“You’re just now catching on to that?”
That tiny furrow deepened, and her eyes shone with real worry. “There are alotof terms to remember. Gaskin, pastern, withers. I’ve already forgotten the difference between the cannon and the coronet. What if I call a fetlock a flank?”
“I will laugh.”
“Seriously, just go inside for the next two hours, okay?”
As much as I enjoyed her pleading face, this was the sort of request I’d enjoy more for denying.
“I don’t think so.” I rested one hand on the barn door behind her and leaned closer until the ache in my chest kicked in. Surprise shimmered in her eyes, but she didn’t move out of our shared space. “I think I’d better stick close by. What if you can’t remember which part is the standing whittle and which is the posterior baffle?”
Her eyebrows drew together in a look of sheer panic. “I don’t remember those.”
I let one side of my mouth tug back into a smirk. Realizing she’d been had, she pulled away from me. “Just go inside.”
“I’m a stubborn man, remember?”
She tried to subdue a smile. “How could I forget?” The smile disappeared again. “These girls have been looking forward to this forever. What if I totally blow it?”
I took her gently by the arm, her skin soft and warm beneath my fingers. “You aren’t going to blow it. And if you do, so what? Do you remember all the technical names from when Gram taught you?”
“No.”
“What do you remember?”
Her slow smile lit me up inside.
“How much I loved seeing horses up close.”
“So give them that. Everything else is gravy.”
A car pulled up out front, and I guessed that was the signal the show was about to begin. I started to move away, but June grabbed both my hands. Her panic had faded, and her eyes glowed with tenderness. I had a crazy impulse to forget the kids and pull her into an empty stall.
“Thank you for letting me do this, Ty.”
I swallowed hard, the sweetness of the moment urging me to do something I’d regret.
“Don’t thank me yet. Your fun’s just starting.”
She squeezed my hands once before running around the corner to greet her guests. More cars pulled in and drove away as parents dropped off seemingly endless Girl Scouts. Their laughing and squealing got louder with each addition to the fray.
I stepped closer to Miss Kitty.
“You ready to be loved on by a bunch of eager little girls?” Her ears pricked forward, her big brown eyes watching me as I stroked her neck. “Don’t do anything to make me regret this, okay?”
Finally, June came back into the barn, followed by three women and what felt like a hundred girls, every one decked out in the same purple shirt. I moved farther down the barn aisle to be less obtrusive, both to June and the girls, but I wouldn’t miss this for anything.
June stood in front of Miss Kitty, the girls crowding around her to see. Theyoohedandaahedover the old mare like she was juggling chainsaws while standing on one leg. I wasn’t sure what June had to be worried about—this would be a cake walk.
She welcomed the girls to the ranch and started in on her spiel about the basics of horse safety. I only halfway listened. Mostly, I just watched her, admiring how at ease she was with those girls. She asked them questions and engaged with them in a way I never could have matched. If ever a girl started to look bored or like she was thinking about wandering off—say, toward the tack wall—June chose that girl to help with her demonstration. She knew what she was doing, I had to give her that.
Then again, maybe she didn’tentirelyknow what she was doing. When she started pointing out all the different parts of a horse, she faltered pretty quick aftermuzzle. She glanced to me, and I gave a small nod. Those girls didn’t care what the proper names of a horse’s body parts were—they were just thrilled to see the horse. She got back on track, hitting the basic terms out of the park and skipping the more obscure ones as the girls repeated after her.
Standing there, watching June show off my horse for fifteen little girls, eager to get them interested in riding and safety, I couldn’t help but be impressed. She found what needed to be done and stepped right in to do it. Her headstrong ways could drive me a little crazy, but she was never wrong. She always had good intentions at heart. That heart was quickly becoming the most precious thing in my life. I wasn’t sure I would ever get over these last few weeks with her.
“Is this your horse, Miss June?” a little girl in blond pigtails asked.
“No, this one belongs to Mr. Ty.” June nodded my direction. Fifteen little faces turned my way before they got bored and snapped their attention back to the horse.
