A Tall, Dark Cowboy Christmas. Maisey Yates

      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.

      “Swing your leg up over her,” he guided. “That’s a girl.”

      And then she found herself seated on the back of the horse, perilously high off the ground.

      “This is terrifying,” she said.

      “You’ll be fine.”

      “What if I’m not?” she asked.

      “You’ll be fine.”

      She huffed, hanging on to the saddle horn.

      “You can’t hold on to that the whole time,” he said.

      “Why not?”

      “Because,” he responded. “You’ve got to hold on to the reins.”

      Grant handed them to her, his hands covering hers again as he guided her, showing how she was supposed to hold them. “This is a good beginner’s hold,” he said. “Eventually you’ll be able to do it one-handed.”

      “That’s definitely what she said,” McKenna said.

      “I’m going to ignore that,” he said.

      “Great. Ignore that. But telling me you’re going to ignore it isn’t exactly ignoring it.”

      He did ignore that. “Pull this way to go left, this way to go right. When you want to stop, you pull back. When you want to go, give her a kick.”

      “A kick? That seems mean.”

      “This horse could flatten you without giving it much thought. A little kick from your rounded heel to the flank doesn’t hurt. It’s a nudge. And that’s all you’re doing, because you’re just walking. A gentle nudge, and she’s going to go.”

      “And pulling back is the brakes?”

      “Pulling back is the brakes. But believe me. She’s an old girl. She’s not going to get frisky on you.”

      “Okay,” she said, feeling nervous. “I guess I’m... Ready?”

      “You’re ready,” he confirmed.

      He went back over to his horse, mounted with complete ease. The grip he had on his reins looked different than hers, and he guided Guinevere into position as effortlessly as he had led the horses out of the barn.

      “I’m going to lead us down the trail,” he said. “Give her a tap, and she’s going to start walking. Don’t freak out.”

      “Hey,” she said. “Do I seem like the type of girl who freaks out?”

      “In general? No. On a horse? Maybe.”

      She breathed in deeply, giving Sunflower an experimental tap. And indeed, just like he said, the horse walked forward. She seemed to keep an effortless following distance between her nose and the ass on Grant’s beast. In fact, the horse might be a better driver than McKenna.

      “There,”