“What?” Outrage rings loudly in Frankie’s voice.
“What?” I echo.
“You’re not buying me a horse.”
I rub a palm over my mouth to hide a growing grin. “We don’t know each other well, menace. But you shouldn’t try telling me what to do. It only makes me want to do it more.”
“That’s a terrible excuse and very unoriginal.”
“Doesn’t make it less true.”
“I don’t want a horse,” she reiterates.
“You do,” I counter. “Wouldn’t have voiced it aloud otherwise. Especially with little ears listening.”
“It was just an offhand comment. She’s a beautiful animal.” Frankie gestures at the grulla mare.
“Which is why she’ll make a great addition to our herd.”
“Don’t buy her for me.” But her long sigh reveals the truth of her inner desires.
“If it makes you feel better, she can be your Christmas bonus.”
She frowns. “I definitely haven’t earned that.”
“Not your decision,” I repeat her earlier phrase.
Frankie rolls her eyes. “I don’t know the first thing about horses.”
“Ronnie will teach you. She was on the back of a pony before she could walk.”
My little girl nods eagerly. “Uh-huh, yep! I’m really super good. Daddy says I can compete in rodeos next year. We can go together!”
But Frankie is still stuck on my statement. A puzzled expression twists her elegant features. “Before she could walk? How is that possible?”
“Couldn’t keep her away. It’s in her blood. That passion is powerful. I’m sure you feel the same about motorcycles. You love the thrill of a ride.”
She clucks her tongue. “Can’t really compare the two. One has a mind of its own and isn’t afraid to use it.”
“I bet you’re a natural in the saddle.” My gaze feasts on her supple curves covered in snug denim.
Her snort calls bullshit. “We’re not gonna find out.”
“Prefer bareback? That can be arranged.” I wink at her.
Frankie balks. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Acts of service is my love language. You’re in desperate need of a mount. I’m more than willing to provide one.” Am I still referring to the horse? Maybe. For whatever reason, the thought of burning money on this woman gets me hard. “But you should know that mares can be… temperamental.”
She quirks a brow at my choice in phrasing. “Guess that makes us kindred spirits.”
“Giddy up, little menace.” I tip the brim of my hat.
“Wow,” she breathes. “You’re acting wild.”
My shrug is unbothered. “Ronnie approves.”
We look to where my daughter is petting the horse’s nose through the fence. The owner must’ve smelled my money from across the ring. I smirk at the cowboy and the dollar signs in his eyes.