Three
Nixon’s comments about daydreaming and getting a purpose needled me, so I decided to go for the job I had seen advertised in our local pub window.
I was surprised when they offered me the post straight away. I had no experience and was clumsy, but how hard could it be, taking orders and bringing people food? The lady who interviewed me pretty much threw the job at me. I would like to have said I’d impressed her, but I imagined the real reason I got the job was that they were desperate.
I had purposefully stayed away from the pool, not wanting to bump into any of the McKenna boys. I needed time to lick my wounds. That confidence I had felt at the party appeared to have diminished and I decided to shelve my thoughts about stupid men. There was more to life and I knew I needed to fix myself before I could possibly attempt to fix someone else.
I had been working at the pub for almost a week. This would be my first time covering the lunchtime shift and it had been quiet. That day there were mainly elderly people coming in for pie and peas or fish and chips, the Saturday, Pensioners Specials. I enjoyed it more as there were fewer men to leer at me.
The evenings had been full-on and several younger guys had asked for my mobile number. I never gave it out, of course, I was working and it wouldn’t have been professional. My phone was always usually out of battery anyway. I had still saved Nixon’s number in my phone but had called him The Psycho. I had been cross at the time and it had been that or The Bastard. I relished that hint of a mean streak, thinking how Nixon could stuff his sweet comment up his backside.
My presence in the pub created quite a stir with the male customers. I had been batting off male attention for years, but it still made me uncomfortable. You’d have thought I would have gotten used to it by now but nope, not me .
There were only three of us working that lunchtime and as it was quiet, Janet the Landlady said we could leave early. She then disappeared upstairs. She and her husband lived above the pub.
My colleague and I changed out of our uniforms; a plain black pencil skirt and a white blouse. I pulled on a white camisole and a long floaty gipsy skirt before pushing my feet into toe-post sandals.
Melody Parker, who went to the same school as me always worked on a Saturday and she had been great fun to be around.
As we went to leave, I noticed the bar needed wiping down and offered to clean it before I left, suggesting Melody head home. She was only too happy to leave as she was meeting her boyfriend. This revelation caused a sinking sensation in my stomach.
I dumped my bag back behind the bar area and grabbed a cloth. As I started cleaning the side down, the hairs on the back of my neck bristled and I realised someone had come in the pub. Placing the dishcloth down, I turned with a smile, thinking it would be a last-minute customer. It wasn’t.
My cheerful expression faded as my eyes clashed with Nixon’s. Frozen in shock I swept my gaze over him. He had come in through the back door and was halfway into the room. His footsteps were extremely quiet considering his size. He’d probably mastered treading softly during his training in the army. I imagined that soldiers had to be light on their feet for stealth-type missions.
He looked amazing the female in me registered and my gaze swept greedily over him.
The man was so beautiful and powerful like a mythical God. Tall, oozing testosterone and masculine confidence. He was dressed in work jeans, a shirt, and boots. The muscles of his shoulders bulged against the material of his top. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing those tanned veined, tattooed forearms. My eyes honed in on his mouth, remembering the way it had felt against my own when he’d kissed me. That immense pleasure it had given me just by sucking my finger.
He was watching me with a healthy amount of fascination and we both stared at each other in silence for a few beats before Nixon took control. As he always did. As he’d told me, he was a man of action.
“Mason said you’d started working here. I must say I’m surprised,” he began contemplating me before casting a quick look around the taproom with distaste.
“Why?” I questioned with a frown, butterflies dancing in my stomach.
“One of the Taylor-Joy girls working in a bar ,” Nixon goaded with a mocking astonished look. As if that fact was something that had to be seen to be believed.
“So?” I knew what he was getting at but decided to play it safe. I ran my fingers over the folds of my skirt, needing something to do with my hands.
Nixon scratched his jaw, rasping over the scruff there. That dark growth made him look rugged, “You don’t even need to work Jenna. If you’re doing this to prove a point, then you’ve failed.”
My tongue shot out to moisten my lips, “You said I needed to take control of my life, get a purpose, well this is the first step.” I wafted a hand around me to highlight my point. I didn’t care that having a job would prove to him that I was listening to what he’d said. I wanted him to know that I had taken those words on board. The thought of turning my life around was a welcomed thought. I’d been locked away in that ivory tower for way too long, I knew that, had always known, but going against one’s entire family was no easy feat.
Nixon wasn’t impressed and he ground his teeth together before rasping. “So, you’re taking control of your life by serving fucking drunks from the village?” He sounded annoyed, but that didn’t come as a shock. I knew how changeable his moods were. He flexed his shoulders, the motion highlighting his irritation.
“I can imagine them ogling you like starved dogs. ”
I lifted my hand to play with a stray tendril of hair, my focus narrowed on Nixon, “So, it doesn’t mean that I’ll go out with them,” I pointed out.
