“Only if Dylan is sure,” I reply.
I shoot him a questioning look as he adjusts his baseball cap and says, “We watch from the skybox, Mad. Not the sky. It’s where friends and family get to watch the game.”
“Skybox, that’s what I meant.” Then Mad’s eyes widen like she’s only just clocking the three horses. “Are we going riding?”
I smile. “Helmet’s on the hook.”
She gives another whoop and shoots off as I turn to Dylan.
“Three horses?” He eyes Rusty like the horse just challenged him to a fight. “What’s going on?” he asks. It’s a dumb question, and by the way he winces, he knows it.
“Well, seeing as I only just discovered you have a football field, I thought it was time you gave us an actual tour of the ranch.”
“But I?—”
“You’ve been avoiding the horses,” I cut in.
His shoulders tense, but it’s Madison who speaks next.
“A rancher who doesn’t like horses?” Her mouth pops open. She looks halfway between laughing and being utterly scandalized.
Dylan rubs at the stubble on his jaw. “I like horses fine. I’m just not sure they like me.”
“Mom says horses don’t like jerks,” Mad says. “Are you a jerk?”
I huff a laugh, and he glares at me, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes, too. Either way, I’m enjoying his discomfort way too much.
“I hope not,” he mutters, placing the football equipment on the ground. “Better get my boots.” He nods down at his cleats, still looking less than thrilled at the prospect of riding as he jogs toward the house. A minute later he’s back and taking the reins I’m holding out.
“This is Rusty. He’s grumpy, so you’ll get along fine.”
Rusty snorts like he agrees, his ears flicking back.
“I haven’t ridden in twenty years. Don’t you have a starter pony or something?”
I swing onto Bramble with ease, feeling the joy that always spreads through me when I’m on horseback, before looking down at him. “You’re six foot five and all muscle. A pony ain’t gonna cut it.”
“Been checking out my muscles, Brooks?” he shoots back, voice still a grumble.
“Shut up and get on your horse,” I reply.
Dylan plants one boot in the stirrup and hauls himself up. He’s halfway there, leg about to swing around into the saddle, when Rusty shifts position, sidestepping to the left, leaving Dylan nothing but air, and a split second later he’s landing flat on his ass in the dirt, a grunt and expletive hissed under his breath.
I know I shouldn’t laugh. This was supposed to be about helping Dylan—getting him past whatever’s had him avoiding the horses all week. But the second his ass hits the dirt and that stunned expression flashes across his face, the laughter bubbles up and spills out before I can stop it. Madison’s already doubled over on Rosie, clutching the horn, her shoulders shaking with giggles—and that only makes it worse.
“That was… majestic,” I say, not even pretending to keep a straight face. “Seriously, are you OK?”
“Never better,” he growls.
“OK then. Time to try again!”
He shoots me a murderous look but moves back to the stirrup, more cautious this time. Rusty shifts again, testing him, and this time, Dylan gets stuck hopping alongside the horse with one foot in and one on the ground as Rusty wanders toward Bramble.
“You’ve gotta talk to him!” Madison calls when Dylan gets his foot free. “Tell him he’s doing a good job!”
Dylan gives her a look like she’s lost her mind.
“Just try it,” I say.
