A Tall, Dark Cowboy Christmas. Maisey Yates
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Название: A Tall, Dark Cowboy Christmas

Автор: Maisey Yates

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Контркультура

Серия: A Gold Valley Novel

isbn: 9781474095945

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ you nervous?”

      She flattened her mouth into a line. “I’m not the most Zen.”

      “The horse I got for you could safely ride in circles at a kid’s birthday party.”

      “Well. Now I feel condescended to.”

      “Would you rather be condescended to, or did you want to get bucked off a horse today?”

      “Condescension, please,” she said.

      “Your horse is completely safe, and nothing is going to happen.”

      “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

      “Have I ever tried to make you feel better?”

      “No,” she said, puzzling. “That’s the weird thing about you. You’re not too nice, but you’re not mean, either.”

      “Is that weird?”

      “Yes,” she said. “It’s really weird. My experience is that when you have the kind of life I had, people either look at you like you’re a very sad little puppy that they pity deeply, or they want to lecture you about how something you’ve done has put you in this position. You haven’t done either thing.”

      “Well, it sounds like you’ve had some things go down.”

      “Understatement.”

      “People end up in weird situations, McKenna. Situations they didn’t plan on. All the damned time. And anyone who doesn’t think that? They’re just scared. They can’t stand the idea that they might find themselves homeless, trying to find a cabin to sleep in on someone else’s property. If they don’t blame some kind of moral failing in you, then what’s to keep them from suffering something that puts them in the exact same place? It’s the same with a lot of life’s crap. Sickness. People always want to know what you did. If you prayed hard enough. If your body was alkaline, or you ate enough kale. They want to believe that in the end they would have been able to do something. And most of all, they want to believe that somehow you deserve something they don’t. Fact of the matter is I’m not sure any of us deserves to have good or bad things that happen to us. They just happen. So I don’t judge you. In the grand scheme of things, I don’t have a whole lot of reasons to pity you, either.”

      McKenna blinked. “My mother abandoned me.”

      “I’m sorry about that.” His face stayed that same shade of beautiful neutral it almost always was.

      “But you don’t feel sorry for me.”

      “If I did, would it change anything?”

      She frowned. “It might... Affirm my feelings.”

      His brown eyes were unreadable. “You don’t need your feelings affirmed. You just have to decide what you’re going to do.”

      “Well, I’m here, so obviously I’ve made some decisions.”

      She didn’t like the fact that he had now graduated to lecturing her. In fact, she preferred a little mindless pity over this.

      “I speak from experience when I say that people feeling sorry for you doesn’t help you do a damn thing. Especially if they are sorry without offering help.”

      “I guess you’re offering help.”

      “That’s Wyatt and Lindy. I’m offering to teach you how to ride a horse.”

      They approached the barn—one she hadn’t been in before—and walked inside slowly.

      It smelled sweet. Dense and dusty, but not entirely unpleasant. She looked around and saw stacks of hay, and could just barely see the tops of a few horses’ heads in the stall.

      “What’s the smell?”

      “Everything,” he said.

      “What does everything mean?”

      “Shavings. Hay. Dirt.” He paused and looked back at her, his expression partly shaded by the brim of his cowboy hat. “Horse urine.”

      “Well.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a bit... Earthy.”

      “Horses are. It’s not a bad smell, though.”

      She inhaled, letting it kind of roll over her. “No. I guess it isn’t.”

      “You’ve really never been around horses?”

      “No. I mostly lived in the suburbs. In around different places in Oregon. Predominantly the Portland area. I guess we went to...pumpkin patches and things? And did hayrides? But it seemed like everything was...cleaner.”

      “Probably because it wasn’t a working ranch.”

      “Well, okay, probably not. But I always thought it was fun.”

      “This will be fun for you, too,” he said.

      “Unless I do fall off and break my neck,” she pointed out.

      “I won’t let that happen,” he said, his tone firm.

      “Are you going to rush to lay a pillow out on the ground if my steed starts to act up?”

      His green eyes were unbearably serious when they clashed with hers. “I said I won’t let that happen. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, McKenna.”

      “Are you the horse whisperer?” she asked.

      “I already told you I don’t make mistakes.”

      She couldn’t give him a hard time about that. His tone was so very grave, and mostly, it had nothing to do with his sensibilities and everything to do with the fact that... She just wanted to believe him. Everything in her wanted to believe that Grant Dodge was a unicorn. A good man who did what he said, and who just might keep her from harm. Which made her wince internally, if only a little bit, because if life had taught her anything it was that she had to be her own savior. Not hope that someone else might be. But then, if winding up sleeping in a frost-ridden cabin with nowhere else to go had taught her anything, it was that sometimes someone had to lift you up and help you stand on your feet, or you were going to end up a tragic, modern-day rendition of the Little Match Girl.

      Grant walked down to the third stall from the door, and lifted his hand to the bars on the door. A horse came forward, pressing his nose against Grant’s hand. “This is Sunflower,” he said. “She’s going to be your...what did you say? Your steed for the day.”

      He unlatched the stall door, grabbing hold of a horse leash, or whatever it was, and lashing it to the thing on her face, leading the large beast out into the main area. His movements were unhurried. Easy.

      She was completely glued to his every motion as he prepared the horse for the ride. The horse was beautiful, a light caramel color, all the way down to her hooves, with a white mane and tail. And as for Grant...his hands were large and firm, his muscles working with an ease that she couldn’t help СКАЧАТЬ