Kiss the Bride (17 page)

“It's fine, Skye.” Chet tipped his head toward Grant. “Have you two met? Skye Foster, Grant Nichols. Grant, Skye.”

“Yes, we've met,” Skye said. “Hi, Mr. Nichols.”

“Just Grant, please. Good to see you.” He touched his hat brim in her direction.

Her smile broadened before she looked at Chet again. “I'm thinking about buying another horse. For competitions. I was hoping you might have a good prospect for me.”

“You've retired Snickers, I take it.”

Grant noticed a flicker of sadness in Skye's eyes.

“Yeah,” she answered. “He deserves to take it easier from here on out. He's still got plenty of life in him, but his barrel-racing days are over.”

“What about your mare?”

Skye laughed softly, the sadness gone. “Milky Way? Oh,
I love her to death, but I'm never going to use her to rodeo. Not if I want to win.”

“I've got a few that might be right for you. One in particular.” Chet motioned with his head toward the barn, and Skye fell into step beside him as he set off in that direction. Grant stayed where he was, feeling like a fifth wheel.

Chet stopped and looked back. “Coming?”

“Sure.” Grant hurried to catch up with them.

To Skye, Chet said, “Grant's got a great eye for horses.”

The praise felt good coming from the man Grant respected so much. It felt even better that Chet had said it to Skye Foster. Grant felt a need to impress her. And it wasn't because he liked her looks—which he most definitely did. It was something more than that.

Skye felt her heart skip a beat or two when she saw the blue roan at the far side of the paddock. “Oh, my,” she whispered.

Chet Leonard chuckled. “He's young yet. Turned three earlier in the spring. But he's quick. Shows a lot of promise. He's got speed and great confirmation.”

Skye had been saving up for several years for another horse. Not that she truly
needed
another. She could retire from competing in rodeos, the same way she'd retired Snickers. After all, she'd taken this summer off and it hadn't killed her. But oh, my. There was something about taking barrels as fast as a great horse could go that couldn't be described with words. It had to be experienced. And once it was, it was hard to say
Never again
.

“Come on.” Chet opened the paddock gate. “Let's get a closer look at him.”

Skye knew she should ask Chet the selling price for the gelding. Too much and she would need to look elsewhere. But she wanted that closer look he'd offered, so she kept the question to herself.

As they approached, the horse tossed his head and then trotted across the width of the paddock. He was even more beautiful in motion than he'd been standing still. When he reached the far corner, he spun about and trotted toward Chet and the others.

“Hey, fella.” Chet rubbed the gelding's head.

The horse nickered and bobbed his head.

Skye ran her hand over the gelding's coat while walking a slow circle around him. She listened as Chet shared some details. The names of the sire and dam. Date of birth. Training received. It was all important information, but Skye's gut told her everything she needed to know. This guy was meant to be hers. She felt it in her bones. Same way she'd known about Snickers a decade earlier.

“What do you call him?” she asked once she'd made her full circle and now stood looking into the horse's eyes.

“Nana Anna dubbed him River when he was a yearling. Said he's the same blue-gray color of the boulders and rocks that line the rivers up here. The name stuck.”

As if knowing the humans were discussing him, River shook his head and snorted.

“He's glorious.” Skye rubbed his muzzle.

Chet said, “Thought you'd like him.”

“Who wouldn't?”

Grant spoke. “I remember the first time I saw this guy. That same summer when Ms. McKenna named him River. If he'd been for sale back then, I'd've bought him myself. If I could've scraped together the money, that is.”

Skye turned, and when her gaze met with Grant's, she felt the strangest connection with him. Because they both liked the blue roan? Or was it something more?

Chet took a long step back from the horse. “I haven't listed him for sale yet. For a while I thought one of my boys might want him for rodeo events. He's championship material. But they'll both be in college come August, and they won't be here to take on the training of a new horse. So now it's time to sell him. I'd just like him to go to someone who knows what they're doing.” He looked at Skye. “Somebody like you.”

She knew then that Chet was going to offer her an incredible deal for the three-year-old gelding. She wouldn't have to look elsewhere or settle for a horse she didn't like quite as much as this beautiful blue roan. She would want to ride him first, put him through his paces, but she knew in her heart what her answer would be.

“Hey,” Grant said. “Skye and River. River and Skye. With those names, I'd say you two were meant to be together.”

The thought hadn't occurred to her, but it seemed to confirm everything else she'd been feeling. She smiled at Grant, grateful, as if he'd given her some sort of gift.

But she couldn't begin to describe what the grin he sent back made her feel. It was simply . . . amazing.

