Vicki Thompson - Feels Like Home

“You get on from the left side.” She took his hat off the saddle horn and handed it to him. “You’ll want the saddle horn available to hold on to while you swing up.”

“Got it.” He settled the Stetson on his head and instantly added a yummy factor.

She hadn’t realized how sexy cowboy hats were until she’d traveled to Wyoming, where it was the headgear of choice. Now she couldn’t imagine men choosing to wear anything else. Put a Stetson on a guy and his hot-tie quotient shot up a good twenty points.

Standing by Destiny’s head, she held the horse’s bridle while Rafe shoved his booted foot into the left stirrup and swung his right leg over the saddle with natural grace. Once he conquered his initial nervousness, he’d be great at this. And he rocked the denim look. Watching him mount up, which stretched the material in fascinating places, brought a little shiver of delight.

“And just like that, you’re on,” she said.

“So I am.” Gripping the horn with both hands, he shifted in the saddle. “This isn’t too bad.”

“I need to adjust the stirrups, though. Your legs are longer than the previous rider’s. I don’t want your knees drawn up like a jockey’s.”

“Shouldn’t I do the adjusting?”

“It’ll be more efficient if I do it while you’re in the saddle.” She was just the girl to adjust his stirrups, too. Considering how close she’d have to be to his muscled thighs, she wouldn’t delegate this job to anyone. Moving to his left side, she glanced up. “Take your left foot out of the stirrup.”

He obeyed, and as she lifted the flap of leather to alter the length, she savored the flex of muscles beneath the faded jeans. The scent of minty soap, freshly washed denim and pure masculinity swirled around her in a heady combo. She would adjust Rafe’s stirrups any day.

“Now the other side.” Rounding the back of the horse, she repeated the motion on his right stirrup. “Okay, put your feet in and let’s see.”

“It feels better.”

“Looks better, too. Stand up in them so I can see how much clearance you have.” As he did that, she was obliged to gaze at his crotch. Mercy. “Good. You can sit again.” She resisted the urge to fan her face.

“I didn’t realize there was so much to the fit of the saddle and the stirrups.”

“You need to be as comfortable as possible.” She didn’t want any of that valuable equipment getting bruised, either. Yowza. With an effort she pulled her mind away from the subject of Rafe’s endowments. “You’ll want to keep your heels down with your weight sinking into them to lower your center of gravity.”

“Sarah convinced me to wear the boots because she said the heels would keep my feet from slipping through the stirrups. I decided I didn’t want to be dragged to my death, so I went with the boots.”

“You won’t be dragged to your death, Rafe. I’ll save you before that happens.”

He smiled at her. “What a relief. I could have worn my loafers, then.”

“‘Fraid not. The leather shank keeps your shins from chafing. Boots aren’t only for impressing women. They serve a purpose.”

“Women are impressed with boots?”

“Some are.” She untied Destiny’s reins from the hitching post.

“Are you?”

She glanced back at him. “Depends whose feet are in them.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

“I thought we’d start by making a few circuits of the corral.” She led Destiny over to the gate.

“Please tell me you’re not going to lead me around like a kid on a pony ride.”

“Just until I get you inside the corral. After all, it is your first time.”

“You make me sound like a damned virgin.”

That made her laugh. “Would you rather we started out with a wild gallop across the meadow?”

“No, I wouldn’t. But I hope nobody sees this part. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’ll be over before you know it.” She unlatched the gate, led Destiny inside and latched the gate again. “Ready to take over?”

“I’m so ready.”

Knotting the reins, she lifted them over Destiny’s head and handed them to Rafe. “Hold these in your left hand, and keep them fairly loose. You don’t want to pull on his mouth. He neck reins, so when you want him to go left, lay the reins against the right side of his neck, and vice versa.” She stepped back.

Horse and rider remained stationary as Destiny quietly waited for directions.

Rafe frowned. “Where’s the gas pedal?”

She realized he really had no idea how to ride a horse. Most people knew how to get them going at least. “Nudge him in the ribs with your heels.”

He applied a slight pressure.

“Harder.”

When he used more force, Destiny started off.

“Remember, reins against the right side of his neck to go left, and against the left side to go right.”

“Got it.” Rafe followed her instructions, and soon he was controlling Destiny’s slow progress around the corral.

“Bored yet?”

“Getting there. How do I speed him up?”

“You nudge him again and click your tongue. But first sink down into your heels, because a trot is—” He was into the trot before she could finish the sentence.

He bounced uncontrollably in the saddle, lost his stirrups, his hat and his temper. He began to swear.

She struggled to keep a straight face. “Pull back gently on the reins and say ‘whoa.’”

He did, and sat there catching his breath. “That was torture. What did I do wrong?”

She was impressed that he’d ask the question instead of blaming either her or the horse. “You got ahead of me. A trot isn’t an easy gait to master.”

“No shit.” He climbed down off the horse.

“Are you giving up?” She couldn’t believe it, but everyone had a different tolerance for frustration.

“Hell, no, I’m not giving up.” Taking hold of Destiny’s bridle, he started off at a brisk walk. “Gotta get my hat.”

“Oh.” She smiled to herself. She’d suspected he might have the makings of a cowboy. And sure enough, he did.

AFTER THAT DEBACLE, RAFE listened more carefully to Meg’s instructions, and eventually he began to sense the rhythm of the trot. He still bounced a little, but he didn’t lose his stirrups or his hat, which was progress.

Next she taught him to canter around the perimeter of the corral.

He remembered the term canter from yesterday. When he’d accused her of running straight at him, she’d protested that she was only cantering. Now he understood why riders would want to do that. He could canter all day long.

“That’s good!” she called out. “I think you’re ready for the outside world.”

He thought so, too. To his surprise, the corral had started to feel confining. He wouldn’t claim to be a natural at riding, but he’d caught on a lot faster than he’d expected.

Meg opened the gate. “Wait here by the corral while I get Spilled Milk. Then we’ll be off.” She gazed up at him. “You’re doing great. Really wonderful for your first time. How do you feel?”

“Terrific.” It was the God’s truth. He’d ridden motorcycles, but this was better, more … real. He liked the view from the back of a horse, the sense of partnership he felt, and the visceral thrill of going fast in tandem with this powerful animal.

“You’ll be sore tomorrow, but maybe not too bad. I recommend a soak in a hot bath later on.”

“I’ll do that. You haven’t led me astray so far.”

“Give me time.” She winked at him and sauntered away.

What the hell? He stared after her, his brain buzzing with what had obviously been a suggestive remark. And in case he’d been too dense to pick up on it, she’d followed it with a wink.