He snorted, “I can’t imagine they’re interested in going out with you Jenna. The kind of customers that come in here, only care about what you’ve got between your legs.”
“Nixon,” I whispered with a flinch, not liking how crude he was being. I already knew that he didn’t possess a filter and said whatever the heck he wanted. That fact caused me to have such turbulent thoughts, as you could never second guess him. It was frustrating and exciting at the same time. But I certainly didn’t care for that comment.
“I’m only saying it how it is. You need to open your eyes, Jenna. Especially in respect of how the male mind works. The Landlord employed you as a piece of arse to draw in customers and that’s it.”
His harsh comment was bruising. I’d only been working there a week but I felt like I’d proved my worth. And not due to my sex appeal to the male customers.
“The owners gave me the job because I reassured them I could do it,” I replied, feeling offended that he thought I’d only been given a shot because of my looks. I flicked back that silken lock of hair, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“ Bullshit. You don’t even have any experience. You’ve only ever worked with your parents. The reason they gave you the job has nothing to do with your ability. It’s to do with how many pigs you’ll encourage to come and drink here.”
I shrugged my narrow shoulders, “The customers are not that bad. Your brothers come in here.” Which was of course how Mason had known I worked there. He had been perfectly polite when I’d served him. Boyd had just sat there leering at me over his pint.
“Exactly. As I said, pissheads.” Nixon huffed boldly, throwing his brothers under the bus.
“You’re in here too?” I pointed out .
“I only come here occasionally for family dos and shit; I wouldn’t drink here on a regular basis,” Nixon said, turning his nose up. He was such a snob.
“Why are you here now then?” I said with a huff.
“I’m dropping Mason’s wallet off. He left it at home.”
My tummy sank as my original hope that he’d come to the pub to see me was dashed away.
Tilting back my head I pointed out, “Well, I’m being independent.” I was desperate to improve his impression of me. Pathetic I know.
This caused him to roll his eyes, he still looked majorly sexy when he did it though, “No you’re not. You're being stupid and incredibly na?ve. There are other ways to be independent of your parents without working in a shithole like this.”
I wasn’t sure I liked what he said. There was a three-beat silence as I searched for what to say. His last sentence effectively silenced me. I was always so tongue-tied in this man’s company. He really did ruffle my feathers, in a bad way and a good way. He made me feel quite dizzy.
“It isn’t so bad and as you say, maybe it will open my eyes and I’ll see the pigs for what they really want,” I put in, echoing his earlier point.
“You shouldn’t be working here Jenna,” he stated arrogantly. Like he had a say in the matter. The way he was looking at me was now fierce and primitive.
“Well, it’s not really your business is it Nixon,” I replied in my best haughty voice and planted my hands on my hips. An attempt to look in control. An absolute joke in front of this man.
Nixon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers and briefly closed his eyes before he dropped his hand. He shot me a pointed look, “What if I decide to make it my business?”
“Really?” I knew my voice sounded pathetically hopeful.
He smirked, “You’d enjoy that wouldn’t you?”
Those words made my heart trip .
He paused, his gaze roaming over my body like he was hungry. Blatant desire in his eyes. “Come here Jenna,” he then instructed, holding his hand out for me to take it. He could have walked over to me but no, he had to see if I would follow his orders, obey him, and go to him like a dog. I felt an unexpected twinge of anger. An emotion I was way too chilled to feel usually.
“ Now ,” he growled. Nixon was probably used to most girls bending over backwards to please him. That thought created an annoying knot to tighten in my belly. I recalled Amy’s past comments about how Nixon went through girls like a fox in a chicken coup.
I stared into his eyes, almost hypnotised. I was unable to speak for an entire minute. That second command sent a thrilling feeling jetting through me, but I remained firm, “I’m working.” I gave him a slight smile as if to say, so there. I probably looked like a petulant child. My body continued to stir.
He dropped his hand so it rested next to one jean-clad thigh, “I thought you always do as you are told?”
My stomach churned and my pulse started to race again. How dared he bring up those words from the pool that first day when he had told me that boy was dead to him?
I took a step backwards, the counter of the bar at my back, “Not when I’m being threatened.” Trepidation was wrapped around my response.
His brow creased and his gaze flickered to my mouth, “I’m not threatening you.”
Realising I still had my hands rested on my hips, I dropped them to my sides, and delivered him an accusatory look, “Yes, you are. I can see it in your face, Nixon. Hear it in your tone.” I wasn’t stupid, I could easily recognise the sexual tension pouring from his body. I’d felt it when I was sixteen at the pool that day.
Nixon sucked in a breath, and then his lips curled into one of those sexy smiles he had probably used on tons of women, “ Please , come here.” He added the ‘please’ to placate me, I wasn’t stupid but his voice became much more encouraging and my heart rang like a church bell. His testosterone levels were well above where they should have been.
“You’re confusing me,” I replied in a small voice. I was desperate to go to him, but I wanted to appear strong. His harsh comments about me being vulnerable banged through my head like the drumbeat from a war cry.
