A Tall, Dark Cowboy Christmas

“It’s a sensible name, McKenna,” he pointed out, his tone deadpan.

“Why did you say it like that?” she asked through a gasp of laughter.

“Why did I say what like what?”

“McKenna. You said it as if Jessica is sensible, while McKenna is firmly in the same column as Guinevere, which you do not find sensible.”

He lifted a shoulder. “It’s a weird name.”

“Okay. Grant.”

He took his hat off the hook. Then he ran his hand over his head, sweeping his hair back before putting it in place. She was sad she wasn’t the one to do it. “Grant is a normal name.”

“Sure. I guess if you’re a film star from the 1920s.”

“I take it that’s a reference to Cary Grant. And he was not a star in the twenties.”

She lifted her hands, simulating surrender. “Fine. Grant is a sensible name. McKenna is King Arthur levels of silliness. I would lecture my mother about it but I don’t know where she is.”

“Mine’s dead. So I can’t exactly scold her for mine, either.”

Her stomach hollowed out. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I mean, I didn’t say that because I was trying to one-up you. Actually, I think your situation might be worse. My mom didn’t choose to leave.”

“No,” McKenna said. “I guess not. We can just agree it sucks. No one has to out-suck the other.”

One side of his mouth lifted. “Is that so? That’s not my experience with hard knocks. Typically, people want theirs to out-hard yours.”

“People with terrible lives so rarely have chances to go on and compete in the actual Olympics. Training is expensive, and all that. The Life Sucks Olympics is basically the best we’ve got. So, it’s understandable in some ways.”

He snorted. “I’ll share the gold-medal podium with you.”

“No,” she responded. “The gold medal is mine, Grant Dodge. You were not sleeping curled up on the hardwood floor a few days ago.”

“Fair play,” he relented. “I’ll take silver.”

“Silver would also be a nonsilly name for a horse, I imagine.”

“Not a black horse.”

She shrugged.

Grant took both horses by the reins and began to lead them out of the barn. She followed closely, watching as he walked between the two large beasts. He led them with no effort, without a single concern. It captivated her. The animals were huge, and they made her feel uncomfortable. Grant was guiding them around like they weighed nothing, like they were an extension of his own body.

The horses had to know that they were stronger than him. They had to. But they seemed happy to follow where he led.

When they got outside he put the reins into position, and gestured to Sunflower. “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to help you get on, all right. You come up beside her and put your hand on her.”

McKenna froze. She wasn’t scared of much. Honestly, when you lived with the threat of hunger, possible rape and inevitable homelessness hanging over your head, it was tough to be too scared of the average, everyday nonsense in the world. But for some reason the big-ass horse scared her.

Grant reached out, wrapping his fingers around her wrist, and lightning scorched her. All the way down to her toes. If there were blackened footmarks beneath her shoes, she wouldn’t be surprised.

His green eyes were steady, giving no indication that he felt the same heat that she did.

He drew her closer to the horse. “I’m right here with you,” he said, his voice steady. “Remember I said nothing was going to happen to you.”

Calm washed through her, interspersed with crackles of lightning. A storm of epic proportions raging inside her.

He guided her as she pressed her palm flat against the horse. One of the horse’s muscles jumped beneath her touch, and McKenna nearly jerked her hand back, but Grant held her steady. Her heart was racing hard, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the feel of his hand, wrapped so tightly around her wrist, the touch of his calloused, bare skin against hers or because she was standing in front of a giant animal.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said.

She realized that he would be able to feel her pulse, pounding in her wrist, the way that he was holding on to her.

She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Now what I want you to do is put your left foot in the stirrup.”

“My left foot?”

“Yes.”

“It seems backward.”

“No. Backward is what you’ll be if you don’t follow my instructions. Now. Lift your left foot and put it firmly into the stirrup.”

She followed that direction. And he was still holding on to her wrist.

“Now reach up,” he said. “Grab hold of the horn.”

“I assume that’s the knob on the saddle?”

“You assume correct. Now grab hold of that and hang on to it.”

“Okay,” she said, extricating herself from his hold, and grabbing the horn of the saddle with both hands. “Now what?”

“Heft yourself up there.”

“Heft myself.”

“Yes,” he said. “Heft yourself.”

“I, sir, have never hefted myself in my life.”

“Better get started if you want to go for a ride.”

She lifted, using the muscles in her leg, and her arms, finding it surprisingly easy, and a little bit faster than she anticipated.