Decker's Daughter - Caroline Lee Page 0,12
she placed her purple ball on the green, “you never did tell me what you do around the ranch. You told me all about your brother’s professions, but not yours.”
One side of his lips curled up wryly as he watched her ball rebound twice, before rolling to a stop about three inches from the hole. She quickly tapped it in. When it was his turn, he didn’t even bother aiming, but just gave the ball a good thwack.
“I’m a leatherworker.”
His answer had her brow inching up in surprise as he took his stance over the green ball again, knocking it vaguely in the direction of the hole. She’d seen all the leather in the workshop, but hadn’t realized it was all his.
“What kind of leatherworking do you do?”
“Anything anyone wants. It was a hobby of mine as a kid, one Pops was happy to fund, because it was useful.” He chuckled slightly as he thwacked the ball again. “I must’ve made that man a half-dozen wallets over the years, before I started on saddles.”
Humming, she tucked her club under one arm and watched his ball rebound nowhere near the hole. “I suppose saddles would be really useful on the ranch, huh?”
“Yeah, they’re…they’re not bad.”
Bobbi peered closer at Deck.
Was he…blushing?
“Decker?”
When his gaze darted guiltily toward hers, she realized he was a bit pink.
“Is this part of your strategy, Bobbi Rae? To distract me by chattering when I’m trying to make a hole?”
She chuckled. “Honey, whether I'm ‘chattering’ or not, it isn’t going to magically help your putting game.”
Just then, his ball tumbled into the hole. Quite by accident, she was sure.
“Aha!” he cried, reaching in to recover the ball. “I think I got a nine on this one!”
“I’ll make a mental note,” she assured him blandly, although it was clear mini golf was not his sport.
Oh well, more time for us to talk!
As they moved to the next hole, she bumped his shoulder with hers. “What aren’t you telling me about your saddles, mister?”
What made him flush like that?
There!
He did it again!
“My saddles are…well, they’re popular. People like them.”
“And use them a lot on a ranch, I’ll bet.” She barely paid attention to what she was doing as she set up her shot and tapped the bright purple ball. It rolled through the tunnel and bounced off the far wall, before landing in the hole on her first try. “So what else aren’t you telling me?”
With a sigh, he stepped up to the green and dropped his ball. When it bounced off the tunnel, he muttered, “Mulligan!” and tried again. Finally he made it and seemed to reluctantly meet her eyes.
“You know how I told you Cade has the magic touch? And Jim too, though with their own areas of specialties? Well, it’s kinda a family joke that, no matter what we try, we’re successful. Super successful.”
Well, that didn’t sound like such a bad thing.
“Like your saddles?” Unconsciously, her eyes dropped to where his large hands were wrapped around the club. They were callused in all the right places, and a smattering of fine dark hair dusted their tops. She wondered what those hands would feel like touching her, and had to swallow down the spurt of longing the image conjured.
“I… Well, I started my own company. First, I was only making saddles for our ranch’s racers, you know? But then, I got a reputation, and…”
She lifted a brow and dragged her attention back to his face. He was looking very embarrassed now.
But for what?
Was he embarrassed by his success?
“Well, it’s awesome you have your own company! What kind of reputation?”
Blowing out a breath, he released the club to drag one hand through his hair. He hadn’t worn his cowboy hat today, and Bobbi realized she missed it.
“There’s a belief—I don’t know if it’s actually true or anything, mind you—but when a racer wears one of my saddles, he’s supposedly…faster.”
Her other brow joined the first. “I imagine that’s handy. It’s never been disproven?”
He looked even more uncomfortable when he admitted, “Just the opposite. Ted’s really into numbers, yeah? So I had him analyze the results of the last five years of races and rodeos—not just ours—of every horse using my saddles.”
She could see from his sheepish expression what the results were, and she found herself repeatedly tossing her ball up and catching it in anticipation, hoping the action would somehow make him reveal everything faster. “And?”
“And every single horse ran between point-seven and three-point-two seconds faster than their previous record, when