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“A shame,” I say, my voice coming out breathless and quiet. “You’re awfully pretty when you smile.”
The man freezes at my words, staring down at me with a furrowed brow. My hand itches to smooth it.
“I’ve never been called pretty before,” he grumps, looking away and focusing on the toolbox in his hand.
“Probably because you never smile.”
He sighs heavily. “Since you’re wide awake, why don’t you saddle Dolly up and see how she does on the lowest jump?”
Resting my hands on my hips, I level him with an annoyed stare. “You really think it’s that easy? That any horse can learn to jump in one day?”
Lincoln steps closer to me until I’m forced to tilt my chin and look up at him. He’s so much taller than I am. His roughened hand comes up, and he grabs my chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger. His fingers are cold, but they feel good on my skin—that’s no doubt blushing furiously.
“Now who’s taking life too seriously? Be a rascal and see what Dolly can do,” he whispers, saying the word rascal in such a serious manner it feels like a contradiction.
“Fine,” I say, jerking my face from his grasp before I do something stupid like throw my arms around his neck and kiss him.
He smirks at me from underneath the beard. I turn and stride toward the mare barn, needing to put distance between us.
“You might want to change first,” he yells after me.
Right. I’m wearing pajamas. I spin on my heel, changing direction. I have to walk past Lincoln on my way to the guest cabin, but I ignore his deep chuckle and the way his voice makes me feel all hot and melty inside.
The last thing I need is to wind up falling for my biological father’s right-hand man.
CHAPTER 16
Lincoln
Hattie has no idea that her hair is a mess, that she has sleep-sand smudged around her eyes, or that there’s a crease across her cheek where she must’ve been lying face down on her pillow. It’s refreshing to see her rumpled. And somehow, she’s still the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Who knew monogrammed silk PJs would be what gets my blood pumping this early in the morning? Although, that could also be due to her stubborn spirit and smart mouth.
While she’s tacking Dolly, I finish assembling the jump at the very lowest setting. I’ve never jumped a horse over anything besides a small stream or a log, so I’m not sure what to expect. But I’m looking forward to seeing the Olympic medalist do her thing.
Hattie appears in the doorway of the mare barn with Dolly’s reins in hand. She changed into her riding attire, and the thick coat Hank keeps in the barn...but I kind of miss the PJs.
Dolly’s saddle and bridle look secure, so she must’ve figured out how to attach everything with her fancy ass nails.
Dolly, who’s always happy, trots along behind Hattie like she’s just thrilled to be outside in the sunshine so early. Hattie looks just as jolly, leading the mare all the way over to the short jump before she loosens her hold, allowing Dolly to check out the equipment.
“Just think of it as a big log, Dolly,” I tell her.
Hattie looks up at the horse and smiles, bringing her hand up to fiddle with the mare’s mane. “Okay, let’s start by just walking over it,” she says to Dolly.
Pulling her a few feet away, Hattie walks the chestnut mare toward the jump. Dolly stops in front of it for a second, then carefully steps over it, like she would any other obstacle on the trail.
“Good girl!” Hattie praises Dolly, giving her some scratches behind the ears.
Hattie repeats the process five more times, letting Dolly step over the jump slowly each time.
If Hattie can train her, maybe she’d stay longer…if she wanted. Or she could visit frequently. The jumps planted in the middle of this paddock suddenly seem like a beacon that could call Hattie back to Montana.
Something that feels dangerously like hope swells in my chest, but I swallow it down. If she visited, it would only be to see Hank and Otto. Not me.
And why would I want Hattie to come see me, anyway? I can barely tolerate the woman.
“Now, we’re going to step over it with me in the saddle. You up for that, Dolly?” Hattie’s sweet voice is tearing down the brick wall around my heart, brick by fucking brick. The gentleness in her tone reminding me how good she is with the horses. She knows when to encourage and when to push. That instinct is likely what led her to such a successful show jumping career.
I can’t help but grow more impressed with her each day. The desire to see her compete thrums inside my head. She must be brilliant on a horse that has trained with her, one that’s used to soaring over the highest jumps.
