The Cowboy's Perfect Match. Cathy Mcdavid

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СКАЧАТЬ menu options. They’d chosen mini sliders, fried mac-and-cheese lollipops and fruit kebabs. The fried mac-and-cheese lollipops were something new for Bridget and a little tricky to prepare. They were also delicious and an entertaining novelty.

      After her ride with Ryan, she was making a trip to the giant membership box store for everything she needed. Other than the fruit, of course, which she’d buy fresh on Friday morning at the farmers’ market.

      All was going as planned. Every list had been checked and double-checked and every detail scrutinized. No cause to worry, she assured herself.

      Ryan’s pickup truck came into view as she crested the small rise. She recognized it from yesterday. Hooked to the rear of the truck was an equally road-weary trailer with two unfamiliar horses tied to the side. His, she presumed.

      The large bald-faced paint was saddled and bridled. A smaller bay mare wore only a halter and carried a canvas pack saddle, which had empty pouches hanging from each side of the wooden frame. The three mounts belonging to the ranch were tethered to the hitching post outside the stables. All were saddled but only one was bridled. The remaining two wore halters.

      Ryan had yet to see Bridget. As she approached, he untied one of the ranch horses and walked it over to the small mare wearing the pack saddle. Bridget watched as he expertly tied the ranch horse’s lead rope to a metal ring on the side of the pack saddle. Both horses stood quietly as if this was old hat to them, tails swishing in matching rhythm to chase away pesky flies.

      Curious what he was up to, Bridget asked, “Who else is coming with us?”

      He turned at the sound of her voice, his expression lighting up. “No one. Just you and me.”

      “Why so many horses?”

      “I figured they could use some exercise and a little practice.” He gestured toward the palomino standing at the hitching rail alongside her stablemate. “She’s for you, unless you want a different horse. I guessed at which saddle was yours.”

      He was correct on both counts. The palomino was her preferred mount and the saddle hers.

      “Did my initials burned into the pommel give it away?”

      “They might have.” He chuckled, a warm, appealing sound.

      She went over to the horse and inspected the job he’d done. Cinch tight. Stirrups the right length. She usually used a different bridle but this one would suffice for today.

      “Her name is Goldie.” Bridget finger-combed the horse’s tangled forelock into a semblance of order. “Not very original, I know. She’s a sweetie, though.”

      “You have a farrier?” Ryan went about tying a third horse to the second one, forming a long line.

      “He’s due next Monday.”

      “You might want to call him. Goldie’s lost a shoe. Right front.”

      Bridget glanced down, dismayed to see the shoe was indeed missing. “There’s a hoof boot in the stables. I’ll get it.”

      “I was hoping you’d say that. I haven’t had a chance yet to look around.”

      Bridget entered the stables and located the hoof boot in a storage cabinet. Back outside, she slipped the rubber boot onto Goldie’s unshod hoof and adjusted the different buckles and straps to ensure a snug fit. It was strictly a temporary measure—the boot would protect the vulnerable underside of Goldie’s hoof from the hard, rocky ground until the farrier arrived.

      Before long, she and Ryan were on their way. Bridget went ahead, because she knew the trails and Ryan was ponying three horses behind him—his mare and the ranch’s two geldings.

      Their small parade must have made quite a sight as they left the ranch behind. At the gate, Bridget leaned down and opened the latch one-handed. Once Ryan and the rest of the horses went through, she pushed the gate closed and secured the latch in much the same manner.

      “Nicely done,” Ryan commented.

      “A hangover from years of competing in trail classes.”

      “But can you jump a ditch and cross a bridge?”

      “Please.” She pretended to be insulted. “Piece of cake.”

      “A woman of many talents.”

      Maybe so, but no way could she have managed four horses at the same time. Ryan continued to impress her and she couldn’t help asking him about his expertise. “Where’d you learn to lead a pack string? Surely not on your family’s farm.”

      He grinned again. Maybe she’d impressed him a little by knowing what a pack string was.

      “I worked for an outfitter in the Colorado Rockies shortly after high school. One of the best years of my life. Also one of the hardest. We took groups of people on three-, seven- or ten-day trips and were in the saddle from sunup to sundown. A lot of packing and rough terrain and a lot of scary situations. The wranglers were required to carry knives in case we had to cut a horse loose when they fell and got tangled in their gear.”

      “Any of the people ever fall?”

      “Oh, yeah. Once, a woman had to be airlifted out by helicopter when she went down the side of a cliff and broke both her legs.”

      “Did her horse throw her?”

      Ryan shook his head. “She was taking pictures and didn’t watch where she was going.”

      They quickly reached the trailhead, which was clearly identified by the marker attached to a post.

      “This is the easiest trail to start with,” Bridget said. “A nice hour-long ride with easy hills. I can show you more trails another day.”

      “A second outing.” He’d donned sunglasses, which hid the spark she knew must be dancing in his blue eyes. “I’m looking forward to it.”

      “Show you on a map,” she clarified. “Competent as you are, I’m sure you’ll be able to explore on your own.”

      “You think I’m competent?”

      “Is that what I said? I meant egotistical.” She ignored him for a full five minutes before finally breaking the silence. “A farm in Texas. An outfitter in Colorado. Team penning somewhere in there. How did you wind up in Arizona and buying the Chandler place?”

      “There wasn’t much to keep me in Texas. Two of my sisters still lived at home while they were going to college. My folks were also helping to raise my brother’s three kids. Tough situation there—his wife left him. I figured one less person to feed and clothe would be a lot easier for everyone.”

      “I can’t imagine being brave enough to strike out on my own at eighteen.”

      “I won’t lie, it wasn’t always easy. I learned a lot along the way. Met a bunch of nice folks and made some good friends. I scraped together what money I could when I could. Tried a few things that paid off, like team penning.”

      “How’d you come to buy the Chandler place, if you don’t mind me asking?”

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