Wild About the Wrangler (3 page)

“Have you ever drawn one from real life?”

“Like I said, they scare me. So I've avoided them. But if I start the process by drawing one, or several, that could be very calming.” Or terrifying. She wouldn't know which until she tried it. “But I'm staying outside the fence.”

“They're all in the barn now, anyway. It's feeding time.”

“Then I'm staying outside the stall.”

“That's fine. I was picturing you concentrating on their heads, anyway. And their eyes. Look into their eyes long enough and I'll bet you'll feel better about climbing on board one of them.”

“You'll stick around while I do this?”

“Why not? All I had on my schedule was ripping out some old carpet. That can wait.”

“Then let's go.” The stables were only a short way from her house, but she'd never spent any time there, just like she'd never gone out to the little barn behind her house after that awful night. Georgie used to keep her horse, Prince, there, but the property she and Vince had rented included a barn, so Prince had moved out, too.

“How are the renovations coming along?” she asked as they approached the stable. She wanted to know, but talking about it would serve the dual purpose of distracting her. She did
not
like barns.

“Slow, but that's because I'm a perfectionist. At this rate I'll be finished in about ten years.”

“You should get Georgie to help you. She's extremely handy with tools.”

“She's offered, but I'm having fun doing it by myself. I've never owned a house before, so this is a brand-new experience for me.” He pushed open the main gate to Ed and Vivian's property. It included the stable, a couple of corrals, and their house, which doubled as an office.

Ed and Vivian sat on the front porch and they both called out a greeting.

Mac waved at them. “Okay if I give Anastasia a tour of the stable?”

“Sure thing.” Ed smiled at her. “Don't think I've ever seen you down here, young lady.”

“Nope!” She smiled back, although it felt more like a grimace. “First time.”

“But not her last!” Mac sounded quite happy about that.

She wasn't. She looked at him so she wouldn't have to look at where they were going. “I'm glad you bought a house here. It shows that you have confidence in Bickford's future.”

“I do, and I've always liked the town.”

They were mere steps from the barn's double doors, which stood open and ready to swallow her up. She kept the conversation going. “Vince would love to buy Mom's place because he knows how much Georgie wants it, but Mom won't sell while the market's going up.”

“And if she sold it, where would you live?”

She shrugged. “I'd figure something out. I wish Georgie could get that house. Her ancestors built it and she maintains it even though she's not living there anymore. She should have it. I've tried talking to Mom but she's stubborn.”

“So I hear. Hey, are you okay?” He peered at her. “You look pale.”

“I'm scared of horses, but I'm also scared of barns.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't know that. I thought a barn would make it easier because the horses are all confined in their stalls. Do you want to forget going in?”

She stood there breathing hard and feeling like an idiot. Learning to ride had been her idea, not Mac's, but he had agreed to help her and his suggestion that she draw the horses was a good one.

Her ultimate goal was to ride a horse out to the canyon where the Ghost kept his band, and draw him from life. If she couldn't even enter this barn, then none of that would take place. People entered barns all the time. No big deal.

She swallowed. “I want to go in. This is important.”

“Then take my hand.” He laced his strong fingers through hers.

“Thank you.” The warmth of their entwined fingers spread through her and chased away the chill of dread. She would have done this without his welcome support, but his presence, and now his touch, made it so much easier.

He squeezed her hand. “Let's go.”

Eyes open, heart pounding, she walked into a barn for the first time since she'd been a fanciful little girl of six. The scent of hay and the sound of horses moving in their stalls brought it all back. Her throat closed and she felt dizzy.

“You can do it.” Releasing her hand, he put an arm around her shoulders and urged her forward.

His solid bulk beside her was the only thing that kept her from turning around and running outside. His grip was firm and his pace steady.

“You're fine,” he murmured. “I'm here. I promise nothing will happen to you. Just keep walking.”

He had far more confidence in her than she had in herself, and for that reason she kept going. She couldn't let him down. She couldn't let herself down, either.

A large horse with a reddish coat poked its head out of the stall to gaze at them.

Mac paused. “Hey, Jasper. I've brought somebody to meet you. This is Anastasia. She wants to do your portrait. You up for that?”

The horse blew out through his nose, and Anastasia hung back.

Mac's grip on her shoulder tightened. “They do that kind of thing sometimes when they meet people. Nothing worrisome about it. Jasper and me, we're buddies. Technically, he's not my horse, but I've had the use of him for trail rides and we have an understanding. Don't we, Jasper?”

