of my hips in his hands burned him irreparably, and he’s avoided talking to me ever since.

We load back up and continue along the path, and Eric still doesn’t speak to me. Well, except for the occasional grunts of direction, checking in on Roper—who Eric is also sort of being an asshole to if I’m being honest—and a general acknowledgment that I exist when passing out snacks. Other than that, it’s been radio silence.

But you know what’s not silent? The pain that’s moved from my glutes down to my mid-thigh. No, that pain is present and accounted for, reminding me regularly that it’s here and intends to go nowhere. And my lower back? I like to think that the effort I make in taking care of my body makes me feel like I only partially relate to all of the “older than thirty” memes, but today I finally feel my age.

The grumpy cowboy still seems unfazed.

“How much longer will we ride tonight?” I didn’t want to ask. I intended to keep quiet and just do what needed to be done. But apparently since my back is screaming it’s messed with my mental abilities to just go with the flow.

“We’re over halfway there,” he grunts out, as if it truly pains him to remember I’m here. “We’ll do an hour or two tonight, then we’ll be there by lunch tomorrow.” He keeps looking forward the whole time.

I gave Dean a hard time about trying to set us up. I protested, most vehemently. I said never! There’s no way he’d be interested!

Well, now I regret it. I spoke the grumpy asshole back into existence.

What happened to the guy who helped me make apple pie not two nights ago? What happened to the guy who held my hand during a life-threatening storm? Cause he’s gone.

I should be relieved. I was right. It took all of one day’s ride with me to reinstate his grumpy demeanor, so obviously I was right, right?

But did I want to be right? That, I’m not sure.

My thoughts ping-pong back and forth before one of the most stunning sunsets I’ve seen in my life hits the skyline.

Punchy shades of orange transition to baby pinks and then eventually lilac against a light blue sky that shifts to navy above the never-ending Colorado plains. I watch each color progression in a trance. Everyone talks about sunsets like they’re stagnant, but the reality is that each sunset is a pendulum of colors that evolves with the position of the sun. I never know when it’s at its peak color saturation, so I don’t want to take my eyes off of the clouds for a second.

But in doing so, I don’t see what’s in front of me—but Roper does.

I’ve watched movies where a horse gets spooked and throws a rider, but I specifically didn’t include that in my book because I thought it seemed a little far-fetched. In my mind, horses get spooked, sure, but it’s subtle. Backing up, snorting, moving around the danger is what I expected. But I should have known. I should have known to expect the extreme, to expect a rear-back-to-your-hind-legs kind of spook that throws me off the side of the saddle.

But what I had no idea to expect was watching my horse, and all of my belongings, race off toward the ranch…leaving me surrounded by rattlesnakes.