Christmas Kisses with My Cowboy - Diana Palmer Page 0,5

a lot about horses,” Katy agreed, just as Parker came around the house leading a white mare.

“What a beauty,” Katy exclaimed involuntarily.

“Wings,” he said. “She’s mine. Two years old and my best girl,” he added with a smile.

The horse had a halter and bridle, but no saddle.

Before they could ask what he meant to do, Parker took the oats gently away from the palomino and put them beside the road. He caught the horse’s bridle, led it to the mare, and vaulted onto the filly’s back as if he had wings himself.

“Okay,” he said. “Lead on.”

They laughed. He made something complicated so simple. Teddie and Katy piled into their vehicle and led the way home, with Parker bringing up the rear riding one horse and leading the other. Both went with him as easily as lambs following a shepherd.

* * *

The house was in bad shape, he noticed as he stopped at the front porch and tied Wings’s bridle to it. He patted her gently.

“Just stay right there, sweetheart. Won’t be a minute,” he said in a soft, deep tone, running his fingers along her neck. She looked at him and whinnied.

He went to get the palomino’s bridle and led him, along with the woman and the girl, to the ramshackle barn.

He made a face when he saw it, along with the broken fence where the animal had broken through.

“I know. We’re living in absolutely primitive conditions.” Katy laughed. “But at least Teddie and I have each other, if we have nothing else.” She said it with affection, but she didn’t touch her daughter.

“Yes, we do,” Teddie told her mother. “Thanks for not yelling.”

“You never teach a child anything by yelling,” Katy said softly. “Or by hitting.”

Parker glanced at her and saw things she didn’t realize. He put the palomino in a stall in the stable and closed the gate.

“We have to lock it,” Katy said. She drew a chain around the metal gate and hitched it to the post with a metal lock. “He’s an escape artist,” she added. “Which is how he happened to be hightailing it past your place. I guess he learned to run away when his owner started brutalizing him with that whip.”

“I’d love to have five minutes with that gentleman, and the whip,” Parker murmured as he looked around the barn. “This place is in bad shape,” he remarked.

“One step at a time,” she said with quiet dignity.

He turned and looked down at her and smiled. He almost never smiled, but she made him feel like he had as a boy when he got his first horse, when he dived into deep water for the first time, when he tracked his first deer. It was a feeling of extreme exhilaration that lifted him out of his routine. And shocked him.

She laughed. “It’s what my mother always said,” she explained. “Especially when Dad got sick and had to go to the hospital. He had a bad heart. She knew it when they married. He had two open-heart surgeries to put in an artificial valve, and he had a host of other health problems,” she added, not mentioning the worst of those, alcoholism. “They’d been married for twenty-five years when he died in a car crash. She said she got through life by living just for the day she was in, never looking ahead. It’s not a bad philosophy.”

“Not bad at all,” Teddie agreed.

“Is this his saddle?” Parker asked suddenly, noting the worn but serviceable saddle resting on a nearby gate. The stable was empty except for the palomino, tack on the walls, and some hay in square bales in a corner.

“Yes,” Katy said. “It was my grandfather’s. I’ve had it for years. I brought it with us when we moved. It’s been a lot of places with me, since my teens.” She joined him and ran her hand over the worn, smooth pommel. “Granddaddy competed in bulldogging for many years with a partner, his first cousin, up in Montana. He was very good. But he lost a thumb to a too-tight rope and ended up keeping books for my husband’s father. They lived near Dan’s folks in Montana, but they had a relative who owned the ranch here. When Dan’s father died, his mother sold the Montana ranch and moved back here, to her family ranch. Dan inherited it.” Her expression was wistful. “His grandfather, who founded the ranch, raised some of the finest Red Brangus around,” she added. “He was active in the local