His laugh pleases me so much I have to laugh as well, just imagining the scenario of having to remove my skirt to span a mud puddle. The sound of his laugh is pure without a shred of mocking.
"What kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady do that out in public, in front of the animals and everything?"
I look over and see that a couple of cattle dogs and a few chickens have sauntered up to watch the events unfold.
I give in with a resigned smile and lift my eyebrows. "I guess I'm all yours, cowb—oh my gosh!"
I'm not prepared for the way his sure arms lift me out of the car, one arm supporting my lower back and the other under my knees. This is just what he said he'd do. I don't know what else I was expecting, but this move is making me pleasantly light-headed. Perhaps the musky scent of a hard-working man is pushing my buttons, too.
"But now your boots are ruined," I say.
He doesn't reply, only chuckles.
He walks away from my car and I'm not sure where he plans to set me down. I have to admit, I'm also not sure I want him to set me down at all. His arms are like steel cables yet his hold is cozy. I haven't been lifted like this, well, ever in recent memory.
I used to date someone who liked to come up behind me and give me hugs where he lifted me off the ground with no warning. I hated it, not only because it scared the bejeezus out of me, but also because he often did it while I was in the middle of a conversation and the ensuing laughter from everyone always felt like it was at my expense.
"So…where are we going?" I ask.
His wind-burnt cheeks crease deeply when he smiles. "Char's gonna give us a lift over to the place you're looking for."
I nod blandly and then realize he's talking about a horse. "Oh. You mean…"
He gestures with his chin and I turn to look. Can't miss the big chestnut horse nodding his head, seemingly in agreement.
This seems like an awful lot of inconvenience for one day. "You could just put me down and show me the way. I can walk."
"Nah, you're going to ruin those pretty shoes if you walk from here to there. Ever been on a horse before?"
I shake my head nervously as we approach, and I'm about to point out that a pencil skirt presents the same problem as I had trying to exit a car with a wide stance. But before I can say anything, it seems he read my mind.
"Here," he says, setting me down on a dry patch of grass facing the horse. "Charmander, meet Ally. She's gonna make this place real pretty for Mister Sam's wedding."
Listening to this big, rough and tumble country boy speak to his beloved horse as if it's a person does something to my heart. As does the fact that he named his horse after a Pokémon. It's so sweet I could cry.
I hold out my hand to the horse and say, "Hi, Charmander."
After I let the horse get to know me, I pet her broad, long muzzle. "I've never petted a horse before," I say, looking up at Smitty, feeling proud of myself. He smiles down at me, erasing any thought that maybe he'd be at all patronizing about my lack of experience with horses, as one would expect from someone who has spent their whole life on a ranch and just had to rescue a lady from a mud puddle. "Well, seeing as we'll be working together, can I call you Robert, Mr. Smith?”
The cowboy holds out his hand to me. "You can call me Smitty. I was named after my dad, but we don't have to talk about that." His fingers are cool and rough around my smaller, much softer hand and the thought occurs to me he probably thinks I've never done a hard day of work in my life.
Those creases in his cheeks and outside of his eyes are so appealing. I can't help but picture him in a light gray suit, freshly shaved, those light brown eyelashes catching the sunlight as he waits for his bride on a beautiful Saturday morning in a vineyard somewhere. Picturing people at their wedding has become a thing I do without thinking. I can look at a person and decide their flowers, their formal wear, color scheme, and whether the ceremony should be indoors or outdoors.
"What," he asks self consciously, glancing around.
"So, when's your wedding? I have some ideas already," I say, feeling a bit forward.
He starts but continues to stroke Charmander's neck. I've got the long slope of her nose covered; she nudges for more pets every time I stop. Pointing to his chest, he stammers, "Me? No. I'm not engaged. I'm the best man. I mean, not the best man of all the men, but… well, you're the wedding coordinator, you know what I mean when I say 'best man'."
The babbling might be even more adorable than listening to him talk to his horse. I might already be in love with this man. Not a personal "I love you, will you marry me" kind of love. It's more like a "you are a treasure and I must get to know you better and also protect you at all costs" kind of love.
I decide then and there that the number one thing I want in a partner someday is someone who smiles easily, speaks lovingly to animals, and babbles when he's nervous.
Am I wrong or is this big tough cowboy blushing?
How does a person switch from ruggedly handsome to adorable in half a second? "Yes, I know what you mean. It's all in the inflection," I say, trying to keep from grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "If you say 'I'm the best man,' then you're in the wedding party."
Smitty finishes the thought for me. "But if I say, 'I'm the best man,' then I'm just a cocky bastard."
Oh boy, he just ticked another box. He's funny. It's also humorous to picture him ever trying to be a cocky bastard. I have no time for cocky. Confidence? A must. Conceited? No, thank you.
"We understand each other," I say with a grin. "Still, I have questions. How is this going to work, with the two of us?" I ask.
His eyebrows shoot up and his mouth opens slightly. "Uhm," he says. "Ma'am?"
And now I realize he's misinterpreted what I've said. I pause for a beat, not hating the idea that he's taken another meaning out of what I said.
"Oh, you mean riding the horse," he laughs. "No trouble at all, Ally."
Before I can reply, he's on the horse. Using the saddle horn to anchor himself, he leans way over and holds out his arm to me. My hands go under my blazer to the zipper of my skirt. "I've got on a slip underneath, so let me just take off my skirt to make the climb a little easier. I swear you won't see anything."
Smitty's face darkens and his voice sounds a little dry when he replies, "No, ma'am. Please keep your skirt on."
If his manners aren't the most gentlemanly I've ever come across in a man, then I don't know manners. Just added another unexpected partner attribute to my list of requirements, and he quickly ticked that box.
"I still don't see how—oh my!" I yelp in surprise for the second time in five minutes. Next thing I know, his powerful arm supports my frame, under my armpits. Before I can predict what's going to happen, I'm sitting side-saddle behind him.
The entire transaction happened so quickly and smoothly, I have to wonder aloud, "Either you've done that before or you are some kind of superhero."
His chuckle vibrates against the sleeve of my blazer where I'm clutching him from behind. He replies, "I've only done that before one or two times, with a small injured animal."