Wild Horses (Sadie's Montana #1)(33)

When she introduced the bit, he clamped his teeth and lifted his head to avoid it, but Sadie gently coaxed him to cooperate. She had to remove the bit to adjust the leather straps on the side of his head, but the second introduction to the bit didn’t seem to bother him too much.

Taking a deep breath, Sadie took the reins and spoke to her horse.

“Bisht all right, Nevaeh? Doo gehn myeh.”

She lifted the reins, tugged, and Nevaeh followed. She rolled open the door. Nevaeh stood quietly, then followed her outside into the brilliant, white world.

They stood together, surveying the ranch before them. Nevaeh’s head came up and his ears pricked forward as he stood at attention, waiting to see what Sadie would do.

Sadie cupped his nose in her gloved hand, murmured, stroked his silky neck beneath the heavy mane, and told him what a wonderful, big, handsome horse he was. Then she swung into the saddle, as light and gentle as ever.

“Good, good boy, Nevaeh.”

In the garage where the black Hummer and the cream-colored Mercedes were kept, Richard Caldwell stood, feeling more foolish than he had ever felt in his life—at least since he was in sixth grade and had thrown up in math class.

He wanted to see how Sadie would handle a horse, yet knew it was probably best not to let her know this. He knew she’d do better on her own. He was also curious about what this modestly dressed young woman would do with her skirt, and he did not want to embarrass her by asking silly questions.

What was it about Sadie that brought on these emotions, these feelings he had long forgotten? He was in awe of her—if any such thing was possible for the great Richard Caldwell. Could it be that this is how fathers felt when they had grown-up daughters? How would he know? He and Barbara never had children. She never wanted them.

Shortly after they were married, he knew. She had no time for babies. They cried, took up all your time, and in this day and age, who knew if they would even turn out all right?

Parenting was hard. Barbara thought it would hardly be worth the effort, even with one child.

He didn’t know how he felt about having children. He guessed he always figured there would be an heir to his ranch, an acquisition he had obtained in his 30s. And now, almost 20 years later, he was old. His wife was much younger, but just not the type to have children.

He shrugged, passed a hand across the sleek surface of the Mercedes, and thought about having a son. He would teach him to ride and buy him a miniature horse.

Richard Caldwell laughed, covering his weariness with humor. What else could he do?

Surely he was not in love with Sadie. Falling in love? No. Flat out no. Sadie was too pure, too good, almost angelic. Besides, how could he defile something that reminded him of home? Somehow she gave him that same cozy feeling he had from a snowy, white tablecloth set on a cheap, wooden table that held his mother’s breakfast of homemade pancakes—a stack of three, dribbling melted butter and sweet, sticky home-cooked syrup. No, Sadie was not the type of girl that brought the wrong kind of emotions to his head. Not at all.

He just wanted to see if she could handle this Nevaeh. He was afraid he would come to regret letting her try to ride. He doubted the whole situation—and the outcome.

Sliding his huge frame over a bit, he peered through the glass. Well, she was up. Looked as if she had a bit of a problem now, though. Didn’t that Nevaeh just stand there now? Refused to budge. Typical horse with no brains. Should have let him die.

He slid back from the window when Sadie’s gaze swept the house and garage. Still she sat, relaxed, looking around. The horse pawed the snowy ground with one forefoot.

Richard gasped.

Now he was going to throw her! She had better get off.

He had to restrain himself from leaving the garage, walking out and grabbing that stubborn horse’s bridle. The beast was going to hurt Sadie.

The forefoot pawed again. The head lowered, then flung up. Sadie leaned forward, loosening the reins when he lowered his head, gently gathering them when he raised it.

Still she sat.

Now she leaned forward again, patting, stroking, playing with the coarse hair of the mane, talking. On and on, until the tension in Richard Caldwell’s back caused him to swing one shoulder forward painfully.

Now Nevaeh was prancing—a sideways dance that could have easily unseated a lesser rider. He saw the leg of the jeans. The boots. The skirt adjusted in a modest manner. So that was how she rode.

Nevaeh’s two forefeet came up in a light buck. Sadie leaned forward, still talking, still relaxed.

Now he was definitely going to throw her. She’d be hurt.

Richard Caldwell sagged against the silver bumper on the Hummer and clenched his fists. Why didn’t she get that stubborn piece of horseflesh moving?

Now they stood quietly again.

Nevaeh shook his head back and forth. He snorted. He dug the snow with one foot, sending a fine spray back against the stable wall. He shook his head and snorted again.

Oh, great. Just great. He was a balker, culled from the herd for his stubborn behavior … running loose. No one could handle his obstinate conduct.

Just when Richard Caldwell thought he would pop a vein in his head, the horse stepped out. He was cautious, but he stepped out, the beginning of a walk.

And so they walked. They moved around the circular driveway twice. Nevaeh was still prancing sideways, still snorting, but moving along.

Now Sadie was turning the reins against the side of Nevaeh’s neck, first one way and then the other, testing her beloved horse’s response to the rein.