Ryan scoffed. “This is a ranch. You don’t walk on a ranch when you could ride. Breanna’s right. You’ll do fine.”
In the kitchen, Lucas, the little one, was refusing to eat his pancake because it had arrived on his plate with a bump on one side, where an extra drop of batter had fallen into the pan. Michael, who suffered no such apprehension about bumpy pancakes, asked for a second helping as Breanna slid his sack lunch into his backpack. Done with that, she calmly cut the bump off of Lucas’s pancake and instructed him to eat.
“Ah, jeez,” Gen said miserably.
Ryan’s mother, Sandra, bustled into the room, looking harried but efficient, shooed the boys out of the kitchen with friendly spanks on their butts, and started cleaning up the breakfast dishes.
“I’ll clean this up when I get back, Mom. You don’t have to do it,” Breanna told Sandra, planting a kiss on the older woman’s cheek.
“Oh, now, you just get those boys off to school before they’re late,” Sandra grumped at her.
“Good morning, Mrs. Delaney,” Gen said.
“Is it? Seems just like every other morning to me,” Sandra said, stacking plates into the dishwasher.
Gen smiled. She didn’t know Ryan’s mother well, but she knew her well enough to know the grumbling was just a part of the Sandra Delaney gestalt.
“Can I help you clean up?” Gen offered.
“What?” Sandra demanded. “Well, I think I can clean up my own kitchen! You just get on with what you came here for. Ryan, show her around the place like you should have done months ago. I swear, you’ve got no manners despite my best efforts.”
“I would, but she’s afraid to get on a horse,” he said, some amusement in his voice.
Gen sensed that she’d been set up—Ryan had lobbed an easy ball right toward Sandra, who was about to smash it over the net.
“Afraid of a horse! Oh, holy … Girl, are you kidding me?” She assessed Gen, hands on her hips. “What kind of upbringing did you have, anyway, if you’re afraid of a perfectly noble, people-friendly animal like a horse?”
“I … uh … well, I’m from Manhattan, so …”
“That’s no excuse!” Sandra declared. “Ryan, you go and get this girl into a saddle, for God’s sake.” She inspected Gen. “Well, I guess you’re dressed all right for it. The shoes aren’t the best, but they’ll do.”
Gen looked down at the Nikes on her feet, feeling defensive. She’d thought they would be walking. She hadn’t known special footwear would be required.
“You heard her,” Ryan said to Gen, grinning. “We better get going, before she grounds me.”
“Don’t think I won’t!” Sandra said.
The horse Ryan had chosen for Gen was named Bailey. She was a chestnut mare with a white blaze on her forehead, and she stood there with longsuffering tolerance as Ryan saddled her for Gen.
“Are we really sure about this?” Gen said, sizing up the mare.
“Don’t worry. Bailey’s gentle as a kitten. She’s the one we let Lucas ride.”
“Well … that’s reassuring, I guess.”
He sized up Gen with his eyes, then adjusted the stirrup height.
“I think you’re gonna need a mounting block,” he said.
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said again.
Fifteen minutes later, Gen was atop Bailey, following Ryan along a trail that led up a hill and toward God knew where. Gen had never considered how ridiculously wide a horse was. How in God’s name had five-year-old Lucas ridden this thing? It had a smell, too. While Gen had to admit that the earthy, horsey scent that wafted up toward her wasn’t entirely bad, it was, nonetheless, an aroma she was not accustomed to smelling.
The horse seemed to tolerate her in its own world-weary way. It plodded along, jostling Gen around, seeming to barely notice her as it fixed its gaze on the rear end of Ryan’s horse and got along with the business of walking the trail. Gen was holding the reins, but she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be doing with them. Nothing, she supposed. The horse seemed to know what to do without any guidance from her.
The morning was cool and clear, with bright sunlight streaming through the leaves of the trees that lined the trail. She could hear insects buzzing in the grass and birds communicating with one another in their unfathomable language. Ahead of her, Ryan sat atop his horse with comfort and authority. San Francisco Giants T-shirt, Levi’s, a ball cap. The T-shirt displayed his broad shoulders and tanned, muscled arms. The jeans—well, they displayed other things that were equally good. Ryan was wearing some sort of boots with a short heel that, she’d been told, fit into the stirrups in some sort of way that was supposed to be helpful. That explained Sandra’s disparaging remark about Gen’s footwear. Nikes didn’t usually come with a stirrup-friendly heel.
“How you doing back there?” Ryan called to her in a friendly voice.
“Okay, I guess. I … whoa!” Bailey suddenly veered to the side of the trail, lowered her head, and started munching some kind of greenery from the ground.
Ryan raised his eyebrows at her. “You can’t let her do that.”
“How am I letting her? How is this my choice?” Gen said. She tugged ineffectually at the reins. Bailey didn’t seem to notice.
Ryan shifted in the saddle with a creak of leather and looked at her as though she were a student who hadn’t studied for a quiz that should have been an easy ten points. “Pull up on the reins.”
“I am.”
“Harder than that. Don’t jerk them, but pull up firmly. Let her know you’re in charge.”
“Are we really sure I’m in charge?” Gen said. Bailey continued to snack on something tender and green.
He maneuvered his horse close to Bailey, took the reins from Gen’s hand, and made some sort of noise to the horse that Gen didn’t understand, but that Bailey apparently did. Gen’s horse raised her head, looked at Ryan, and then climbed back onto the trail. He handed the reins back to Gen.
The ease with which he handled the big animals was ridiculously hot. Gen wondered how easily he could handle her, given the chance.
“So … um … where are we going?” she called ahead to him as they continued on the trail.
“Oh, I’ve got an agenda. My uncle wanted you to see the creek, which is running pretty nicely right now, by the way. My mom wanted you to see the view from on top of that ridge over there.” He pointed. “Breanna wanted you to see her herb garden. And the boys just wanted to make sure I showed you the cattle.”
“That’s a lot,” Gen said, amused. “What about your dad? Didn’t he have anything to add to your list?”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “My dad? He pretty much wanted me to show you the road back to town.”
“Oh,” Gen said, a little bit hurt.
Ryan chuckled. “It’s not you. It’s the whole idea. Having an artist here on the ranch. He thinks the guy’s going to be poking around, getting in the way. Plus, my dad thinks art’s about as useful as male nipples.”
Gen guffawed. “Well, it’s not about usefulness exactly. It’s about expression.”
Ryan shrugged. “I get that. But you try explaining it to him.”