Skye opened the last of the blinds on the front windows of her
dance studio, letting in the late-afternoon sunlight, then paused for a moment to capture her hair in a ponytail. Before she moved away, she saw Grant pull up to the curb in his Jeep.

It can't be that time already.

She glanced toward the big clock opposite the wall of mirrors. Grant was fifteen minutes early. She wasn't ready for him yet. Still, it pleased her that he appeared eager to start the lessons, despite his so-called two left feet.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside. When he saw her, he grinned. “I'm early.”

She had the same indescribable reaction to his smile that she'd experienced yesterday. “I noticed.” She turned and headed for the iHome stereo, needing a little distance so she could think straight again. “You'll have to wait while I get organized. Tell me. What kind of music do you like?”

“Country, mostly. And I listen to a lot of praise music when I'm cooking by myself.”

Grant Nichols was an interesting combination, Skye thought as she scrolled through her iPod. He had an eye for horses, according to Chet, and he had the look of a real cowboy. Something more than the clothes he wore. A kind of western inner attitude. He made his living in the kitchen and made no apologies for it as some men would. However, he was ashamed of his dancing abilities. Still, because of his friendship with the groom, he was willing to try to change that.

And how cool is it that he listens to praise music while he works?

She stopped scrolling and selected a Vince Gill album. An extra-slow waltz number was in order for this first lesson, and this album had one that was about seventy beats per minute. Perfect for a novice. When it was ready to play, she turned toward Grant again.

“We're going to start with the country waltz. Ever done it?”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

“Okay. Just a few basics. We'll count it out like this: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.” She went to stand in front of him. “No leaning forward. Keep your own balance. Imagine a string pulling you up from the top of your head.” She put her right hand in his left, then positioned his right hand on her back. “Your knees shouldn't be stiff. We want to compress into the floor so that our actions are nice and smooth as we move in a circle.”

Confusion filled his eyes. “Compress into the floor? What does that mean?”

“Just keep your knees flexible. You'll get the hang of it.”

“What about spins and going backward?”

She smiled, hoping to encourage him. “That's a ways off. All we want right now is to glide. Let's try it without music first, shall we? I'll count off six, and then we'll begin on the next one. Okay?”

He nodded. His hand tightened on hers. To the point of pain.

“Relax your grip, Grant. You're going to do fine.”

He released a humorless laugh.

She counted to six, then, “And one—”

Grant's boot came down hard on her toes.

Ouch!
Somehow she managed to only think the word, but she couldn't keep from wincing.

He froze in place. “See. I told you. I'm a lost cause when it comes to dancing.”

“Mr. Nichols.” Skye showed him her best serious-teacher expression. The one she'd perfected for her elementary school students. “Do you give up so easily on everything you try?”

“What? No. But this is different. I've
tried
this before.”

“Not with me you haven't.”

Grant opened his mouth as if to say more, then closed it.

Skye smiled at him. “Very good. Let's try again. One. Two. Three . . .”

The lesson didn't end up being the worst experience of Grant's life, although it hadn't ranked up near the top of his best experiences either. He hadn't battered and bruised his
teacher. Not to an extreme degree, at any rate. She could still walk to the stereo after the final dance. They could both be thankful for that.

Music off, Skye turned toward him. “That went well.”

And she said it with a straight face.

Grant about choked on a laugh. When he recovered, he said, “You're cute when you lie, Skye Foster.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. If he'd insulted her—

Her laughter spilled forth unabated. Not insulted. Amused.

Everything about Skye seemed wonderful to him. Her sense of humor. Her glorious smile. Her boundless energy. Those expressive, big brown eyes. Her luxurious black hair. Sure, he didn't know lots about her yet, but that was the great part. He couldn't wait to learn more. To get to know her better and better.

“Would you have dinner with me, Skye? Tonight at the Tamarack.”

Her smile faded by degrees.

His heart felt like it might break in the same way. “Sorry. Maybe you're involved with someone else. I didn't mean to—”

“No,” she answered, the word breathy. “There's no one else, Grant. And I'd like to have dinner with you.”

Relief rushed through him. “Great. I don't eat out often. I already spend a lot of time at the restaurant, cooking. And it's not much fun to eat out alone.”

“I know. I feel the same way.”

“Do you?” He couldn't imagine why she would ever have
to eat alone. The men of Kings Meadow must all be married, engaged, or blind. That was the only explanation that made sense to him.

“Give me a minute to close things up. Or I can meet you there if you'd rather. My truck's parked in the back.”

No way was he leaving the studio without her. “I'll wait for you. We can go in my Jeep, and I'll bring you back afterward.”