Stick in the Mud Meets Spontaneity (Meet Your Match, book 3) by Rachael Anderson

you’re doing something dangerous for a positive outcome instead of for sport. There’s nothing more rewarding than gaining a horse’s trust, figuring him out, and teaching his owner to do the same. In my world, a horse that can’t be trained is ultimately a dead horse, so I do everything in my power to keep that from happening. And when I win, which I usually do, it feels pretty great.”
    As Colton led Nutmeg through a gate and into a large pasture, Sam thought about what he’d said and wondered even more about layers and people. What made Colton Colton? He was handsome and grinned more times than he didn’t, but he was also nosy and snarky, with a confidence bordering on cockiness. And yet he’d taken a little girl under his wing, adopted a wild mustang to save it from a sad fate, and offered a few riding lessons so a girl could cross something off her bucket list.
    Like most people, Colton was layered. But when all those layers came together, was he more like a rainbow Jello salad that looked better than it tasted, or was he more like a luscious berry trifle with color and flavor and a taste that made Sam’s mouth water just thinking about it?
    Yesterday, Sam wasn’t sure she wanted to come back to the McCoy ranch, but now she wanted to stay, learn, and uncover all the layers of all the people in the McCoy family—especially Colton.
    “Hold your hand under her nose like this so she can get used to your smell,” Colton said, showing her what he meant.
    Sam did as he asked, praying Nutmeg wouldn’t open that large mouth and chomp down on her fingers. But the horse only sniffed and brushed her surprisingly soft nostrils against the back of Sam’s hand.
    “Now rub her gently right here and say something nice,” Colton said in Sam’s ear, guiding her hand to Nutmeg’s neck. A flurry of warmth and chills flooded up her arm and into her body, making her want to lean into Colton. Did he really expect her to say something intelligent to a horse when all she could think about was his breath on her neck or his hand touching hers?
    “Say, ‘Hi, Nutmeg,’” Colton coached when Sam didn’t say anything.
    More chills. More warmth. “Hi, Nutmeg.”
    “My name’s Samantha.”
    “My name’s Sam.”
    “When I ride you,” he continued.
    “When I ride you,” came her echo.
    “I want you to run faster than you’ve ever run before.”
    “I want you to—whoa, what?” Sam pulled her hand free and backed away from Colton in an attempt to unfog her brain. “What kind of sorry excuse for a teacher are you? I don’t want Nutmeg to run. I want her to walk. Slowly. Like a turtle.”
    And then it came. His real laugh. A hearty sound that stretched across the field, over the hills, and into the valleys, filling, spreading, encompassing until it had wrapped around her in a tight embrace as though saying, I think you’re something special.
    It was a silly way to feel because he was laughing at her, not with her. People didn’t laugh at special things. They laughed at silly, ignorant, foolish things.
    “All right, Nutmeg. You heard the lady. Let’s take it slow.” He chuckled again and interlaced his fingers to create a make-shift step then nodded toward the saddle. “Up you go.”
    “What, now? Already?” Sam glanced around the pasture. Several unleashed horses grazed in the distance with no fence or natural barrier between her and them. At any moment, they could stop eating and decide to play a game of tag with Nutmeg. Was Colton really planning to teach her here?
    Apparently so. Apparently he was a jump-in-with-both-feet type of teacher.
    “But I don’t even know how to control her.” No way would Sam sit on any horse, even one as sweet as Nutmeg seemed, without a crash course in how to use the reins.
    “You don’t control a horse. You work with her.”
    “And how do I do that?”
    “I’ll show you. Once you’re in the saddle.” With his fingers still clasped, he nodded toward the horse.
    Sam sighed