LOVE OF A RODEO MAN (MODERN DAY COWBOYS) by Bobby Hutchinson Page A

them for all of a second and discarded the idea.
    “I, umm, actually, I don’t have any real riding boots, Mitch. Won’t my sandals do?”
    He studied the leather soles and the assorted stylish straps on her bare feet, pushed his hat back and slowly shook his head. “Nope,” he said.
    Might as well get the wh ole truth out at once, Sara decided. Maybe he’d decide they’d better take the truck after all. “I don’t own a cowboy hat, either,” she announced.
    “No p roblem,” he announced. “I think Ma’s got boots and a hat you can borrow.”
    He reached out and took her arm, tugging her out of the car.
    “C’mon,” he urged, laugh lines crinkling around his green eyes as he looked at her and caught the wary look she was giving the horses. “Ma’s been making us a lunch. We’ll just get you outfitted and be on our way. You do know how to ride, don’t you, Sara?”
    She gave him a haughty look.
    “Well, do you?” he insisted, one thick eyebrow tilted, and she felt a giggle bubbling up as she looked him straight in the eye and said “Me? Know how to ride? Absolutely... not.”
    “But you’re a vet, you learned all about horses.”
    Sara shrugged, spreading her hands as if to say, so what?
    “Nobody thought of teaching me how to ride them. Frankie tried once but she gave it up as a hopeless job.”
    Mitch tilted his head back and started to laugh, and she laughed with him.
    The old dog came out of the shed and started to bark, and one of the horses whinnied.
    They were still laughing as they went in the kitchen door, and Ruth looked up from wrapping sandwiches and had to smile at them.
     
    Half an hour later, Sara was on the back of a big, gentle gelding named Steamboat, doi ng her best to steer the animal in the general direction of Mitch and his horse, a good fifty yards ahead of her.
    She was feeling out of her element in general and a very long way from the ground in particular. She had Ruth’s well-worn brown Stetson on h er head and a pair of Wilson’s worn cowboy boots on her feet because Ruth’s had been too small.
    Sara felt wicked pleasure at wearing Wilson’s boots. All sorts of smart comments occurred to her about having no problem filling his shoes, none of which she’d probably ever get a chance to use on Mitch’s father. But it was nice to have a few things in reserve, she mused, doing her best to stay upright in the saddle.
    Mitch had patiently unsaddled the sprightly filly he’d originally outfitted for Sara and saddled Steamboat, with the laconic comment that old Steamboat moved slowly, easily and had never shown the slightest sign of temperament.
    Or speed, for that matter. In fact, Mitch said with a straight face, Steamboat had a tendency to go to sleep while being ridden.
    That suited Sara just fine. If she was fated to break her neck, she’d just as soon not do it falling from the back of a horse, thank you.
    “Hurry up, you two,” Mitch called over his shoulder, and Steamboat imperceptib ly increased his measured gait to catch up to the other horse, making Sara feel even more insecure. She tightened her hold on the reins and Steamboat obligingly went back into slow motion.
    Another ten minutes went by and now Mitch was sev eral hundred yards ahead, reining his horse in constantly just to keep her in sight.
    “Kick him in the ribs, Doc. Get him to move or this is going to take us all w eek,” Mitch hollered impatiently, and Sara gave Steamboat the gentlest of nudges with the heels of Wilson’s boots.
    Maybe, Sara thought later, the complacent horse actually had fallen sound asleep and her halfhearted kick had given him a nasty start, because without any warning at all, Steamboat went into high gear. He accelerated from an amble to a gallop without any in-between, and Sara promptly dropped the reins and grabbed the saddle horn.
    In her alarm, she must have brought her boots hard into Steamboat’s sides, and that unnerved the poor gelding enough to spur him into even