“I’ll ride her.”
At least he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He simply leads Pioneer close and ties his lead to the fence, then returns to the barn for another tack and saddle. Within ten minutes, he’s led both horses into a smaller paddock, got Sugar saddled, and set what he calls a mounting block on the ground beside her.
Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap, am I really going to do this?
Sugar might be a sweetie, but she’s so damn big.
I look around anxiously at the fence posts of the paddock. Okay, so they look sturdy enough, but are they really enough to stop a fifteen-hundred-pound horse if she gets it in her head that she longs for the wilds out yonder again?
Sugar turns her head toward me as if to say, what’s the matter here?
“She can sense your unease.”
I look to Xavier sharply. “Will that make her bolt? If I’m nervous?”
He smiles at me and pats Sugar’s neck. “Nope, not our girl. I lent her out to a horse therapy program for a couple months earlier this year. She’s always calm as can be. I told you, it’s her nature. Once I realized that about her, I started training her with therapeutic work in mind.”
I pause, my own hand lifting to Sugar’s flank, and stare at him, my gaze flicking for the briefest second to the maimed half of his face.
For the most part I rarely notice it anymore. Which is strange because at first it seemed so monstrous. It’s not like I don’t see it when I look at him or even that my eyes skirt past it. It’s just… part of him. And it’s really only the upper portion of the left side of his face. I’m far more captivated by the rest of him, even his face if I’m being honest.
Ugh, I hate that I’m captivated by him, but there it is. The naked, bared truth. And my damn curiosity about him refuses to be slaked.
Were there therapy horses where he was when he was recovering from… whatever the hell it was that happened to him? Is that why he started this horse farm out in the middle of nowhere? Why is he the way he is?
“I can stand here all day,” Xavier says, leaning a hip against the paddock post. “You’re not getting out of saddling up on that horse.”
My eyes jump to his face as I’m jolted back into the moment. Right. The horse. My first riding lesson. The stubborn-ass man in front of me.
But as I switch my gaze to the saddle and Sugar’s broad body fills my field of vision in both directions, suddenly I want to do this for me, not him.
I’m not some shrinking violet. I was the youngest account manager at New World Media and Design. I dealt with multi-million-dollar accounts and hobnobbed with New York’s snobbiest and most elite. I will not be bested by a gentle horse who has a penchant for apples and sugar cubes.
I step up on the mounting block, grab the saddle where Xavier showed me, and put my foot in the stirrup, then hike myself upwards.
For a second, I’m terrified that she’s going to stamp forward like Samson did and I’ll fall off straightaway.
But Sugar stands perfectly and placidly still.
Meanwhile I’m frozen, one foot in the stirrup, standing on one side of the horse and realizing just how very high up off the ground I suddenly am.
“Breathe,” comes Xavier’s calm voice. “You’re doing wonderful. Just breathe and shift your weight forward. Grab the saddlehorn with both hands and swing your leg over the saddle.”
That seems like way
too many instructions at once. I look down at him, panicked.
He puts a steadying hand on the calf of my leg that’s in the stirrup and repeats himself. Eventually, I do what he says.
And then, holy shit! I’m riding a horse!
Okay, I’m sitting on a horse, but then the next thing I know, Xavier has handed me the reins and Sugar is moving and I am actually riding a horse.
“Oh my God, I’m doing it!” I squeal excitedly.
“You’re doing beautifully.”
I have a death grip on both the reins and the saddlehorn. When I dare a glance away from Sugar’s mane to look in Xavier’s direction, he’s beaming one of those rare, full-toothed grins at me. It’s enough to take my breath away.