Claiming Her Cowboy. Tina Radcliffe

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СКАЧАТЬ urine odors to indicate the stalls were anything but clean. A chalkboard on the outside of the very last stall on the left had “Grace” printed in white chalk in a childish scrawl. He looked around and found the tack room, situated next to an office, whose door was shut, lights off. The sign on the door read Tripp Walker, Manager.

      The familiar scent of new leather drifted to Jack’s nostrils as he entered the tack room and grabbed supplies. He juggled a currycomb and soft brush in the air and caught them easily. His steps were light as he opened the latch to Grace’s stall.

      Jack Harris, in a barn. No one would believe it if they could see him now. He didn’t believe it himself.

      The mare shifted and raised her tail. Jack sidestepped, though not fast enough to avoid stepping in steaming and aromatic horse patties. He grimaced and held his breath. Twice in one day.

      His life as an attorney was filled with horse patties, but today was a record.

      Nope, no one would ever believe this, either.

      “Grace,” he told the mare. “I thought we were going to be friends. This is no way to treat a guy on our first date.”

      The horse merely nickered in response.

      Jack grabbed a pitchfork and buried the foul evidence in fresh wood chips that he moved to the corner of the stall, before pulling the currycomb and a brush from his back pocket. He ran his open palm slowly along the coarse coat of reddish-gold of the animal’s flank to prepare her for the session, and then gently began to comb the horse.

      “There you go, Grace. Feels good, doesn’t it?” he soothed. “When we’re done, I have a nice carrot for you.” With two fingers, he massaged the animal’s wide forehead until she relaxed.

      Jack stuck his nose right into her neck and rubbed the mare’s ears as he inhaled. Yeah, this was the real perfume of summer. The sweet, subtle sweat of horse hair. Pleasant memories of days with Aunt Meri tumbled through his mind.

      Jack continued to brush the mare, one hand on the brush, the other on the animal’s silky-soft back. The tension he didn’t realize he held evaporated into the small space.

      “You’re doing it wrong,” a small voice whispered.

      Jack paused, and Grace’s ears perked at the voice. A quick glance around the stall revealed nothing and no one. Jack continued brushing.

      “Circles. You gotta do it in circles.”

      He opened the metal gate and took a quick peek down the main walkway and then into the stalls on either side of Grace’s. Both stalls had horses, but they appeared to be the nontalking variety. “Where are you?” Jack asked.

      “Up here.”

      Jack frowned before glancing straight up. To the right was a hay storage shelf where a little boy, no more than five or six, smiled down at him with a toothy grin. His upper front teeth were absent.

      “Are you supposed to be up there?” Jack asked.

      The urchin with a dirty face and hair the color of straw shrugged. “No one cares.”

      “I bet Miss Lucy cares,” Jack said.

      The kid wore jeans and battered red sneakers, the laces untied. Scooting to the edge, he dangled his legs. The movement knocked bits of straw into the air. Hay and dust danced on their way to the ground. Some landed on Jack and Grace.

      “Kid, you’re messing up my work here.”

      “Sorry.” Which came out as thorry due to the missing teeth.

      “What’s your name?”

      “Dub Lewis.”

      “Your name is Dub?”

      “Uh-huh. What’s your name?”

      “Jackson Harris.”

      Dub screwed up his face and giggled. “What kind of name is that?”

      Jack smiled. No filter. His brother had been the same way. Said whatever came to mind, whenever it came to mind.

      He chuckled. “Touché, kid.”

      “You want me to show you how to do that?” Dub asked.

      “Do what?” Jack looked up again, and then down at his hand paused on the horse’s flank. “This? I’ve been grooming horses since I was your age.”

      That might be a slight exaggeration, but it silenced the kid, who was obviously five going on thirty.

      Jack pulled out the soft brush and began to clean the area the currycomb had covered.

      Silence reigned until Jack began to pick Grace’s hooves.

      “Are you supposed to be here?” Dub asked.

      “Yes.” Jack cocked his head. “I think the real question is, are you supposed to be here?”

      “I gots permission.”

      “So you said.”

      “Grace is my horse. Leo said. And he’s going to teach me to ride Grace.”

      “Who’s Leo?”

      “Leo. You know. Leo.”

      “Actually, I don’t know. But I can ask Miss Lucy about it if you want me to.”

      Again with the shrug of the bony shoulders. Jack stared at the kid for a moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been around a child. Normally, he avoided them. Too much responsibility and too many memories.

      Jack moved on to the next hoof, battling an urge to check and see if the kid was giving him an approving scrutiny. Hoof picking, Harris. He reminded himself. You’ve got this covered.

      “Aren’t you going to the meeting?” Dub asked.

      “Meeting?”

      “Uh-huh. Right before dinner.”

      “Maybe you have a meeting, but I don’t think I do.”

      “The meeting’s for everyone,” the kid insisted.

      Jack vaguely recalled a meeting listed on his schedule for today that he planned to miss.

      “I don’t think I need to attend.”

      “Everyone does. Miss Lucy said it’s for the trail ride.”

      “You’re kind of young for a trail ride. How old are you, anyhow?”

      “I’m five and I’m going.” He gave an adamant shake of his blond head. “Yeth, I am.”

      “Okay. Fine.”

      He grabbed the tools and closed the stall behind him before offering her the carrot. “Good girl, Grace.”

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