His brows rose. Horse riding a frivolity? That was a five-dollar word for a pastime. And while he’d not expected her to have any real talent, her words gave him pause.
Trevor appeared with Sunshine, a sweet, mild mannered, six-year-old, spotted Appaloosa who was eager to please her riders.
“Thanks, Trevor. Follow me, princess.” Mav jerked his chin in the direction of the paddock as he took the reins from the wrangler.
“Really, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I just want to learn to ride on the Western saddle.”
“This is so I can get a feel for your skill level, and how much work will be required. I’m a busy man and don’t have all day to cater to your whims.” What Mav didn’t say was that it was normally his pal, Noah, horse master extraordinaire, who did the riding lessons around the ranch. Well, he and his staff, but Mav was perverse enough to want to handle this one himself.
She rolled her eyes. “Are you this well-mannered with all the guests?”
With Sunshine standing still, waiting for her rider to mount, Maverick threaded his hands together and bent a little, since Miss Peabody really was a small thing, to help her mount without a mounting block. “Nope, I’m like this especially for you. I don’t have time to grab the block. Hands on my shoulders, and I’ll give you a boost.”
With her jaw set, she placed delicate hands on his shoulders. Electric currents zapped through him at her innocent touch, coursing from his shoulders all the way to his boot heels. She set her foot in his hands. He lifted her up and she swung her leg over the saddle. She didn’t fumble around like some tourists did the first moment they mounted a horse. Once she was seated, he adjusted the stirrups to fit her shorter legs, double checking that everything was cinched and in place.
Handing her the reins, he ordered, “Take her for a slow walk around the paddock; let me see what I’ll have to work with.”
She pinned him with a frosty glare, and adjusted herself in the seat, like she was getting a feel for the leather. Reins in hand, she kicked her heels and flicked the reins, giving Sunshine the signal to move.
The two started off around the ring.
The woman rode like a queen—poised, precise and, by the end of their trot around the ring, Sunshine was damn near purring with delight at her rider. Mav couldn’t help but feel a sexual pull in her direction. Any man worth his salt would look at the way she commanded the mare, in full control as they trotted around the pen, and wonder if she would give them as good a ride.
When horse and rider returned to his side, there was an imperious gleam of victory in her gaze. He nodded. “You’ll do. Be here at seven a.m. tomorrow.”
Lifting her up, he plucked her off Sunshine’s back. There was a brief moment where their bodies collided before he set her on her feet. It was a simple graze, nothing more, but his body sizzled from the slight contact. He released her like he had stuck his hand in a branding fire.
“In the morning?” she sputtered, and stared up at him like he was crazy.
His lips curled up in a devious grin. “We’re not all royalty, princess. Around here, the day starts before the sun rises. If you want lessons on the Western saddle, that’s when I’m available.”
“But surely there must be someone else.” She didn’t say besides him, but those words were clearly written across her face, with her lush lips turned down in displeasure and the scowl marring her forehead.
“There’s not. Take it or leave it. Doesn’t really matter one way or the other to me.” He shrugged with a blasé stare. Maverick wasn’t sure why ruffling her stiff feathers gave him such a sadistic thrill, but it did. As a Dom, he thoroughly enjoyed doling out punishment when and where it was necessary.
“Fine. I will be here,” she replied through clenched teeth.
Gripping Sunshine’s reins, he nodded and started to walk back toward the stables but then glanced mockingly over his shoulder and said, “Oh, and princess? Wear a damn pair of jeans, and not that fancy get up.”
Maverick strode back into the stables leading Sunshine, and handed her off to another wrangler before heading toward Black Jack’s stall. He whistled as he saddled his horse. If Miss Peabody wanted to step into the boxer’s ring and go a few contentious rounds with him, he was game.
And he would win.
4
That bloody cowboy!
Bianca stomped back to her cabin, riding a wave of fury that could level the nearby mountains. Who did that neanderthal think he was to treat her this way?
She slammed the cabin door behind her. If he wanted her to wear jeans, she would go and buy some bloody jeans. She didn’t have any on account of her mother insisting her wardrobe needed sprucing up last spring. Her mum had torn through Bianca’s wardrobe, donating what she felt her daughter had outgrown or was too important to be seen wearing.
Hence her lack of available blue jeans.
Removing her riding outfit, she changed into a pair of trousers and a blouse. At least she hadn’t worn her riding helmet—Maverick would have mocked her about it. Studying her available shoe collection, she went with a pair of nude flats. Glancing in the mirror, she appraised her reflection and outfit.
Nice one, really.
Maverick wasn’t wrong about her appearance. Who wore trousers and flats on a ranch? Just because she had left London, didn’t mean she looked different. And the horse stables she had attended as a child looked like an ostentatious palace where the Queen had afternoon tea.
It was time to change her normal dress code—not radically, but enough so that her mother’s influence didn’t flavor her clothing choices. Maybe she would purchase a few more items besides jeans. If the local shops didn’t have exactly what she wanted, perhaps she would drive to Denver in a day or so, when she felt recovered from her travels. A city that size would certainly have plenty of shops.
Ready for the trip into Winter Park, with her handbag and keys in hand, Bianca headed out to the sedan she had rented. Glancing at the other cabins down the lane, she noticed trucks and sport utility vehicles parked out in front.
Even her choice of rental car, the black Mercedes, made her stick out.
She drove off the ranch property. In the light of day, the scenery she had missed in the darkening twilight when she’d arrived two nights ago left her in awe. It was stunning. Breathtaking. The steep, jagged peaks, some covered with glaciers. The way the land sloped and rolled, covered in deep evergreen pines, which were such vibrant slashes of color against the vivid blue sky, dotted with puffy white clouds. The scene made her ache to pick up a sketch pad and draw the surrounding area—maybe even paint it.
Inside her, there was a sudden spurt of happiness that shocked through her system. The thought of painting, of creating again, relaxed her being far more than anything else. There had to be a place she could order supplies online and have them delivered. She would check at the registration desk when she returned, ask about getting packages delivered to the ranch.
In the quaint, picturesque town of Winter Park, she found a parking spot not far from the main hub of shops at Cooper Creek Square. The small municipality charmed her with its appearance. Strolling through the square, she located a boutique that sold women’s clothing where she picked up jeans, less formal tops, socks, a less formal outdoor jacket and a hat. It wasn’t a cowboy hat, but a cute sun bucket one that would keep the sun out of her eyes on hikes or out riding.