Meet Me at the Chapel by Joanna Sims Page A

lit up her impish face.
    â€œHowdy.” He was surprised to see her up so early and said as much.
    Casey fell in beside him and walked to the barn with him.
    â€œI’m an early riser,” she explained. “The other day was an anomaly. Can I help?”
    He had gotten Hannah started with her morning routine and now he was going to move rapidly through his morning barn routine before heading over to Bent Tree Ranch for the day. He had been working at Bent Tree since he was a teen, and had managed to work his way to ranch foreman. It was a big job for a big ranch and he took his role seriously. And even though Hank Brand, Casey’s uncle, gave him a lot of latitude and a flexible schedule, he didn’t want to ever have it appear that he was taking advantage of his goodwill.
    â€œI wouldn’t mind a hand,” he told her.
    His new tenant was dressed for the barn in slim-fitting faded jeans, ankle-high paddock boots and an untucked Kelly green T-shirt.
    â€œYou mind mucking?” Brock led the way into the feed room.
    â€œDon’t think I’m weird—but I actually enjoy mucking out stalls.” She took the pitchfork from him. “I always say that I have to be from good peasant stock because I’d much rather be mucking out stalls than sitting in an office somewhere. When I sweat, I actually feel like I accomplished something.”
    Brock easily hoisted a bale of hay onto his left shoulder. “I already think you’re a little weird.”
    Caught off guard by Brock’s rare show of humor, Casey had a delayed response. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
    Brock didn’t turn around—he kept on walking down the concrete breezeway of the barn. But he did say, “It was meant as one.”
    Casey happily mucked out the six stalls in the barn and made the acquaintance of all the horses stabled there, as well as Lucy and Ethel, the free-range chickens. When she finished with the chore, she was winded and her shoulders were aching, but she felt proud of herself. She had ridden since she was a kid and she had competed in dressage nationally; when she went to college, her horses were sold and she hadn’t had much of an opportunity to ride since. This was her chance to get back into a sport she loved. It felt so good to be back in a barn.

Chapter Five
    â€œH ow’d we fare?” Brock had hay all over the front of his shirt and stuck to the side of his thick, ruddy neck. The man was truly built like a brick house—his muscles were thick, heavy and rounded—defined like a body builder or someone who worked out in the gym. She leaned the pitchfork against one of the walls and gave him a thumbs-up.
    â€œHe’s amazing.” Casey walked over to where Brock was standing.
    A plate on the stall read “The Mighty Taj.” The way Brock was petting and talking to Taj, she could tell how much he loved this big beauty of a horse.
    â€œIs he a Friesian?” She reached out to pet the silkiest part of his nose—right between the two flaring nostrils.
    â€œThat he is,” Brock said with pride in his voice.
    â€œI’ve never seen one in person. Only in the movies—almost every black horse I see in a movie is a Friesian.”
    Brock rubbed Taj on the neck and then gave him a hard couple of pats with words of affection. And then he asked her, “What did you think of the palomino?”
    â€œShe’s a sweetheart—and so pretty,” she said happily.
    Good as Gold, Gigi for short, was a stocky, twelve-year-old quarter horse mare that was to be her horse for the summer.
    â€œI can tell that she’s developed some bad habits, but nothing that can’t be remediated with time. Thank you for letting me work with her this summer. It’s really a dream come true for me.”
    â€œIt’s good for both of us. I don’t have time to work with her. If you weren’t here to work with her, I’d