Country Cleo by Carla Ryan

Author:Carla Ryan [Ryan, Carla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: series, romance
Publisher: ButterflyTattoo
Published: 2019-01-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“Tree!” I shout, spinning Forte around.

Eleanor’s seen it too, and in a panic she kicks Alto’s sides way too hard before she’s even got him facing the right way. If it were any other pony, it’d probably take off in the wrong direction, but the trainer’s done his job, and Alto dutifully follows me and Forte.

By the time we’re sitting tight in the clearing again, the tree’s all done falling — or at least it sounds done. I lean in as close to Eleanor as I can get and shout, “I’ll go take a peek. You stay here.”

She grabs my arm, holding me in place so she can reply. Her hands are cold and we’re all soaked through. A sharp pang of guilt cuts through me for keeping us out here so long.

“I’m coming too. I want to get back as soon as possible.” She does not look happy. Of course I can’t blame her. She didn’t want to come out here in the first place.

We make our way back, and within minutes I can see that we’re stuck on this side. The old dead tree’s laying straight across our path, and its trunk is as big around as the horses are tall. Me and Eleanor might be able to climb over, but with the forest as thick as it is, the horses would be stranded.

“Maybe we can go through that clearing and ride back a different way,” I say.

Eleanor shakes her head, water streaming down her face. Pointing back the way we came, she shouts, “This leads to the hunting cabin. It’s faster.”

“I’ll get us there.”

“Fast,” she adds.

Her willingness to go more than a walk shows how desperate she is to get out of the storm, but the fear in her eyes cuts right through me.

“Keep the reins loose and hold on to the saddle,” I say. “Alto’ll take care of the rest.”

She nods and does as I say. I urge Forte into a quick trot, and Alto does the same. After a few strides to make sure Eleanor’s doing okay, I get them both up to a lope.

Despite bolts of lightning, roaring thunder, and raindrops as big as my head, we reach the cabin — freezing, drenched, but safe. The path leads straight to the barn, and I hop off to let us in. So much for keeping my clothes clean. The mud outside the door’s as deep and thick as the moat back home, nearly sucking my boots right off and splattering all over my pants.

Finally we’re under a roof and on firm, dry footing. Eleanor’s shivering as she near falls off Alto, and I wrap a saddle pad around her before sending her into the house to get clean and warm. After grabbing one for myself, I get the horses settled and fed in their stalls, then head in.

The “cabin” is about the size of my house. But with a gigantic flatscreen TV, bar, and glass fire pit, it’s way, way nicer. I move deeper into the house and hear water running.

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