Cowgirl, Unexpectedly. Vicki Tharp

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      “God, Hank. You don’t have to manhandle him,” Jenna protested.

      Boots scuffled and then came sounds that could only be Hank ushering Quinn outside, then came Hank’s heavy footfalls as he strode back inside the barn.

      “Looks like he was the one doing the manhandling,” Hank said, sounding as if he’d forced the words from between his teeth.

      “We were just kissing.”

      “Just kissing?” Hank’s voice rose an octave. “His hands were on your…”

      “My what, Hank? My ass?”

      “Jenna,” he warned.

      “So what? So what if his hand was on my ass or anywhere else for that matter. It isn’t any of your business.”

      “It is my business. You’re my business.”

      “No.” Her voice instantly lost its fight, replaced by a deep sadness. “You gave up that right a long time ago.”

      “You’re only sixteen.”

      “Seventeen, Hank. I turned seventeen last month.”

      “Sweetheart—”

      “I have work to do.” The stall boards creaked as she heaved herself off them and excused herself from the conversation.

      Hank’s footsteps retreated, and I couldn’t help but peek out the back of the stall over the Dutch door and watch as Hank clasped a firm hand on the back of Quinn’s neck. “Is that how your father taught you to treat a lady? To push her against a stall and…”

      Hank’s voice faded as they walked away, and I was unable to catch any more of the conversation, but I could hear Jenna crying in the aisleway. It might embarrass her to see me come out of the stall, but I still had more stalls to clean, and I figured she could probably use a friend.

      I left my rake in the stall and stepped into the aisle. Jenna was sitting on the bale of hay by my jacket a couple stalls down from me, her arms wrapped around her legs, her head resting on her knees. She lifted her head when my boots thunked against the concrete floor.

      Wiping at her tears, a sheepish smile crossed her face. “I guess you heard all that.”

      “Sorry.” I plopped onto the bale beside her.

      “’S okay.”

      “You all right?”

      She shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head at the same time. “Just frustrated. You’d think I’d be used to my dad dropping in every few months or so thinking he has the right to parent me when he hasn’t been here.”

      Dad? Hank’s her father? Whoa. Before I could process that little tidbit of information, she prattled on. I don’t think it mattered that I was almost a complete stranger. I think she just needed someone who’d listen.

      “He’s a fine one to talk. He knocked my mother up when she was sixteen.”

      “Maybe he doesn’t want you making the same…” I stumbled over the sentence, trying to choose the best words.

      “Mistake?” she ventured with a rueful chuckle.

      “That wasn’t the word I was searching for.”

      “Maybe not, but it’s the one everyone uses. Mistake. But I’m a person. I shouldn’t be someone’s greatest regret.”

      “I’ve seen the way Hank looks at you. Regret isn’t what I see in his eyes. At least not in the sense you’re speaking of. Parents want what’s best for their children. My best friend in high school got pregnant her senior year. It isn’t an easy road. I don’t think it’s bad that a parent would want their child to wait until they’re grown up and better equipped to handle a family.”

      “I know. I know. I get it. Trust me if anyone gets it, it’s me. If he’d been here more, if he’d spent any amount of time with me, he’d know I’m well educated about birth control. More important, he’d know I’m saving myself for someone who matters.”

      Her words stuck deep. Rahim had been my boyfriend, for lack of a better term, when I’d been in Iraq. I’d liked him. I’d had fun with him when fun had been hard to find. I’d trusted him. If the situation had been different, I easily would have slept with him.

      Had he really mattered to me? In the way someone you gave your body to should? Probably not. Not if I had to ask myself that question—or take the time to think about the answer.

      “Waiting for marriage is never a bad idea,” I said.

      She laughed. A real one this time, and as I glanced over, I noticed her face was dry and her skin wasn’t all red and splotchy anymore. “Well, don’t go all June Cleaver on me, Mac. I don’t have a problem with trying before buying, but I’m gonna be darn sure I don’t plan on returning him first.”

      I chuckled and shook my head. “Fair enough.”

      Her smile slipped from her face and she grew serious again. “Thank you. It’s nice to have someone to talk to around here.”

      “Your grandmother seems very sweet. I’m sure you could talk to her.”

      Jenna wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Not the same.”

      I stood and held my hand out to help her to her feet. “Ooh-rah.”

      She quirked a questioning brow at me and suddenly I saw the softer version of her father in her expression.

      “Military slang,” I explained with a smile. “Kind of like a motivational call.”

      Jenna smiled back. “I’ll have to remember that.”

      * * * *

      Hank climbed over the round pen fence with the barest hint of a limp and a scowl strapped on his face, his mood unimproved from when he’d ushered Quinn from the barn at dawn. He stalked to the center and ordered me to take up the posting trot. Ever the good soldier, I followed orders, making sure my heels were down this time. The sooner I got this riding thing down, the sooner I could stop these lessons.

      After changing directions a few times, he had me halt in the center near him. “Not bad,” he said, hands on his hips. “At least, you won’t embarrass Sierra in front of the herd.”

      “Careful, Nash, or you’ll give me a big head.”

      The corner of his lips twitched up. Considering where his mood had started minutes ago, it was practically a rodeo-clown grin.

      Then he proceeded to explain to me the footfalls of the canter, or lope, versus the trot as well as leads, when to use which one and how to ask the horse for the one you wanted. I nodded along, trying to pay attention, but several times, I realized I’d been letting his rich baritone roll over me as I watched his lips move as he spoke. I wasn’t certain I caught everything he said.

      “Parish!” he bellowed СКАЧАТЬ