“He’s a thoroughbred, huh?”
She frowned. “Mustang. I’m not sure of the lineage since he was purchased from the BLM.”
“He’s wild?”
“Was.”
He looked intrigued. “Fast? Champion fast?”
Tabby shrugged, wondering what all the interest was in her horse. “I’m hoping. He’s had a good showing these last few years, but mostly at the local level. I’ve had good scores and he’s made me some money. He’s learned a lot.”
Giving her a slow grin, he asked, “What about you?”
With a quick smile that hinted of pride, she said, “Well, I’m not one of those riders who’ve been barrel racing since they could climb into a saddle, but I’ve got some rides behind me. I’ve been doing this for a few years when I can.”
“So it’s not your first rodeo.”
Frowning, she said, “Isn’t that a bit cliché?”
“Maybe. But considering my reason for being here, it fits.”
“I guess.” She tossed the bridle over the stall door and then opened it. The water trough was empty. Dusty probably hadn’t had a chance to fill them all yet. She grabbed a bucket and walked to the faucet at a few yards down from the stall and filled the bucket with water before walking back to the stall.
The man was standing inside the stall, seemingly unaware or uncaring that his fancy shoes could very well be wrecked by the stomp of a hoof any second.
“What are you actually doing here?” she asked. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t look like a cowpoke. Those loafers are going to be toast by the end of the day if you keep stepping into the stall the way you’re doing.”
He chuckled. “Loafers?”
“Your shoes.”
“I know what you’re talking about. I just haven’t had anyone call them loafers for about…well, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard someone call men’s dress shoes loafers.”
She straightened her back. She’d been an outsider in Sweet, Montana for a long time. It took years to dig roots here. Many of the locals who’d been living here twenty years were still considered “new” to town by the families who’d been here generations.
“Are you making fun of me?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“I have no way of knowing what you’d dare. But for the record, just because Sweet is a small town, doesn’t mean we’re small-minded people.”
“Let me explain—”
“You really don’t have to, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“I do mind, actually.”
She frowned. “You…do?”
“You think you know something about me. But the way I look at it, you’re the one who is assuming something without really understanding the situation.”
She dumped the pail of water into the trough and noticed Tenterhook’s grain bin was almost empty.
“He needs some grain. Would you mind stepping out of the stall so I can close it?”
She shut the stall door before heading down the aisle to the feed room. To her surprise, the stranger followed.
“I happen to know a thing or two about Sweet, Montana.”
“Yeah? I’m sure you’re eager to enlighten me.”
He shook his head slightly and stopped walking. She wanted to stop too, but she was entirely too uncomfortable with this stranger for some reason. She continued into the feed room and started scooping grain into a bucket.
“Sweet, Montana is my hometown.”
She swung around in surprise. “Really?”
“Born and raised until I moved to New York.”
“You’re a long way from there now. I’ve never seen you around town.”
“I’ve been gone a while. But I’ve come back. Mostly for holidays and family events.
She looked at the way he was dressed. “I’ve never seen anyone dressed like that around here. You must work at a bank or something.”
“A bank. Do you always make judgments about people before getting to know them?”
“No, you just look like you work in a bank.”
“Let me guess, just because I’m dressed like this you assumed I was a suit who never got dirt under his fingernails or lifted piles of manure out a dirty stall.”
“Are you offering to help me then?”
He laughed, which seemed to take away the tension she’d created by being rude, something she knew her mother would admonish her for at any age.
But it was more than just her embarrassment over being rude to a stranger. His laugh did things to her in ways she hated to think about. It made her feel exposed and she didn’t know why.
Sure he was handsome. Too clean for her liking. No, that wasn’t it. He was too perfect to get manure stuck in the cracks of his loafers, which taking another look probably cost as much as her prized saddle. And if she looked at his hands, she was sure his fingernails would be free from dirt and whatever else was likely to get underneath there spending time in a barn. Unlike hers. Tabby didn’t want to know what was under her nails.
Worst of all, she didn’t know why she cared today of all days. She spent her time working her horse every day. At the end of the day, anything that had managed to find its way on her would be scrubbed clean. It didn’t matter what this guy saw in her.
“I think the cowpoke has already been by to clean these stalls. I’m pretty sure you won’t be doing any hard cleaning either.”
“Hmm. Too bad. It would have been a sight to see.”
His lips lifted just a fraction. If she hadn’t been watching, she would have missed it.
And yes, he definitely smelled good, unlike the usual smells that assaulted her nose on a daily basis. As much as those odors were offensive to most people, they weren’t to people like Tabby, who found comfort and joy being in the barn with her horse. But his clean shaven face was most surely topped off with aftershave that Tabby found surprisingly appealing.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Tabitha Swanson. Everyone calls me Tabby.”
“Will you be taking Tenterhook out for a run?”
Before she had the chance to answer,
