Page 10 of Declan (Men of Clifton, Montana #53)

Declan maneuvered the pickup along the narrow two-lane blacktop, the early afternoon sun glinting off the worn asphalt.

Elise’s light perfume lingered in the cab, intoxicating him with every breath.

He tightened his hands around the steering wheel until the leather bit into his skin and his knuckles whitened.

He wouldn’t dare make a move on her until he knew whether she was still seeing Johnston.

“Are you all right?” Elise asked, tugging her baseball cap lower and pulling her dark ponytail through the opening at the back. A stray wisp of hair framed her cheek, and sunlight caught the raven highlights in her hair.

Declan forced a smile. “Yes, of course. It’s a beautiful day for a ride.”

She turned to study him, her eyes bright. “Where will we ride?”

“There are several trails across the property. I have three hundred acres of wooded land surrounding most of the property. The house and barn sit on ten open acres, but there are trails through the woods and it’s all fenced. We won’t be bothered.”

“That sounds perfect. What breed of horses do you have?”

“I own ten. Six American Quarter Horses, two American Paints, one Appaloosa, and one Morgan. How experienced are you?”

“I rode often when I was younger, but school and ballet kept me busy. Ballet is ruthless, by the time I graduated, I barely had time for anything else. It’s been a while, but I’m sure it’ll come back to me.”

Declan nodded. “I’ll saddle the Morgan for you. They’re a gentle breed.”

She smiled. “That sounds wonderful. Which do you ride?”

“I ride them all,” he admitted, “but my go-to is Scout, the Appaloosa stallion. He’s seven, smart as hell, and knows every trick in the book.”

“Aren’t stallions difficult?”

He shrugged; his gaze fixed on a stand of oaks at the roadside.

“Yes, stallions can be more challenging to ride and handle than mares or geldings. It’s due to their hormonal and instinctual behaviors.

They’re often more reactive, have higher energy levels, and can be prone to aggression if not properly trained and managed.

Scout is very well trained. Stallions aren’t for beginners. ”

“Does he have a lot of spots?”

“He’s a chestnut blanket,” Declan explained. “Deep chestnut base with a white ‘blanket’ over his hips sprinkled with dark spots. The white can extend further, but on him it’s just across his hips.”

“He must be breathtaking.”

Declan chuckled softly. “He is, and he knows it.”

Elise laughed. “You don’t tell him that, do you?”

“Never.” He glanced at her and their eyes met for a heartbeat before he turned back to the road.

When he eased through the wrought-iron gate at the end of the drive, she gasped.

“What a gate,” she exclaimed.

“I rarely close it, unless I want to be left alone,” he said, guiding the truck up the paved drive that wound past pine trees and maples. Soon they reached the log home, the windows glinting in the sun.

“Oh, my. This is so beautiful, Declan.” She sat up straighter, eyes wide.

He cut the engine, the cab falling silent. He unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out. Elise was already out of the truck, stretching her legs.

“Can I see the house?” she asked.

“How about after our ride? We could go to the diner after that, unless you want to head home.”

She shook her head, tucking her hair behind an ear. “Nope. I have all day, and I love the diner.”

Declan grinned. “Good. Come with me to the barn.” He reached for her hand; she placed hers in his. Together they walked down the lane toward the red-painted barn.

Inside, shafts of sunlight pierced the air, illuminating six stalls on each side of the wide aisle. Each horse poked its head over the gates, noses twitching, ears pricked, ready for the day’s adventure.

****

Elise halted before a gate to see it secured by a padlock that gleamed dully in the afternoon light. She turned to Declan, curiosity lifting her brow.

“Why does this gate have a padlock on it?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Because Phoenix is an escape artist. Every time I’d put him in his stall, he’d slip out before I even reached the barn door.

Didn’t want him wandering the paddocks alone.

I’ve got four men on the payroll, but they’re busy with feed buckets, mucking stalls, and ranch maintenance.

They can’t babysit a determined horse all day. ”

Elise laughed, against the low murmur of stomping hooves and the gentle rustle of straw. “How would he manage it?” she asked.

“First he mastered lifting the latch with his teeth,” Declan explained, leaning casually against the gate. “Then we tried looping a rope around it, but he’d just pull at it to get it off and flick the latch open. I swear his name should be Houdini.”

“That would fit him perfectly,” she agreed.

“I’ve considered putting bars on the doors, but they like sticking their heads out.” He reached over and brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “Come on. Let me show you your horse.”

He led her along a row of sturdy wooden stalls.

