Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
As if the dog parade wasn’t enough, we were soon joined by a donkey, two fluffy, black-and-white striped chickens, and a small goat. I said, “Jeff, I presume,” and the donkey shook his head, as if he was trying to deny it. “I know you’re a free-range burro, but did your friends escape from their enclosures? If so, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do about that.”
Since they were following me, I decided the best plan of action was to continue on and find Ryder. I took a peek through the open doors of the long building to the left of the red barn, which proved to be a very nice stable. Twenty stall doors, ten on each side of a wide center aisle, were open. Most of them held a little wooden sign with a name on it.
When my entourage and I circled around behind the building, I discovered where all the horses had gone. There was a huge, grassy, fenced off field over to the left, which contained maybe ten or twelve horses of various sizes and colors. The area off to the right was comprised of several medium-sized, fenced enclosures, most of which held a single horse.
Between the field and the enclosures was a round paddock of some sort. It was ringed with a wooden fence and filled with some kind of light-colored sandy soil that was pitted with hoof marks. And there was Ryder, leading a huge, dark brown horse out of that paddock.
I muttered, “Holy fuckballs,” and froze in my tracks. I stopped so abruptly that Deogee—as in D-O-G, possibly because the brown mutt was too generic to name him anything else—bumped into my legs.
Ryder was always sexy, but it had been dialed up to mind-blowing levels. His cowboy hat, form-fitting tank top, jeans, and boots suited him perfectly and showed off his muscular, powerful body. The fact that his skin was glistening with sweat and smudged with dirt just added to his hotness, somehow.
He fastened the horse’s lead to a post beside a metal tub. As the horse started to drink some water, Ryder noticed me standing there, and his face lit up in a radiant smile.
He said something to the horse before jogging over to me. “Hi there, baby,” he called. “You look like a Disney princess with all those animals around you.”
Ryder took off his cowboy hat and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “I just got done putting Barbie through his paces,” he said, when he reached me. “He won’t let me ride him, but he has a lot of energy to burn, so I make sure he gets a good workout every day.”
I couldn’t begin to imagine how a horse worked out. Also, I had to ask, “Is that giant horse really named Barbie?”
“His previous owner called him Barbarian. Horses learn and respond to their names, so I didn’t want to completely change it. But I also didn’t want him to be stuck with a name that has a negative connotation.”
“Do you think you’ll ever be able to ride him?”
“For sure. He’s only been with me for three weeks, and he’s already learning to trust me.”
I put down the chihuahua and gestured at the chickens and goat. Cujo wasn’t growling anymore, but he was still showing me his teeth. “I’m not sure if you had some kind of prison break, but these guys started following me when I came outside.”
“Some of my animals get to roam free during the day—the ones that know not to wander off and put themselves in danger. Goatie Hawn, Hen Stefani, and Hennifer Lopez never go far. Most of the time, they hang out on the front porch.”
“Excellent names.”
“Thank you.”
“Why didn’t Jeff get a punny name?”
“His previous owner named him. I got to name the ladies, because all of them were born here on the ranch.”
“At the risk of sounding like a hopeless city slicker, I’d never seen a chicken, goat, or donkey in person before today.”
He asked, “What about horses?”
“I saw a police horse once, from a distance. The time I saw a horse up close is kind of a pathetic story.”
“Tell me.”
“When I was in the fourth grade, this weird guy named Mr. Harold brought a sad little Shetland pony to my school. This was supposed to be ‘educational’ somehow.” I made air quotes with my fingers. “Some parents forked over five bucks, and their kids got to put on a red cowboy hat, sit on the horse, and get their picture taken. I didn’t get to do that, because my parents were way too cheap to shell out five bucks for a photo. Also, I ended up getting called ‘Mr. Harold’ for like, the next three years, because one of my classmates remembered that was my full name.”