Page 35
We walk to the stables, and Juliet’s compliments continue. “No wonder Landrie wants her wedding here.”
“You friends with her?” I ask, though I already know the answer from that photo I apparently took of them both.
“A lot of people think we’re best friends because we used to hang out a lot in high school, but I was the person she called only when no one else was available. It was fine, though. Landrie’s better in small doses.” She nods toward the stables. “How many horses can you house in there?”
The off-white, wooden structure stretches a few hundred yards and has a brown roof and trim with sliding barn doors and hanging flower baskets.
“Sixteen,” I say as I slide the stables open. A single aisle stretches down the middle and is lined with eight stalls on each side. A few of the horses poke their heads over the half-doors as we approach.
“I got my last two just yesterday. Percherons.”
“What are those?”
“Draft horses. They’re much larger than your average horse. Big enough to pull wagons.”
“Is that what you’ll be doing with them?”
“Yeah, for the Fall Festival. The Walkers will be donating their hay to make it more festive.”
“I love the Walkers.”
So I know.
“They’re like family,” she continues.
Was that for my benefit? I’ll take it.
I’ve been in talks with Tom and his sons for the last year to start up the hayrides. Mayor Monroe is on board with it, but only because Mr. Walker is, too.
“It’s like horse heaven in here,” Juliet muses, still admiring the sight as she stares down the aisle. “Or I guess, cowboy heaven.”
We go to my office next, which is at the beginning of the stalls.
“I’m not preventing you from taking anyone on trail rides, am I?” she asks, her eyes roving about the four walls and small adjoining room.
“I don’t have any more until tomorrow.”
“Do you do them daily still?”
“Usually. Depending on my own schedule.”
“Ever get booked out?”
“Yeah. Since I put the booking online, it’s easier. I’m never opposed to adding more slots, though. I’m pretty flexible.”
While I open a side filing cabinet and pull out a few papers, she walks around the room. Shelves line the walls and hold various trophies and buckles from my days in the rodeo. There’s an oversized photo of me on one side of the room riding a bull—Man Eater—the draw that won me my first pro-rodeo championship. The bull has both feet off the ground, and my arm is rigid in the air.
I don’t know how I feel about having the photo in my office, but Mom and Dad gave it to me for a housewarming present, so I felt obligated to keep it up. Having Juliet stare at it now is making me question that decision, though.
“Was it scary for you?”
Her question catches me off guard. I thought she would’ve poked fun at having photos of myself on display, not ask about my feelings.
“Riding bulls?” I clarify.
She nods.
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared each time. The danger’s real because the animals are unpredictable. Willingly getting on a bull takes a lot of mental prep.”
