Kathryn Springer - The Prince Charming List

“Nobody from around here, that’s for sure.” Now Riley looked at me. “Are you okay, Heather?”

The adrenaline had subsided and I could inhale again. “Uh-huh.”

“Shaken not stirred,” Dex said under his breath.

I looked at him suspiciously, but he didn’t crack a smile.

“Rose never bolts,” Riley fretted. “I don’t think you need to worry—”

“I’m supposed to get back on again, right?” I interrupted.

Riley and Bree exchanged approving looks, but I saw Dex frown.

“That’s if you fall off,” he pointed out.

Details, details. If I subtracted the heart-stopping terror of being held prisoner on the back of a runaway horse and focused instead on the exhilaration I’d felt when I finally got her to stop (okay, technically it was Mrs. Cabott’s gazing ball that stopped her), all in all it had been kind of fun.

And it had helped me forget about the twins. And Mrs. Kirkwood. And The List.

Bree looked at Dex and then at Riley.

“Oh, sorry. Bree, this is Dex. Dad hired him to help with the barn chores once a week,” Riley said. “Dex, this is Bree Penny. She lives down the road. And this is—”

“We met this morning.” And I have the faucet-less bathtub to prove it. “You’re working for the Cabotts, too?”

“I’m picking up a few jobs here and there.” Dex shrugged. “Whatever comes along and pays a few bucks.”

“Too?” Bree looked at me and I could tell she was wondering why this tidbit of info hadn’t come up during our conversation over supper.

“Alex hired him to do some remodeling at the apartment this summer.” I buried a sigh. “Some carpentry, painting. Faucets.”

Dex didn’t respond except to lift one shoulder and use it to nudge his glasses back to the bridge of his nose where they belonged.

“You never mentioned him…I mean that,” Bree said. There was a funny sparkle in her eyes that warned me I was going to get the third degree later. How was I supposed to describe Ian Dexter? Narcoleptic handyman by day, sword-wielding treasure hunter by night?

“You can go riding with us if you want to, Dex,” Riley offered. “We’ll probably start a bonfire when we get back and roast some hot dogs.”

I saw the color drain from Dex’s face. “No, thanks. I have to get back.”

“I could put you on Iris,” Riley said, oblivious to the fear in Dex’s eyes. “My four-year-old cousin rides her all the time.”

Riley may have been sensitive to Bree, but obviously he needed a bit of fine-tuning when it came to dealing with other guys. Or maybe it was a test to find out where Dex’s nerves were on the wimp-o-meter.

Come on, Dex, I silently urged. Here’s your next line: Iris? What is she, a Shetland pony? Don’t you have something with a few more cylinders?

He ad-libbed instead. “That’s okay. I’ll catch up with you some other time.”

Riley might have pushed the issue but Bree must have felt sorry for Dex, too, because she came to his rescue with a simple but effective maneuver. She stepped in front of Riley, pulled her rain-straight blond hair off her neck and then let it sift through her fingers, completely short-circuiting Riley’s thought process.

“It’s warm tonight, isn’t it?”

Riley nodded mutely. Oh, the power of the right haircut!

“We better get going. Daylight is aburnin’, as Grandpa Will always said,” Bree sang. She slipped her boot in the stirrup on Buckshot’s saddle and he stood like a perfect gentleman as she swung her leg over his wide back.

I wasn’t an experienced rider like Bree, so my attempt to get back in the saddle wasn’t nearly as graceful as hers. To complicate things, Rose took a step to the side whenever I put my foot in the stirrup. I glanced over my shoulder to see if Dex would put his fears aside and help me out.

Nope, chivalry was truly dead. He was already halfway to his car—an ancient Impala the color of French dressing. I shuddered. Maybe he was color-blind.

Riley was the one who noticed I was having trouble and, like a knight in shining spurs, he held Rose still while I scrambled awkwardly into the saddle. I was a little nervous but instead of taking the road again, Riley led the way to the trails that meandered through a huge stand of maples on the back of the Cabott property. When I realized the trails were too narrow and bumpy to accommodate anything with an engine, I relaxed a little.

None of us said a word as the horses nodded their way through the woods. The setting sun filtered through the branches and formed intricate stencils on the ground under our feet. I closed my eyes and trusted Rose enough to go on autopilot for a few seconds while I soaked up my surroundings, lulled by the gentle creak of leather and the warm smell of horses and summer.

I talked to God a lot throughout the day and I tried really hard to listen, too, although it wasn’t as easy. I wondered if He ever got impatient with my rambling commentaries.

Thanks, God, for getting me through my first day at the salon. And thank You for bringing me to Prichett. You knew I’d need a quiet place this summer to hear Your voice, didn’t you? Well, I’m listening. Go ahead!

From the day Mrs. Holmes, my first grade Sunday school teacher, rewarded my perfect attendance with a Bible (a cardinal-red hardcover with gold-tipped pages) to my high school graduation, when I’d received a plaque engraved with the verse from Jeremiah that promises God has a hope and a future for us, I accepted that God had a plan for me. And if He could create the entire universe in six days, eight weeks would give Him plenty of time to yank out the file marked Heather Lowell and let me in on it.

“Heather.” I heard Riley’s polite cough. “You probably should ride with your eyes open.”

“Shh,” Bree scolded. “She’s praying.”

I wasn’t surprised she knew what I was doing. Bree is a believer, too. She brought God into our conversations as naturally as she did horses. Which meant she thought about Him a lot. I’d figured out that people tend to talk about the things they think about, which was another reason I was wary of the guys in YAC. Their conversations were dominated by compare and contrast. Comparing their scores on the newest version of a video game (pick one) and contrasting their cell phone plans. The only time God seemed to get worked in was during prayer time in small groups on Sunday mornings.

When we got back from our ride, Riley dragged out some rickety lawn chairs and started a bonfire large enough to bring a 747 in safely. Bree and I ended up round and drowsy from eating all the hot dogs and marshmallows he supplied us with. Finally, we saddled up the horses again and headed back to the Penny farm. By now it was past ten and the sun had slipped away, officially off duty.

“This is more peaceful than what you’re used to in the city, right?” Bree asked as we started out. Now that the two horses were better acquainted, they walked shoulder to shoulder on the road.

“Peaceful?” She had to be kidding. The crickets and the frogs were belting out a chorus in the ditch at a volume level that rivaled my alarm clock. “Okay, maybe it’s not sirens and honking horns but—”

“Not again.” Bree groaned.

I heard it, too. And it was coming this way. The motorcycle. I felt Rose’s shoulders bunch and I knew my nerves weren’t up for another lap around the track. I slid off her back, hoping that if both our feet were on the ground she wouldn’t be tempted to go AWOL again.

A headlight barreled toward us, but just as I braced myself to become a human windsock, the bike slowed way down and stopped a few yards away.

“Hey.” The muffled Darth Vadar voice beneath the helmet was definitely male. I saw a tall shadow unfold. Now I wish I had stayed on Rose. I’d still be five foot six but at least I would have felt bigger. And I was about to get up close and personal with the guy responsible for re-creating the Kentucky Derby a few hours ago.