Page 69 of Winning Winnie’s Hand
Realization rushed over her, and energy spilled from her limbs, causing her legs to tremble inside like gelatin.
“Why?” he asked, his eyes bright with feigned innocence. “What did you think I wanted?”
As if he didn’t know.
She raised her chin, hoping to maintain some shred of dignity as she pretended she wasn’t affected by his closeness, even though his teasing thrilled her. “Maybe you wanted me to know that you have no knowledge of personal space.”
He chuckled. Why did it feel so good to make him laugh?
Before he might have reached for the hoof with her right there, Winnie swiftly ducked beneath the horse’s head and continued her brushing on the other side.
Matthew picked up Nightshade’s hoof, carrying on with his work as if he hadn’t just almost caused her to melt into a puddle at his feet.
He must not have been affected in the same way she had—which was more than disappointing, even though it shouldn’t have been.
“So I take it you ride western, being from the States,” he asked, straightening as he finished Nightshade’s hoof.
He dropped the pick in the bucket and pulled out a hard brush, swiping down the side Winnie had prepped.
“No, actually,” she said, trying to keep up with the swift change in his demeanor. One minute, she was thinking he was going to kiss her, and the next, they’re speaking of her past with horses again. “I learned both, but I prefer riding English. Preferred English,” she corrected. “Like I said, I don’t ride anymore.”
His eyes stayed on his horse. “Why not?”
“I don’t have much time now.”
That was a lie. She could find the time. She just couldn’t find the courage to face Dad.
“Did you take lessons?” he asked next.
“Yeah.”
“How many years?”
“Thirteen or so.”
His brow shot up. “Wow. I take it you competed in shows, then?”
“A few.” Understatement of the century.
“Were you any good?” He rested his arms on the horse’s back, his attention finally focused on her.
“I was okay,” she responded, eying the ridges in his arms.
“Win any trophies or tournaments?”
“Almost each one I participated in.”
“Which was how many?” he pressed.
“Oh, I wouldn’t begin to know.”
“Come on,” he urged. “Just a range.”
“Um. Over a hundred?”
He gave her an impressed look.
She should have just shut her mouth after that. He didn’t need to know any more. But truth be told, she wanted more of his admiration.
