I tucked my phone away and chased after her, my long strides eating up the distance between us. “Gemma.”
She didn’t slow.
“Gemma!” I bellowed as she stepped out the door and into the sunshine. “Would you stop?”
“Why?” She spun around and threw her arms in the air. Her long ponytail whipped over her shoulder. “What now?”
I wasn’t going to apologize or beg her to come back. Even two weeks without Granddad bothering me wasn’t worth my pride. “Have you been on a horse in the past decade?”
“No. Hence the lesson.”
My gaze traveled up and down her body. She was wearing an oatmeal sweater with a V-neck that dipped low enough to show the swell of her breasts and a pair of jeans that encased her toned thighs. They were cuffed at the ankle, above the line of her tan, suede boots. Her legs looked a mile long and behind my zipper, my dick stirred.
Christ. This lesson would be impossible if I couldn’t keep my eyes off her.
“We’re riding horses, not walking the runway,” I snapped. “Do you have boots?”
“These are boots.” Her eyes dropped to her feet. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Those are not boots.”
“They’ll work for today.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Don’t come crying to me if you step in horse shit.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll be fine.”
Maybe if I pissed her off enough, she’d quit. Then I could tell Kat I’d held up my end of the bargain.
I turned and walked back inside, heading straight for Jigsaw’s stall. I’d saddled him when Katherine had texted me about this last-minute lesson. She hadn’t bothered to give me the client’s name. Another mistake. If I couldn’t avoid the schedule, I’d ask for specifics from now on.
“Come on, boy.” I hadn’t bridled him yet, so I took his halter and led him into the arena beside the stables. When I went back to get Gemma’s horse ready, I’d hoped she might have changed her mind.
But no. She was standing beside Sprite’s stall, stroking the mare’s cheek. I’d planned on taking Pepsi, one of our other mares and Sprite’s sister, but when a rider took a shine to a horse and that affection seemed to go both ways, sometimes it was best to go with it.
“That’s Sprite.”
“Hi, Sprite.” She smiled at the horse’s gray-speckled nose, her voice dropping to a sweet caress.
There’d been a time once when she’d given me that smile and talked to me with that same voice. The combination was a gut-puncher. But I refused to be jealous of a horse.
I yanked a currycomb off a peg beside the stall and nudged Gemma out of the way with my shoulder. The right thing to do would be to make her saddle Sprite, but that would involve a lot of close contact.
One of the other instructors could teach the woman how to strap on a saddle.
Not that I expected her to be here much longer anyway.
“When are you leaving?” I asked, sliding into the stall.
“Please tell me you’re nicer to other guests.”
I grunted and ran the comb over Sprite’s back as she hovered by the horse’s nose.
Actually, I was great with guests, not that I owed her an explanation. I wasn’t charming like Katherine or charismatic like Cash, but I had my own appeal. Guests loved that I was authentic. I was a Montana rancher who loved the land, my family and a marbled, medium-rare steak.
They liked me because I loved my roots. Something Gemma wouldn’t understand.
Gemma Lane was too wild for roots.
She’d run from here sooner than later, and this time, I wouldn’t let it wreck me.
I wasn’t sure where she’d been these past eleven years and I wasn’t asking. Clearly, she’d run into some money. One look at her clothes and that Cadillac and you knew she had cash. If she was a paying guest, she’d come here to spend it.
“I don’t know when I’m leaving,” she said. “I don’t really have a schedule.”
“What about your job? Don’t you need to get back to it?”
“I’m unemployed at the moment.”
“I thought you left here to be some hotshot real estate agent.”
“I was in real estate for a while. Then I invested in some other companies around Boston. Eventually I started a cosmetics company. I sold it three weeks ago so . . . unemployed.”
“You made a couple bucks and decided to quit on payday.” I scoffed. “Typical.”
That was exactly what she’d done here. Gemma had earned a good wage, but when the promise of something more came along, she’d bailed, leaving her best friend behind in tears. And showing me exactly what she’d wanted from me—a roll between the sheets and a couple orgasms—nothing more.
Gemma’s glare was waiting when I came out of the stall. “If you call twelve million dollars a couple of bucks, then yes. I quit on payday.”
My feet faltered a step at the number.
She saw it. The corner of her mouth turned up as I marched past her to put the comb away and grab a saddle blanket.
Twelve million dollars was quite an accomplishment for a kid who’d lived in a junkyard, not that I’d give her anything resembling a compliment.
Katherine had told us about her homelife as a kid. How she’d run away from home, scared and hopeless, until some other kids had pulled her into their fold—Gemma being one of them.
They’d lived in a junkyard, for fuck’s sake. Gemma and Katherine had built a tent out of sheet metal, tarps and whatever else they could find and had slept on the ground for years.
My horse lived better than that.
But looking at Gemma, you’d never know it. She held her shoulders straight. She kept her chin up. She was as shiny as my Sunday boots, and as refined as any of the wealthy people who shelled out thousands of dollars to go glamping here each summer.
And damn it, there was a swell of pride in my chest. Twelve million dollars. She’d made it. She’d set herself up to never sleep on the ground again.
“Why does it bother you that I’m here?” she asked as I came back with the saddle blanket.
“Because,” I muttered.
Because she was a distraction. Because when she was here, I couldn’t think straight. Because those hazel eyes were so enchanting, and if I let myself, I’d get swept up in her all over again.
She’d be gone soon, chasing the next dollar or wild adventure, leaving me behind, wondering what kind of man could compel her to stay.
It sure as fuck wasn’t me.
We didn’t speak as I finished saddling Sprite. She followed close behind when I led the horse out of her stall and to the arena, stopping inside the gate.
“Walk her in a circle to get her blood flowing.”
“Okay.” Gemma nodded, taking the leather straps in her dainty hands. Her glossy nails caught the morning sun and they gleamed, clean and pale pink.
Mine were permanently stained with dirt.
As she walked Sprite, I hurried to my office and grabbed my hat. Then I scribbled a note for Rory to oil Mom’s saddle before lunch. He was over at the barn, cleaning up the mess Granddad had brought in with the four-wheeler yesterday and the tools he hadn’t put away.
If I made it through this lesson with Gemma, I’d have two weeks without Granddad screwing with my plans.