“You ought to ask Jessica why she’s not stepping out on a Saturday night.”
“Why is that, Jessie?” Maureen wanted to know.
“Right under the bus?” Jessica asked Bodine.
“Around here it’d be wagon, but it’s all the same.”
Jessica was spared finding an answer as the men trooped into the house and, as predicted, got in the way.
Outside of an event, Jessica had never seen so much food. In addition to the traditional turkey, they offered ham and beef, mashed and scalloped potatoes, an ocean of gravy, brandied yams, candied yams, stuffing, a bounty of vegetables and salads, fresh-made applesauce, cranberry sauce, biscuits and sourdough rolls warm from the oven.
Along with the food, the drink, conversation flowed. She noted the subject of Billy Jean remained off the Thanksgiving table, and could only be grateful.
Not a day passed at work without speculation, questions. She considered the holiday meal a reprieve.
Seated between Chase and Callen, Jessica sampled the ham.
“You be careful with those slivers of meat on your plate,” Callen advised. “You won’t have room for dessert.”
“There’s too much here for more than a sliver. Where are you going to find room?” She wagged a finger toward his more generously filled plate.
“Miss Maureen’s apple pie is like nobody else’s. I dreamed about that pie every Thanksgiving I wasn’t at this table.”
So this was tradition for him, Jessica thought, sharing Thanksgiving with this family rather than his own. She filed that away. “I guess you work it off. I couldn’t make it to your show last Saturday, but I hear you and your horse were major hits.”
“We had some fun with it.”
“I want to get some pictures next time.” Bodine leaned around from the other side of Callen, then shifted to gesture at Rory across from her. “We should put one or two up on the website. I caught part of it. Sundown had the people eating out of his hand. You weren’t bad, either,” she told Callen.
“He taught me all I know.”
“Smartest horse I ever knew,” Sam put in. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he said, ‘Howdy, Sam,’ one day when I walk by his stall.”
“We’re working on it,” Callen told him.
“I’ll have to meet this wonder horse.” Jessica tried a forkful of mashed potatoes.
“He’d be pleased. He likes pretty women. Especially ones who bring him a carrot.”
Bodine shifted a little as Callen aimed a look at her. “I suppose you’re going to claim he told you about that,” she said.
“We have our ways. Sundown and me, we have our ways. You get much chance to ride, Jessie?”
“Me? Oh, I don’t ride.”
Conversation, all the little pockets of it around the table, emptied into silence. And once again Bodine leaned around Callen.
“At all?”
“There wasn’t much opportunity in Lower Manhattan.”
“But you’ve been on a horse. Like a trail ride.” Surprised enough to ask, Chase shifted to face her.
“Actually, no. I’ve never been on a horse.”
“How did we not know that?” Rory wondered. “How did we not know that?”
“Nobody asked.” Feeling suddenly exposed, as if she’d inadvertently confessed to a crime, Jessica reached for her wine. “It wasn’t in the job description.”
“Well, we’ll fix that.” Sam snagged another biscuit. “Cora here’s a fine teacher. The fact is, everybody around this table could teach you basic horsemanship in no time at all. We’ll get her up on Maybelle, don’t you think, Bo?”
“Maybelle’s as gentle and patient as they come. Abe always put her in for the dead novice or the skittish.”
“Really, you don’t have to bother. I don’t—”
“Are you afraid of horses?” Chase asked, gently enough that she felt heat rise up the back of her neck.
“No.” Not in theory. “No, not at all,” she said more firmly.
“We’ll get you up in a saddle,” Sam told her. “Don’t you worry about it.”
Stuck, Jessica smiled, drank more wine.
She hadn’t been worried about it. Now she imagined she’d worry about little else.
The break between dinner and dessert included cleanup, and a choice of cards or watching football.
Since Jessica understood football better than cards, she opted for that. But she’d barely settled in when Chase brought in her coat and a pair of barn boots.
“Mom said I should take you over, get you used to the horses.”
“Oh, really, that’s not necessary.”
“I don’t argue with my mother. It’s a waste of time because she always wins.”
“That’s a fact,” Rory confirmed, then snarled at the game. “For God’s sake, where’s the defense? Are they taking the day off?”
“She said these ought to fit.” Chase held out the boots. “You can’t go walking across the yard in those high heels.”
“Fine.” She’d get it over with. Her hostess—and employer—had made a request. She’d walk over, look at horses, and be done.
She’d looked at plenty of horses since moving to Montana.
From a comfortable distance.
She put on the boots, which did fit well enough even if they looked ridiculous with her dress, then pulled on her coat.
Chase led her out the side door. The snow had stopped, but a fresh three inches glittered under the yard lights.
Making her grateful for the boots.
“It’s not like I need to ride anywhere,” she began.
“It’s a good skill to have. Like swimming. Can you swim?”
“Of course I can swim.”
“I’ve never been to Lower Manhattan. Didn’t know if there were many opportunities for that there, either.”
“It’s an island,” Jessica reminded him as a raucous cheer erupted from the bunkhouse.
“They’re watching the game.”
“You’d probably like to do the same,” she realized. “We’ll make this quick so you can get back to it.”
“I like football well enough, but it’s just a game.”
He opened the door, hit the lights.
It was a soft smell, Jessica thought. Horses. Different, a little different from what it was when she walked by them in paddocks or rings.
He walked down the sloped concrete, stopped. “This is Maybelle. She’s a good choice for the first time up on a horse.”
As he spoke, the horse lifted her head, dark brown with a jagged white blaze, over the stall door.
“If she had wool, she’d be a lamb. Isn’t that so, Maybelle?”
Her ears flicked forward as he rubbed her cheek. Her eyes looked deep into Jessica’s.
“You can pet her. She likes it. Have you petted a horse before?”
“No.”
“I’m not going to say some won’t bite, because they will. But not this one. She’s a good girl. Here you go.”
Before Jessica realized he meant to, he’d taken her hand pressed it to the mare’s cheek.
Soft—like the scent. Smooth. Warm.
Her heart stopped hammering so she could enjoy the experience.
“She has beautiful eyes.”
“She does.”
Chase waited until her confidence built enough for her to stroke her hand down Maybelle’s neck.