“I know it’s your ranch,” she said like it should have been obvious. “This could be really good for you. You just don’t want to see it.”
“How could it be good for me? I’m all ears.”
“It might make up for some of the losses you’ve had this week, for one.”
How desperate did she think I was? “I don’t need the cash.”
“You’re richer than I am, then.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and she might as well have dug her heels in the dirt. “I’d like to make seven hundred fifty dollars for two hours of work. And I was never talking about your monetary losses.”
“Then what?”
“Your training clients, of course.”
For the life of me, I couldn’t follow her logic. “You think showing a bunch of kids their way around an old mare is going to get me new business?”
“You said your job is all about word of mouth. You would realize this is good PR if you would just stop to think.”
She raised a hand like she was about to poke me in the chest. I tensed, waiting for the pain to shear through me, but she dropped her hand at the last second.
“I’ve thought of your grandmother fondly my whole life after being out there with her a few Saturdays. You think those kids won’t do the same? Word will get around. It’s advertising they’re paying you for, Ty.”
I raked my fingers through my hair, ignoring the tug of pain the movement caused. She had a point, dammit, but that didn’t change my feelings. “That’s not the kind of reputation I’m trying to build, June.”
Her expression brightened at the slight concession. “I know. Your reputation is all about being the Unbreakable Ty Hardy, the man who can tame any horse. You don’t have to be steel all the time. Maybe people need to know you’re approachable, too.”
Great. After all this, she thought I needed personality lessons, too. “I’m approachable. Who thinks I’m not approachable?”
She waved a hand in the air. “Everybody.”
I stared harder at her.
“Ithought you were unapproachable. You’re not the easiest man to talk to, you know.” Her confidence faltered, giving way to something like shyness. Maybe even tenderness. I really did that to her? In the next minute, she shook it all off. “The point is, this would get your name out there.”
“As a Girl Scout host, which I have no intention of ever being.”
“Oh,” she said, her tone oddly clipped. “I get it now. This is beneath you.”
“I didn’t say that.” I’d sure as hell been thinking it, though.
“Is it because they’re kids, or because they’re girls?”
Frustration flashed through me all over again. “You really think I’m that old-fashioned that I care they’re girls? This is beneath me because this isn’t what I do, and never was. I train horses to work, that’s it. I don’t give pony rides.”
“That still sounds like it has something to do with them being children.”
I exhaled a ragged sigh. Arguing with her drove me nuts, not least because of all the ways she found to ding me. “It is a little, okay? I’m no good with kids.”
I regretted it as soon as I’d said it. A slight smile touched her lips—because of course, she would find that amusing. “I’m sure that's not true.”
“You’re sure of a lot of things lately.”
“Why do you think you’re not good with kids?”
Lord, I hated how soft her voice had gone, how sweet and understanding, like she could solve all my problems if I would just give her half a chance.
“I don’t have the kind of patience that would make a person good with kids.”
“You do realize you train horses for a living, right? I’m pretty sure that takes patience.”
