He leads his horse toward the gate, dropping the reins to the ground and latching it before he turns toward me. “Come on. Let’s grab a drink and make sure the watering trough is working for the pairs.”
I look down at the ground, willing to lift my leg off the horse. My legs don’t listen.
I smile back at Nash. “Okay, sounds great.”
I nudge Sally, and she takes a few steps closer to him.
“Oh, you can get down, and we’ll let the horses rest,” he says as he waves me down.
I just stare at him. Frozen exactly where I am.
He studies me for a moment before a slow smile stretches across his face. “You can’t get down, can you?”
I sputter and try to think of a reason why I cannot climb down. No valid excuses are coming to mind.
“My legs won’t move.”
He pushes his cowboy hat back and grins so big that his dimples are showing. “Exactly how many years has it been since you’ve ridden a horse?”
“Probably about twelve.” More like fifteen.
He chuckles as he steps closer and rests a hand on my thigh. I flinch at the contact, not because he is being rough…but because my legs are already that sore.
He lets out a low whistle. “Poor baby.”
He hums as he grasps the back of my cowboy boot and pulls it free from the stirrup.
He walks to the other side and does the same to the other foot.
“Come here. I’ll lift you down.”
“I don’t think I can move,” I whisper.
“Just lean toward me. I’ll catch you.”
“Promise?”
He grins. “Pinkie promise.”
I reach out for his outstretched hands and tip my entire body toward him—because goodness knows my legs aren’t going to help me at all.
Nash catches me without so much as a grunt.
CHAPTER 25
Nash
Magnolia has not hadas much experience with horses as she led me to believe. I’d wager she hasn’t so much as looked at a horse since she was a child.
But she did it. She survived her first day of roundup. Except today was the easy day. We gathered everything in the front piece, and now Max and I will ride some of the leased Bureau of Land Management, or more commonly referred to as BLM ground, working to push the yearlings into our irrigated pasture.
Now that the alfalfa fields have all been cut and baled, we’ll be moving the pairs to the fresh feed until we wean the calves. This is the stuff that I love.
Someday, I’m going to get back to ranching full-time. It’s what I grew up doing, and it feels like home. Although I’m loving the variety that working with my grandpa has given me. But I think I’ll always feel nostalgic about ranching because of the connection with my dad.
I glance at Magnolia, who’s lying on the ground, looking like a starfish. This probably isn’t a life she could see herself living. And I’m not sure why that even mattersto me. She doesn’t have to enjoy ranching. It has no bearing on anything. Once Grandpa is feeling better, then we’re going to go our separate ways.
“Why did you agree to come out here and help?” I ask.
