it around once,” he said. “Then cross over, then make a loop, then pull the end through the loop. See?”
“I think I do,” she said. But it quickly became apparent that she didn’t see at all.
“Here,” he said, taking her hands in his. He had a really huge one. Ginormous. She felt like Fay Wray in King Kong’s palm.
“Wrap it around once, cross the two strands, slip the loop through the V here.” He demonstrated, then slid the loose end through the resulting loop.
“Oh!” At last she got it. Though why they needed a special way to tie horses was anybody’s guess.
“It’s so you can release the rope quickly if he pulls back.”
Had she really been that easy to read?
“Got it,” she said. “Although I’m not sure I want to know what ‘pulling back’ means in horseydom.”
“I don’t expect that to happen with any of the animals here. As I understand it, they’ve all been therapy horses for at least a year.”
“That’s a relief. I was thinking I might need to update my life insurance policy.”
There he went, staring at her again. “You’ll be fine,” he stated simply.
“Good to know,” she murmured. “Now what?”
“Well, I assume there are some grooming brushes around here?”
“Oh, yeah. Jarrod showed me where they were. They’re in the tack room.”
Colt nodded, his hat tipping low over his eyes. He reminded her of a cardsharp from an old Western, the kind that sidled up to a bar and growled, “Whiskey. Straight up.” A lot of men wouldn’t be able to carry off such a look. He could.
A moment or two later, he came out with a bucket of brushes and a saddle slung over his shoulder. She felt her jaw drop, because honestly, it was as if he were trying to look like some kind of commercial cowboy. The kind that sold aftershave. All he needed was a pair of chaps.
“Here.” He handed her the dark green tote.
“Thanks,” she said. “I think.” Because once he set that saddle down, something else struck her. This was real. She was about to get on a horse.
Shit.
“Should I wait for Jarrod or something?”
“Why?” Colt asked.
“Well, he’s the … the—” She’d been about to say horse expert, but realized how ludicrous that might sound, given Colt’s background. “He told me he would teach me everything I needed to know.” And he’d said it with such a gleam in his eyes that he seemed to promise other things, too. Things she had no interest in.
“Well, Jarrod isn’t here right now.”
“Yes, I am.”
Amber felt her heart thump. “Jeez,” she said, turning away from the hitching post. “I didn’t even hear you come up.”
“Gil wants to see you,” he said, eyeing Colt curiously.
“Have you two met?” she asked.
Colt shook his head. Jarrod stared at the cowboy for a long moment. The two were like sunshine and darkness. Jarrod, with his light blond hair and loose T-shirt, looked more like an engineer than a horse-handler beside Colt’s tall frame and dark-tanned body.
“Jarrod James,” he said, shaking Colt’s hand.
“Colt Sheridan.”
But Amber could tell Jarrod took an instant dislike to Colt. There was something about the way Jarrod’s shoulders were set. Something about the way his arms hung at his sides. And he didn’t smile.
“Colt’s a rancher.”
She didn’t know why she said it, except maybe she was trying to make conversation.
“Actually, I’m a rodeo cowboy,” Colt said. “I only work on ranches part-time.”
He was a rodeo man? Amber thought. That explained the aloof attitude. Her brother-in-law had ridden in rodeos. Back before he’d been arrested for drunk driving and vehicular manslaughter. She knew the type. Cocky. Arrogant. Womanizers … Too bad.
“Oh, yeah? You ever make it to the NFR?” Jarrod asked.
Frankly, Amber was amazed Jarrod even knew what the National Finals Rodeo was. She did because Logan had almost made it one year. In hindsight things had started to fall apart when he’d failed to make the mark.
“Not yet,” Colt said. “Next year.”
Jarrod huffed, conveying all too clearly, Yeah, that’s what they all say.
“Well, I better head up to Gil’s office,” Amber said.
“I’ll walk with you,” Jarrod announced.
“You coming back?” Colt asked before she could turn away.
“Depends on what Gil wants.”
Colt’s eyes narrowed. Amber knew exactly what he was thinking.
Chicken.
“YOU NEEDED TO SEE ME?” Amber said, entering Gil’s office tentatively. The way he was bent over his massive oak desk, she could see the horseshoe of hair around his shiny pate.
“Amber,” he said, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses back up his nose. “Come on in.”
They were in a centuries-old lodge, one that had been erected to house cavalry offices well over a hundred years ago. Frankly, it amazed Amber that the place was still standing, but it had been crafted in an era when things were made to last. Vaulted ceilings. Crown molding. Wood-paneled walls. The four-story building had been meticulously maintained by the County of San Francisco, and that was a good thing. It would have been a shame to let such a treasure go to waste. That had been Camp Cowboy’s selling point to the county when they’d wanted to lease the building. Apparently. As a newbie, she was still piecing together this business and how it could exist on the Presidio grounds.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Have a seat,” he said.
Gil’s office was on the bottom floor, to the left of the entrance, in a room Amber suspected had been occupied by the base commander years and years ago—or whatever the cavalry equivalent of that was. Wood-framed windows offered a stunning view of the park outside. Off in the distance was a grove of trees, and just above that, barely noticeably unless you knew what you were looking for, the tall spires of the Golden Gate Bridge.
“I received a call today,” Gil said, leaning back and making a steeple out of his fingers.
There
