Michelle Celmer - Honeymoon with the Rancher / Nanny Next Door - Honeymoon with the Rancher / Nanny Next Door

She didn’t feel it was the time to push. She stared at Tomas’s back at the sink, so straight and rigid and unwelcoming. Perhaps he would relax during their ride. She guessed he was the type that would feel most at home out riding the pampas with the wind and wide open space for company.

Unlike her. Her heart quailed. She had known since arriving that she would end up on horseback. But she hadn’t thought it would be today. For a second she considered confessing her inexperience to Tomas. But when she looked at him, his jaw was set in a tight line. He was shutting her out.

That was his right, after all. They were strangers, really, simply in the same place at the same time due to circumstance. He didn’t owe her anything and she didn’t owe him anything, either. And yet she was so tired of being shut out. Of being in the background, patted on the head. She was sick and tired of her role as ‘behaving appropriately’ because she was too afraid to do anything else. Wear the right clothes, meet the right people, say the right things. And for whose benefit? Certainly not for hers. For her mother’s ambition that Sophia would raise them above their station—and mostly for Antoine’s political aspirations. He’d insisted that his success was hers as well, but she knew now that was a bunch of claptrap.

She wanted a success of her own. Even if meant riding a stupid horse across the pampas to impress a stubborn Argentinian. She wanted the disdain in his eyes to turn to admiration.

She found the box in the office and took out a pair of gray trousers, crestfallen at the pleating and narrow bottoms. They certainly weren’t in vogue, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Then it was on to the closet for black boots and a hat with a rounded brim to shade her eyes. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’d like to freshen up. Put on some sunscreen before we go out.”

“Take your time,” Tomas replied. “I will have to saddle the horses anyway.”

Sophia detected a note of satisfaction in his voice, as though he was pleased he’d diverted her questions. It only made her more curious and determined to find out what secrets he was hiding. He’d skilfully changed the subject, but she wanted to know what had led him to leave his life in the city for one of isolation in the pampas. A loner like the gaucho, relying on no one but himself.

She stood in the kitchen minutes later, feeling a bit conspicuous as she looked up at a framed picture on the wall. The woman in it was relaxed and happy, astride a black horse and beautiful in full gaucho gear. Sophia wondered what it would be like to be that comfortable in her own skin. And she wondered who it was. Maria, perhaps? Whoever, the picture made her feel somewhat foolish as she left the house and walked across the yard in her outfit. The boots were new and stiff and she felt ridiculous in the black hat that shaded her eyes, as though she was dressed up for Halloween. All she needed now was a poncho and a donkey, she thought.

And then she saw Tomas, waiting beside two horses. She blinked, looking at him with new eyes. He looked so different, so exotically handsome. He too had proper boots and a hat and a bandana tied around his neck. He looked the part of a romantic gaucho, while she felt like a complete imposter.

She inhaled and stepped forward. She could do this. It was simply a matter of faking it until it was true. She’d had lots of practice growing up.

“You look very authentic,” he commented. So the ice man thawed a little, Sophia thought irritably.

“I feel sort of silly.”

“Don’t—you look the part. And you will appreciate the gear when you have been in the saddle beneath the sun.” He smiled from beneath his hat. “Perhaps tomorrow if there’s time, we can go into San Antonio de Areco and you can purchase a few things there to get you through the week. I don’t expect your designer clothes will hold up well otherwise.”

She knew he was right. She couldn’t swan about in Chanel and Prada all week, and to be truthful the idea of a pair of plain old comfortable jeans was heavenly. How long had it been since she’d lounged around in comfortable clothes, enjoying the sunshine as she had this morning? The thought perked her up.

“Are you ready?”

She swallowed, remembering there was still the issue of her riding skills to conquer.

She approached the mare and tried to appear confident. It seemed to her this horse was slightly shorter than the others she’d ridden—or perhaps she was just taller now. Either way, it helped alleviate some of her anxiety. With a bright smile she took the reins and then stopped short at the sight of the saddle.

“Problem, Sophia?”

It was unlike any saddle she’d ever seen. There was no saddle horn, and the whole thing was covered with an unusual padded skin and then cinched again. “This is different.”

“We keep to a gaucho saddle. It’s not too difficult. I think you’ll find it quite comfortable.”

She resolutely put her toes in the stirrup and gripped the top of the saddle where she’d been hoping to find a saddle horn. On the second bounce she got it, and settled into the seat.

It felt different than the western saddles she remembered, but Tomas was right. It was fairly comfortable. The blanket cushioned her bottom.

With ease Tomas mounted up and flashed her a smile. “Neck rein, like in western riding,” he instructed. “You do know how, right?”

Sophia resisted the impulse to bite down on her lip. It would be like learning all over again, but she would do it. After the spider incident of the morning, she would not let him see another weakness. This time she’d conquer her fear.

She put her right foot in the stirrup—somehow he’d managed to get the length just right—and with a nudge of her heels to the horse’s side, followed him out of the corral and towards the sweeping plain surrounding the estancia.

For the first few minutes they kept to a nice, sedate walk. Sophia felt the breeze on her face and the sun on her back as they took the path through the maze of green pasture and pampas grass. Once the trail opened up, though, Tomas spurred his mount to a smooth canter and without any urging, Sophia’s horse followed their lead.

The jolt of the motion and the unusual saddle nearly unseated her, but she gripped with her knees and after a few tense moments she settled into the rhythm of the stride. Not comfortably—she was too inexperienced for that—but she thought she might just manage to stay on top and not end up on her bottom in the dirt. Tomas slowed and eventually she caught up to him, fighting to control her breath and her heartbeat and act as though she did this every day of her life.

She envied Tomas. In comparison to her clumsiness and insecurity, he seemed as if he could do anything with ease. His hands held the reins loosely, unlike the death grip she seemed to have on the leather. His back was straight, his bearing almost regal. He looked like a god of the pampas up there, and the idea did funny things to her insides. For a woman so newly determined to be independent, the idea of having someone like Tomas as a protector was dizzying.

Oh, this was crazy. She was being romanced by the idea of some reticent cowboy and a South American version of the lawless West. She gave a small frown as she came back to earth. The distance she’d put between herself and her life back in Ottawa gave her perspective, and she knew she’d let herself be guided—pushed, molded, nudged—through life for too long. Did she even know who she was anymore? Wouldn’t this week be a good time to find out?

“What do you think?”

Tomas reined in and swept his arm out in introduction to the wide, grassy plains below them. Cattle dotted the landscape, peacefully grazing. To their left, the stream the taxi had followed to the estancia twisted and wound like a silvery snake.