Pamela Britton - Rancher and Protector

“Okay,” he said after a moment’s pause, as if he’d been mentally gearing himself up for the task, too. “Put your left foot in the stirrup.”

“And my right foot out?”

She could have sworn he fought back a smile.

“So after the left foot, then what?”

“Grab the saddle horn and pull yourself up.”

He made it sound sooo easy.

It was not.

She felt as if she was playing a game of Twister. Once she managed to get her foot into the stirrup, it slipped out the minute she went to grab the saddle horn. Forget about pulling herself up.

“This is impossible,” she said. “You’d have to be double-jointed to get close enough to drag yourself onto a horse’s back.”

“Try facing the front of the animal,” he said.

Amazingly, that seemed to do the trick. But even after getting her foot into the stirrup and taking a firm hold of the saddle, she couldn’t pull herself up.

“I’m too fat,” she muttered.

“You are not fat,” she heard him pronounce.

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one trying to pull it all up.”

“You are not fat,” he said again.

She turned to look at him, drawing back instantly. He was right behind her. “You’re the perfect weight,” he stated.

Amber wondered if he was attracted to her, too.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll help lift you up,” he said.

“If that involves putting your hands on my rump, forget it.”

He had an amazing smile when he chose to use it. “Just try and swing yourself up. I’ll do the rest.”

She thrust her foot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle …

He did the rest.

He clasped his hands around her waist as if she were a figure skater and he was her partner. She didn’t need to use the stirrup so much as clutch at the saddle. The end result was less than graceful, but before she knew it she found herself sitting on the worn leather.

Amber sighed loudly, out of breath. She could still feel where his hands had been. “And they make it look so easy on TV.”

“It’ll get easier,” he said.

She kept clutching the saddle horn, even though she knew she should be looking around for the leather strap thingy. What did they call them? The reins. She should be holding on to the reins in case the animal beneath her—a very big animal—decided to bolt, or to charge, or to buck and twist to throw her off.

“Maybe it’s nothing to you,” she said. “But it’s a big deal to me. I feel like I’ve conquered the world.” She smiled.

“You’re right. No big deal.” He turned on his booted heel and began to leave.

“Hey!” she cried.

But he didn’t turn back.

“Hey!” she called again, louder.

He walked away.

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