Mocha Latte (Silk Stocking Inn #3) Read Online Free PDF

just plain foolhardy’.”
    “Smart man, your grandpa.”
    We reached a stall door, and he slid it open. The inside had been transformed into a tack room. The smell of worn leather and saddle blankets coasted out. An array of western saddles were draped over wall racks. Long leather reins and silver bridles dangled along hooks on the adjacent wall.
    Jackson stopped in front of the wall of saddles. “Let’s see which of these will work for you.”
    There was an odd, almost antique looking saddle on a saw horse in the corner.
    I walked over and fingered the well-oiled leather. “Is this a sidesaddle?”
    “Yep. That’s the one Coco uses. She claims it’s the way she learned to ride.”
    “Really? I know sometimes women ride sidesaddle just for novelty and to show how skilled they are, but I didn’t think anyone from this century would ever have learned it from the start.”
    “Sometimes, I think Coco has seen as much of history as that old house of hers.” He reached up and yanked down a simple, lightweight looking saddle. “You’re going to ride Archie. This saddle fits him best. It’ll work for you too.”
    He held the saddle against his hip, looking every bit as cowboy as possible. “You ready to ride, Spunky?”
    I smiled. “Why do I get the feeling that I just earned myself a nickname?”
    He stepped closer, close enough that I could nearly count every one of his long black eyelashes. “I kind of like it, myself.” He stared pointedly down at my lips. For a brief second, I was sure he’d kiss me. And I would have been just fine with that.
    A long, warmly tense moment followed and my lips nearly tingled with the notion of his kiss, a tingle that drifted down through my body, stopping between my thighs. He was a ten, a massive, rugged, oozing manliness ten and briefly I wondered what the heck I’d ever seen in Nate.
    Jackson smiled and I was fairly certain my heart melted just a bit. “Well, damn. I think this is going to be a good weekend.”

Chapter 8
    Archie, a sorrel gelding with a shaggy mane and a sweet, silly temperament, snorted curiously at nature’s nighttime fragrances. “He seems to have a slight hitch in the back right leg,” I noted as we walked the horses along a smooth dirt trail leading away from the barn and the inn. In front of us, halfway circled by a copse of thick trees, sat a pond, looking serene and idyllic as if it had just been painted into the landscape. But the green, musky smell of fresh water assured me it wasn’t just a painting.
    “Yep, his right hock locks up on him sometimes. You’re good. Not many people would notice it.”
    “I was lucky enough to ride a lot of different horses on Grandpa’s ranch, some good, some ornery, some just plain crazy. Of course, they probably thought the same of me.” I reached forward and patted Archie’s neck. “So he doesn’t mind being ridden?”
    “I think it actually loosens him up when he gets out for a ride. The hitch is only noticeable when he walks. His trot and lope are fine.”
    Jackson stopped his horse, and Archie followed without me having to halt him. We stared out at the large pond. Its glassy surface mirrored the silhouette of the surrounding trees. I hadn’t traveled far from home when I ended up at the Silk Stocking Inn, yet it seemed that I was far away from the city and deep in the country, a place that had always felt like home.
    Jackson looked over at me. His eyes were an unearthly green under the moonlight. “Never would have taken you as the ranching type. But I can see, with the way you sit that saddle, that your riding skills are almost as good as your cupcake eatin’ skills.”
    I couldn’t hold back a grin. “Can’t even imagine what you must have thought of me when you saw me sit down and gobble that cupcake . . . like a caveman or cavewoman.”
    He gazed at me now as if he could see straight into my thoughts. “When you walked in and I saw your face, I thought that broken angel is in need