“Good. Let’s go.”
They descended the staircase and stepped into the sun-drenched kitchen, where Rawley walked to a row of at least twelve cowboy hats hanging on pegs; straw ones, felt ones, some worn at the edges, others pristine. When she cleared her throat, he turned, one eyebrow arched questioningly.
“What?”
“Just how many cowboy hats does one man need? You only have one head,” Skylar said, gesturing at the collection.
“Well, technically I have—” His eyes twinkled mischievously.
“Do not say it!” She laughed.
He strode across the room, pulled her into his arms, and pressed his lips to hers, then deepened it when she slid her arms around his neck. He lifted his lips and stared into her eyes.
“We’d better go. If we don’t leave now, we never will.”
“I’m okay with that.” She smiled.
Rawley chuckled. “Me too, but I try to ride as much as I can. We can stay in once we get back. Oh, I do have to leave this evening around six. I’m having dinner with my parents.”
“Okay. That’s fine. Let’s go.”
He nodded, opened the fridge door, removed two bagged lunches, took her hand, lifted a hat off the rack, and they walked out into the heat.
“I’m glad to see you have a cowboy hat too,” he said as she put one on her head.
“Yeah, because God knows you don’t have one I could borrow.” She shook her head.
“Hey, no one wears my hats.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her.
“Please. I’ll go in there and get one,” she said, placing her hands on her hips.
Rawley laughed. “I’d let you.”
They held hands as they walked across the yard, then entered the barn. After letting their eyes adjust, he led her along the stalls.
“So, you can ride?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Pick your horse. Any except the chestnut.”
“Alright.” She walked in front of the stalls until she came to a Paint that stared at her with blue eyes. “Hey there. You are gorgeous.”
“That’s Chanel. She’s a six-year-old Paint. My sister used to ride her.”
“Why doesn’t she now?”
“She moved to Liberty, Montana right after she got married.”
“Is it alright if I ride her horse?”
“Of course. Chanel is my horse, but Betsy always chose her when she wanted to ride. Let me get the tack. I’ll be right back. You can lead her out if you’d like.”
“I do.” Skylar opened the stall gate, entered and rubbed the horse’s velvet nose. “You are just stunning.” She hooked a lead to the halter and led the horse out, then hooked her to a rail. She saw Rawley walking back toward her and she couldn’t stop her eyes from raking over his body, hesitating on his crotch, then down to his well-worn cowboy boots. He set everything on the rail, then went back to the tack room to get more.
“Is this my saddle?” she called out.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll saddle her for you,” he said when he reemerged.
