Damaris studied her for a minute. “Okay. Let’s give the horses some exercise.”
They let the horses run a little before reaching the next pasture. The two studs were in adjoining fields with a sturdy fence between them. “Wow, what gorgeous studs.”
“They are, aren’t they?” Damaris said with satisfaction. Pointing to the grullo paint, a beautiful silvery gray and white, she said, “That’s Blue Thunder. He’s our new one. We call him Thunder.”
“When did you get him?”
“Not long after Rocky, Snowdrop’s foal, was born. Marshall gave him to me as a bribe so he could name the colt. Technically it was my turn to name him.”
“That sounds like a deal.”
Damaris grinned. “I told him a bunch of truly awful names I wanted to call him. Marshall freaked and gave in on Thunder. He’s so easy sometimes,” she said, laughing.
“I take it you had no intention of naming the colt any of those names.”
“Nope. But Marshall didn’t know that. Besides, he’ll be an excellent stud, so it was a win-win.”
“Sounds like it,” Ella agreed, smiling at the thought of Damaris’s maneuvering.
“And this one is our original stud,” she said when they moved over to the adjacent field. “Cappuccino. We call him Cap. He’s Rocky—the new colt’s—sire. Rocky is named for his grandfather, Rock Salt of the Earth.”
“He’s beautiful.”
The big black and white stallion had come to the fence when he saw Damaris. “And he’s as good-tempered as they come, aren’t you, my man?” she said, rubbing the horse’s nose. He blew gently into her hand as if agreeing. Damaris laughed and said, “No, I didn’t forget,” before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a sugar cube. “We’re hopeful he and Thunder will get along so we can pasture them together but the jury’s still out on that. Thunder hasn’t been here for long.”
They rode to the other pastures and along a stream and Ella saw enough to get a read of the land. Definitely hill country. There was a beautiful creek that Damaris said ran through the property, a small branch of Whiskey River, the larger river that the town took its name from. And there were trees out the wazoo. Well, except in the open fields. But after Amarillo and the flat, often treeless West Texas, the change was startling.
“Do you have a tenant?” Ella asked on their return, upon seeing a small cottage not too far from the main house.
“No, that’s our brother Gabe’s place.”
“Oh, Chase mentioned he lived on the ranch with his wife.”
“Girlfriend for now. Yes, Chantel Chandler. She and her sister own Fallen Angels, the lingerie shop on the square. Gabe’s a metal artist,” she added the last simply but with obvious pride.
A metal artist? She barely stopped herself from gaping. “Gabe Walker is your brother?” She hadn’t made the connection when she’d heard his name before. “I’ve seen some of his work. He’s amazing. I had no idea he was related to you. Or that he lived in Whiskey River, either.”
“He is and he does. You’ll see him around, at least, when he isn’t buried, working on a new piece. But we see Gabe and Chantel often.”
When they got back to the stables they unsaddled and cooled down the horses, grooming them before putting them back in the pasture. Damaris said, “Why don’t you go out to the round pen? I hear the guys out there. I’ll be there in a minute after I put the horses back in the near pasture.”
Marshall was working with one of the horses on a lunge line in the round pen. Chase stood with one booted foot propped up on lowest fence rail, watching him. Two of the dogs joined her, gamboling around her on her way to the pen. Johnny Cash and Dolly Parton, she thought, still amused by the Walker naming system.
Chase shot her a glance. “Did you enjoy the ride?”
“I did. Your place is beautiful. I said that before but after seeing more of it I’m even more impressed.”
“Thanks.”
She heard a sharp whistle coming from the stable. Turning to look, she saw Damaris in the doorway, making a thumbs-up sign.
“Looks like you passed,” Chase said. “The job is yours if you want it.”
“I do, definitely. But don’t you need to ask Marshall too?”
“If both Damaris and I are good, then he will be too.” He stuck out his good hand. “Welcome aboard.”
Ella shook his hand, telling herself that she absolutely did not feel that tingle of awareness when their hands met. Nope, she felt nothing at all beyond being excited about finding a job. Their gazes met and they stared at each other for a long moment, hands still clasped. At the same moment, they looked away and dropped each other’s hands as if they were scalding.
Friend zone. Easy-peasy, right?
