A Cowboy for the CEO

Chapter 2: I'm Yours

White cloth-covered tables dotted the flagstone patio where an army of caterers was putting the finishing touches on the preparations. Floral centerpieces of pastel roses and cream lilies filled the air with their sweet scent, adding a soft touch to the crystal and silver table settings.

Children dressed like they'd just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren catalog ran on the pristinely manicured grass, sampling the available lawn games, while their parents sipped mimosas from champagne flutes just far enough away to avoid any stray croquet balls. Knowing there was no way she could avoid them all weekend, Ali took a deep breath and made her way through her gaggle of aunts and uncles, varying degrees of cousins, and their myriad partners. By the time she was done with the necessary pleasantries and brief updates, she wanted to run back to Manhattan screaming.

She loved her extended family dearly and there was nothing wrong with their white picket fences, four-door sedans, and two point three kids. But when they prattled on about the burdens of their forty-hour-a-week jobs, peewee soccer matches, or annual ski holidays while simultaneously questioning why she wasn't on her way toward the same lifestyle, Ali felt like she could tear her hair out.

Wishing she could hide away, but with her stomach angrily grumbling, Ali grabbed a napkin and loaded it with bite-sized appetizers. Passing a large tent strung with fairy lights and speakers for an evening of music and dancing, she headed to the water's edge. There, tethered to the dock, the family sailboat gently bobbed. The sleek forty-two foot Beneteau shone in the bright sunlight, tempting her to climb on board.

"Do you want to take her for a spin? Maybe take the older kids out for a bit," said her dad from behind.

Ali spun around. She knew he was trying to be helpful, but his methods were ill placed. No matter how much she hated the obligatory pleasantries with her relatives here on the land, the last thing she wanted was to be stuck alone with a bunch of teenage brats for hours on the open water.

"I . . . uhm . . . I'd love to, but I actually have plans," she said, forming an idea.

A look of surprise washed over her father's face. "Oh?"

Ali drew herself up straight, coming nearly eye-to-eye with the five-foot-eight Esteban Barros.

"That's right. What you said earlier back in the kitchen made me think, Daddy. You're absolutely right about Robert. I should really give him a chance. And why not now? He actually invited me riding. You won't mind, will you?" she asked with a mischievous smile, knowing that after the stunt he pulled earlier, he couldn't refuse now.

* * *

Going around to the front of the house to avoid the growing number of guests, Ali hurried upstairs to grab her riding gear. It must have been years since she'd worn them, but the old stretchy white shirt, padded khaki pants, and leather boots hidden in her closet fit her just as well now as the last time. Even so, her palms were sweating as she clutched the velvet-covered helmet, still not quite sure of her commitment to this idea. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that Robert was right.

She needed to practice, and ducking over to the arena would also get her away from annoying questions like when was she going to get married or which IPOs were surefire winners—both things that she had absolutely no clue about.

When Robert met her on the front porch in a similar outfit, her doubt returned.

"So tell me. Why did you conspire with Dad to save me damsel-in-distress style last night? For old times' sake?" she asked, poking a finger into his chest.

Robert's grin disappeared at having been caught scheming, and he took a defensive step backward. "Was I supposed to let you walk?"

"Neither you nor my father has the privilege of letting me do anything," she spat, crossing her arms in defiance.