“Most horses that compete are trained by professionals and cost well over forty grand,” he says. “But not Midas. Tucker raised and trained him from a colt.”
“I’m impressed.”
Tucker looks restless. He rubs the back of his neck, a gesture I know means he’s wildly uncomfortable with the way the conversation’s going.
“I wish I could have seen you compete,” I say. “I bet that’s something to behold.”
“You’ll have to catch him this year,” says Mr. Avery.
“I know!” I exclaim. I drop my chin into my hand as I lean on the kitchen table and grin at Tucker. I know I’m making it worse, teasing him. But maybe if I just act normal everything will go back to the way it was.
“Let’s go out to the barn and show Midas the new bridle,” Tucker says.
With that he whisks me out of the house to the safety of the barn. The horse comes to the front of his stall the moment we go in, ears cocked forward expectantly. He’s a beautiful, shiny chestnut color with large, knowing brown eyes. Tucker strokes under his chin. Then he puts on the new bridle his parents gave him.
“You should have told me it was your birthday,” I say.
“I was going to. But then we were almost eaten by a grizzly.”
“Oh, right. What about Wendy?” I ask.
“What about her?”
“It’s her birthday, too. I’m the worst friend ever. I should have sent her something.
Did you exchange gifts?”
“Not yet.” He turns toward me. “But she gave me the perfect gift.”
The way he’s looking at me sends butterflies into my stomach. “What?”
“You.”
I don’t know what to say. This summer hasn’t turned out at all the way I’d planned.
I’m not supposed to be standing in the middle of a barn with a blue-eyed cowboy who’s looking at me like he’s about to kiss me. I shouldn’t be wanting him to kiss me.
“What are we doing?” I ask.
“Carrots. ”
“Don’t call me that,” I say shakily. “That’s not me.”
“What do you mean?”
“An hour ago you thought I was some kind of freak.”
He tugs a hand through his hair in agitation and then looks directly into my eyes.
“I didn’t ever think you were a freak. I think. I thought you were magic or something. I thought that you were too perfect to be real.”
I so want to show him, to fly to the top of the hayloft and smile down on him, to tell him everything. I want him to know the real me.
“I know I said some stupid things today. But I like you, Clara,” he says. “I really like you.”
It might be the first time he’s actually said my name.
He sees the hesitation in my eyes. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”
“No,” I say. He’s a distraction. I have a purpose, a duty. I’m not here for him. “Tuck, I can’t. I have to—”
His expression clouds.
“Tell me this isn’t about Christian Prescott,” he says. “Tell me you’re over that guy.”
I feel a flash of anger at how condescending he sounds, like I’m some silly girl with a crush.
“You don’t know everything about me,” I say, trying to rein in my temper.
“Come here.” His voice is so warm and rough-edged that it sends a shiver down my spine.
“No.”
“I don’t think you really want to be with Christian Prescott,” he says.
“Like you know what I want.”
“I do. I know you. He’s not your type.”
I stare helplessly down at my hands, afraid to look at him. “Oh, and I suppose you’re my type, right?”
“I suppose I am,” he says, and he’s crossing the distance between us and taking my face in his hands before I can even think to stop him.
“Tuck, please,” I manage in a quivery voice.
“You like me, Clara,” he says. “I know you do.”
If only I could laugh at him. If only I could laugh and pull away and tell him how stupid and wrong he is.