The horse gazed at them with eyes so big they reflected an image of Mac. The artist in her was fascinated by those eyes fringed with dark lashes. Mac had been right that she needed to concentrate on those, which seemed filled with understanding. She might be imagining that quality, but if imagining it helped, she'd go with it.

“Feel like sketching this guy?” Mac gave her shoulder another squeeze. “He's my favorite, so I'd be much obliged if you would.”

“Of course.” It was the least she could do.

“Let me get you a place to sit.” He let go of her.

She held back a cry of dismay. The support of his arm had meant more than she'd realized.

“You can use this.” He brought over a canvas camp stool.

Without his support she felt a little wobbly, so she sat on the stool.

“I'll wager Jasper's never had his portrait done.” Mac rubbed the horse's nose. “He'll love it.”

The affection Mac obviously felt for the horse inspired her to pull out her sketch pad. If she could capture that emotion, she'd have something new for her portfolio.

She sketched the man first, but then she turned her attention to the horse. Such a sleek coat, such an interesting play of muscles in Jasper's neck. His ears fascinated her, too. Little hairs gave them an almost fuzzy appearance.

And the eyes. She'd have to use all her skill to capture the expression in those liquid brown eyes. Her heart rate slowed and her breathing evened out as she became completely absorbed in the task. She hummed softly under her breath.

Mac's voice roused her from her intense concentration. “You said you could chat while you draw.”

“Do you want to chat?”

“Not exactly. I want to know what happened.”

She didn't have to ask what he was talking about. “Nobody knows about this besides Georgie.”

“You can trust me.”

“I know.” She kept working on the portrait of Jasper. “That's why I asked for your help.”

“If I'm going to help you, I need to know the story.”

She'd realized that, too. “Then maybe this is as good a time as any to tell you about it.”

W
hen Anastasia had said that horses scared her, Mac had thought she had the usual garden-variety fear based on a horse's size and her lack of familiarity with their behavior. Oh, no. He'd signed on to help her with something much bigger. By rights she should see a therapist.

But therapists weren't thick on the ground in Bickford. Besides that, she didn't have a lot of time to mess around with driving up to Amarillo or down to Lubbock for sessions. Filming, and the publicity that would go with it, began in three weeks.

He hoped his help would be enough. All he could do was his best. So far, this drawing exercise seemed to be working okay. She'd finished one sketch of Jasper and had begun a second.

“When I was six,” she began, “I'd seen several movies where the girl in the story rode bareback . . . somewhere. Either she was racing over the plains or galloping on the moors or leaping stone walls in Virginia. It looked so easy.”

He wished he could have known that six-year-old. He would have been a worldly kid of thirteen, though, and might have thought she was a nuisance. Adolescent boys just discovering their sexuality tended to focus on cheerleaders and seminude movie stars.

She leaned closer to her drawing and added some detail he couldn't see from here. He wondered if she'd forgotten about telling him her story. Just as he was about to prompt her, she started up again.

“Georgie and my stepdad each had a horse but my mother wouldn't let me ride.” She glanced up from her work, her expression puzzled. “I never thought of this before, but do you suppose
she's
scared of horses?”

“Maybe. You could ask her.”

Anastasia shook her head, which made her glossy ponytail swing gently. “She'd never admit it to me.”

“I'll bet it wasn't easy for you to admit it to me, either.”

“No, but I had to if I wanted to fix the problem, and better you than anyone else I could think of.” She met his gaze. “Horses are beautiful, you know.”

“I do know.”
And so are you.
Her shirt had a lot of green in it, which made her eyes seem more green than brown. She had really long lashes, too. At times they added to her sex appeal, but today, maybe because they were talking about her childhood, they made her appear young and vulnerable.

“I had a professor who told us we could never let fear stand in the way of our art. I've been doing that.”

“But your pictures of the Ghost are great. I don't see how they could get any better.”

She smiled. “Oh, they will. Even watching the video you took that one time can't replace firsthand experience. Just looking at Jasper tells me that. My drawings of the Ghost might be technically good, but once I see him, they'll be so much better. I'll be able to capture his spirit.”

He gazed at her in admiration. “I can't wait to see the picture you draw after you've seen him.”

“I can't wait, either.” She smiled. “But don't worry. I won't steal a horse and ride off into the night by myself. I learned my lesson on that score.”

“That's what you did?”

“Of course! I'd seen those movies.”