At one gate a soft whinny rose and through the bars she spotted a black Morgan mare, her coat shining midnight-silk smooth and a crisp white blaze slicing down her face.

She held out a tentative hand; the horse leaned in, velvet muzzle grazing Elise’s palm.

“You are just gorgeous,” Elise murmured. “What’s this beauty’s name?”

Declan cleared his throat, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Marigold. Frankie named her.”

Elise chuckled. “I take it you wouldn’t have chosen Marigold.”

“Nope. But I couldn’t say no to Frankie. I spoil her rotten.”

“I bet you do,” she teased. “So, I’ll ride Marigold?”

“Yes, she’s a Morgan, very gentle. If you’re ready, I’ll saddle her for you.”

She nodded, then he sauntered down the aisle, and she couldn’t stop herself from staring at his ass filling out those snug Wranglers, jeans sculpted to his curves and powerful thighs.

He vanished into the tack room, boots thudding on the cement floor.

Moments later he reemerged, cradling a dark-leather saddle and a navy-blue blanket.

He draped them over a nearby rail and slipped back inside.

Marigold, chewing on her bit, reached out and nibbled at Elise’s blouse. When the mare curled her lips in a comical horsey grin, Elise burst out laughing.

Declan returned, hooked a lead rope to the mare’s halter, and guided her out into the sunlit corral. “Can I help with the saddle?” Elise asked.

He shook his head, gray eyes amused. “Appreciate it, but I’ve got this. Give me a few minutes.”

While he worked, Elise’s gaze drifted to the stall across the aisle. Inside, a tall Appaloosa stallion with a flowing mane stomped and watched them. When Declan slid open the stall door and led the animal out, she caught her breath.

“He is just gorgeous,” she whispered.

Declan chuckled, adjusting the cinch under the stallion. “Don’t gush too loud. He already has a big head.”

Moments later both horses stood saddled and patient.

Declan offered her a hand as she mounted Marigold; the stirrups clinked softly.

He adjusted the stirrup length, then vaulted into his own saddle with effortless grace.

No stirrups, no run-up, just a powerful swing and he was seated.

Elise’s pulse quickened. It was the hottest thing she’d ever seen.

“She responds to your knees,” he instructed, voice low. “Light pressure on one side, along with the reins pulled that way, nudges her that way. Make sense?”

She shifted, settling her weight. “Yes, but how do I make her go straight?”

“A gentle squeeze with both knees. She’ll follow Scout,” he said. “Relax in the saddle to keep you from getting sore. I’ve got salve you can take home. We won’t be out more than an hour.”

Elise glanced around. “Where’s your dog?”

“Inside, or out in the fenced yard. He’s more of a fishing buddy, and comes along on the ATV rides, but not the horses. I’m afraid he’d get hurt running with them.” He smiled at her. “You can meet him when we get back.”

She returned his grin and gave Marigold’s mane a light stroke.

As birds tweeted overhead and a breeze ruffled her ponytail, she followed Declan out through the barn.

Her gaze kept drifting to the strong line of his back, the way his shoulders rolled as he guided his mount. He looked born in the saddle.

“This saddle is so soft,” she said as she rubbed her hand over the dark leather with intricate stitching.

“It’s a Conway saddle. Noah Conway is the best saddler in my opinion. It’s the only saddle I’ll buy.”

“He does this by hand?” she asked in a shocked voice.

“Yes, ma’am. He’s amazing and a good friend.”

“How long have you been riding?” she asked, trying to mask her admiration.

“My grandfather would put me on his horse with him when I was in diapers,” he replied easily. “You?”

“I—” she hesitated, glancing down at her feet in the stirrups. “I’m not as experienced.”

He slowed Scout to match her pace. “Ever been bucked off?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Don’t make today the first time,” he warned, tone wry.

She laughed, a little nervously. “Now I’m scared.”

“Don’t think about it,” he advised, voice steady. “Tensing up only makes Marigold nervous. Just breathe and enjoy.”

She exhaled, settled her shoulders back, and let the gentle sway of the mare guide her forward. Sunlight filtered through the leaves above, washing her in warmth. It was a perfect day—made even more so by the man with her.

****

After an hour, they rode into the barn, the horses’ hooves echoing on the floor. The sharp tang of hay and leather rolled in on the cool air. Declan paused, watching as Elise sat unmoving in the saddle, and he saw her take a deep breath.

“Do you need help getting down?” he asked, his voice quiet against the stillness.

Elise’s mare snorted, releasing a small puff of steam in the dim light. “I think so.” She tipped her chin toward the floor. “It’s farther down than I remember.”