“Six years old, never been on a horse, and you thought you could ride bareback all by yourself.” But around the same age he'd jumped off the roof wearing a cape, so who was he to talk?

“I was barefoot and only had on a nightgown. I was going to race on Prince, Georgie's horse, through a moonlit meadow. For all I knew, fairies and elves would show up.”

His heart ached for that little girl's brave fantasy.

“I got on him and he started off at a walk.”

He waited, knowing the story had to get worse.

Her hand moved quickly over the paper as if keeping up with her racing thoughts. “But walking lacked drama, so I yelled at him and kicked him again. He broke into a trot, although I didn't understand what that was then. I screamed, and he panicked, I guess. He was a lot younger then.” The pace of her breathing picked up. “I'm not sure what happened after that, but I think he might have started to gallop. We were going pretty fast.”

Mac closed his eyes in dismay. “You could have been killed.”

“On some level I knew that. This huge animal was out of control and I was about to die. I was hysterical, which only made him go faster. Then I yelled as loud as I could, and he stopped abruptly. I went right over his head.”

He sucked in a breath. Even though she was sitting in front of him and obviously fine, the scene was horrific to contemplate. Maybe elves and fairies had been in the meadow watching out for her, after all.

“I could have been seriously hurt, but by some miracle I was only dazed and banged up a little. Prince hung around at first, but in my mind he'd turned into a demon horse and I screamed at him to get away. Eventually he headed for home.”

“And you were alone out there.”

“Not for long. It was summer so Georgie had her window open. Later she told me that she'd heard somebody out in the barn. She knows me pretty well, so she must have guessed I'd do something like that. She checked my room, threw on some clothes, and came after me.”

“And you were completely traumatized.”

“Not only by that, but I'd defied my mother. I was terrified of what she'd do if she found out. She doesn't like being disobeyed.”

“So I gather.”

“Georgie smuggled me back into the house, cleaned me up, and promised never to tell anyone.” She glanced up from her sketch pad. “Although it probably doesn't matter anymore, you're one of three people in the world who know about my stupidity.”

“It wasn't stupid. It was creative. Little kids think they're invincible. Even some big kids.” He wanted to gather her close and comfort her, but that wasn't a good idea. Besides, she was still working on her second sketch of Jasper. He would never dream of interrupting her while she was working.

“This was a fabulous idea, Mac. Drawing Jasper and trying to get the right expression in his eyes makes me see him as an individual, a creature with needs and fears just like mine.”

“As a prey animal, he has more reason to fear you than you have to fear him.”

She looked up in surprise. “But he's
huge.
Why would he be afraid of little old me?”

“Ever heard that phrase
Eyes in front, born to hunt. Eyes on the side, run and hide
?”

“I have.” She glanced at Jasper. “But I always thought of rabbits and deer versus coyotes and bobcats. Jasper seems much more capable of defending himself.”

“Not necessarily any more than a deer. And we're definitely in the predator category, yet we expect him to carry us on his back, which puts him at potential risk if we should want to hurt him.”

Her expression grew thoughtful. “I never considered that.”

“If you put yourself in his place, and I know you can do that or you wouldn't be able to draw Ida with that rebellious gleam in her eye, it might change everything.”

She laughed. “Ida is my second favorite subject.”

He decided not to ask who her favorite subject was. He had a feeling he already knew. She claimed that her interest was purely artistic. He hoped that was true and Ida was on the wrong track.

If Anastasia didn't cross the line, he certainly wouldn't. He had so many reasons not to make a move. Being alone with her in the barn had demonstrated what he'd been trying to deny. He wanted Anastasia Bickford.

But he was no longer driven by his hormones, thank God. At one time in his life he wouldn't have been able to teach her how to ride without giving in to temptation. But he had to have faith in himself and believe those days were behind him.

When she'd first asked, he'd shied away. But now that he'd heard her story, he was glad he'd eventually said he'd do it. He wanted to help remove this block to her creativity. He believed in her future as an artist, and if he could contribute to that, great.

“I could work on this drawing forever, but I think I've kept you long enough.” She carefully started tearing the pages from her sketch pad.

“That's okay. As I said, the carpet can wait.” And he didn't want this moment to end. He'd have to watch himself. He might be able to keep from reaching for her, but if he started craving her company that would be almost as bad.

“I'm sure you'll feel better if you get a start on it tonight.” She stood and handed him the drawings. “These are for you.”

“Oh, I couldn't take those.”

“You don't want them?”

“Of course I
want
them. But your stuff is worth a fair amount of money these days. You can't go giving away a—”

“Your time is also valuable, so consider this the beginning of our barter agreement. You'll need some art for the walls of your house, anyway. You can get Georgie to mat and frame them for you. She's really into that these days.”

“She's good at it, too.”

“Thank God for that. You can't imagine the damage I can do with a sharp blade.”

Mac nodded. “Yes, I can.”

“Hey, you're not supposed to
agree
with me.” She tucked her sketch pad in her messenger bag and slung it over her shoulder. “You're supposed to say I just need a little more practice, or I'm probably not as bad as I think I am. Something along those lines.”

“Sorry.” He grinned at her. “I've been hearing stories ever since I moved here. According to those stories, you're a brilliant artist but you're also a klutz. I'm glad Georgie's convinced you to let her mat and frame for you.”

“She didn't exactly convince me as much as order me away from the matting knife on pain of death. That was after I nearly sliced open an artery.” She held out her arm to show him the cut. It had healed, but an angry red slash remained on her delicate skin.

He winced and resisted the urge to lean down and kiss the spot. “Does Georgie know you were planning to ask me for riding lessons?”

“Not yet, but I'm going to tell her unless you don't want me to.”

“Even if I didn't want you to, we couldn't keep it secret. We'll be using Jasper and probably Cinder, so Ed and Vivian will know. Eventually the rest of the town will figure it out, too, but they don't have to hear the whole complicated story.”

“I'd appreciate that. Like I said, I'm no longer terrified of repercussions from my mother, but I see no reason to stir up old issues. Those horses were a source of friction between her and my stepdad.”

“Then we'll just say you need to learn so you can sketch the Ghost in his natural habitat.” He gazed at her. “It's hard to believe you've never seen the meadow or Sing-Song Creek.”

“Only in pictures.”

“Why not hike out there? I know it's a substantial distance, but—”

“It is, and I've never been much of a hiker. I keep stopping to draw something and before you know it, the day's gone and I'm too far out to make it back before dark. I don't know much about camping, either. On horseback is the way to go, especially if someone is with me who will keep me moving.”

“I can do that, although I enjoy it when you start sketching something. It makes me take a closer look. I'm guilty of seeing things in a superficial way.”

She shrugged. “We all do that sometimes.”

“I'll bet you don't do it much. These are great.” He studied the two sketches she'd given him. The first one of him stroking Jasper's nose made him smile, but the second one of Jasper by himself peering over the stall door tugged at his heart.

She'd captured Jasper's eager interest in whatever the humans were doing. Not every horse cared, but Jasper watched the people in his life as if they were a constant source of entertainment for him. Anastasia had seen that and put it on paper. What a gift she had.

But looking at the sketches made him think of one more step she should probably take while she was here and feeling reasonably mellow. “Before you leave, why not pet him a little bit?”

“Pet him?” The anxiety in her voice was obvious as she gave the horse a nervous glance. “Do I have to?”

“No, but he'd like it if you did. Think about this from his perspective. He loves being rubbed and scratched, so you'd be doing him a big favor.”

She gazed at the horse. “Is that right, Jasper? Are you looking for a little scratch?”

Jasper bobbed his head, which was probably only a reflex that had nothing to do with nodding. But his timing was perfect.

Anastasia turned to Mac with a wide smile. “Did you see that? He does!”

“Then go right ahead.” He wasn't about to disabuse her of the notion. She was once a girl who'd believed in fairies and elves. She still might have some of those fantasies, and if he could add a magical horse, why not? Besides, Jasper was a really smart animal. Somebody might have taught him to nod when asked a question.

“Would you please hold my bag?” She held it toward him.

“You bet.” The canvas bag was old and almost colorless from age and much use. She'd probably had it for years, maybe since high school. Whenever he pictured Anastasia, and he did quite often, she was carrying this bag over her shoulder or resting it beside her chair while she worked. He handled it with care.

Moving slowly and cautiously, she approached the stall. “I've never done this before, Jasper,” she murmured. “I don't know much about horses in general and you in particular, but if you want a little scratch, then you deserve one for being such a good boy and a cooperative subject.”

Mac swallowed a chuckle. Jasper hadn't been given much choice. He was stuck in that stall. But he was a friendly horse, which was why Mac had chosen him for the portrait session.

She lifted a hand toward the horse and then hesitated. “Mac, where do I start?”

“You could stroke his nose, first. He likes that, too.”