Nixon cracked his knuckles and then took a step toward me, his eyes scanning my features, “Good. You should be confused and believe me, you’re not the only one,” he blasted out, frustration dripping from those words.
“So, in what way are you confused? You either want to be my friend or you don’t. End of.”
He exhaled, his nostrils flaring as his eyes narrowed, “It isn’t as straightforward as that. Bottom line.” He paused momentarily before he said, very slowly, “I want to punish you and worship you at the same time. Fucked up I know,” Nixon confessed in a throaty purr.
“So why don’t you,” I huffed with confusion. I would take either of those things from Nixon. Anything was better than being ignored.
Nixon’s face darkened, “Anything happening between us has complicated written all over it. And I don’t do complicated.”
His words rattled me. His changeable behaviour was like a riddle you’d never solve and I started to backpedal, “I don’t want to play this game, Nixon.” I must have been out of my mind to ever imagine I could have any type of relationship with this boy. He didn’t know the meaning of straightforward. Being part of this man’s life would be hard, and complicated as he’d said. Was I really tough enough? Probably not, but there was no way of hiding from it. Ever since that day by the pond, Nixon had filled that empty dark hollow section in my chest and I needed to know him, on any level.
“Who’s playing?” he volleyed back, advancing on me with a bold unapologetic stare .
Lifting my hand, I held up my palm to stop him in his tracks, “I don’t understand why you’re treating me so unfairly. I haven’t done anything wrong,” I blurted and he stopped, glancing briefly at my hand.
With his feet planted slightly apart, Nixon folded his huge arms over his chest and hooked his chin toward me, “Your family torched my house with my family in there!” Here we go again.
His reply didn’t wash with me, it was like he was using the past as an excuse as to why nothing could happen between us. It forced me to take a step forward, dropping my hand, “But we didn’t . The whole thing was investigated, we were not implicated at all.” My eyes roamed over his face; I needed him to believe me.
A muscle started to tick in his jaw, a sign he was annoyed. I’d noticed that when he’d seen me at the meadow with Vicky, “I don’t care. Your brother's smug face the night of the fire told me all I needed to know.”
Shifting my gaze away from the anger now evident in his eyes, I glanced to the side of him. Not wanting to make eye contact and pointed toward the door, “Your brother isn’t here. I think you should leave.” I straightened my body to look taller.
“Who, me or the fucking carpet?” This drew my eyes back to his face.
“Please Nixon, just go.” I sighed, feeling drained. Verbal sparring with this man was tiring. He had so much more energy than I did. Triple the amount, bearing in mind how huge he was. He was the lion and I was the lamb. Would I ever be able to shift that power play to my advantage? Probably not.
He shook his dark head and then started to move again, “No, I’ve got an idea.”
“About what?” I gasped, wide-eyed as I plastered myself against the front of the bar.
Nixon came to stand in front of me, I had to crane my neck to retain eye contact. Confusion mixed with pleasure at his nearness raced through my limbs.
“A step forward for you. A proper one, not in this shithole,” he said .
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, let’s go.”
I still didn’t budge, “Go where?” I panted, wide-eyed as his powerful frame shifted.
He released an impatient sigh of annoyance. For such a large man, he moved with an athletic-like grace. Nixon stepped into my space, bent over, pushing one shoulder into my midriff, and wrapped his hands around the backs of my legs. He then lifted me off the ground, my feet leaving the floor as he slumped me over his shoulder. One of my sandals slid off but caught on my big toe. My arms flailed and I grabbed a chunk of the shirt that covered his broad back as I dangled, worried about falling. I wiggled, my breath whooshing from my body at the impact but his hands tightened just below my backside. Luckily his hold clamped my long skirt against my legs.
It was like something you see in films. I was slumped down half of his back as he set off sure-footed toward to exit. My skin felt hot where he touched me and my hair swung toward the floor as I then thumped his back. The pathetic movement of my fist was probably as hard as a fly hitting him. Nixon released a bark of laughter at my poor attempts to defend myself, it was a dark sound; like he was perversely pleased with himself.
As we stepped out into the sunshine, I raised my head as much as possible and through the waterfall of my hair, I saw Mason and his brothers walking toward us, “Mason, please, help me. Your brother’s gone mad!” I attempted to shout but it was quite muffled. The blood was running into my head and my hair was in my mouth.
Mason snickered as they walked up to us, totally unfazed that a female was draped over his brother’s shoulder, “Sorry, you’re on your own kitten.”
Both Boyd and Seth flashed me winning grins and I lowered my head against the bottom of Nixon’s back. Feeling defeated and helpless. Nixon’s arms were like steel bars, there really was no escape. I was very aware of his tight jean- clad backside sitting just below my face. If I nipped him there, would he release me? I decided against such suicidal action.
“Wallet, back pocket. And in future, don’t forget it. I’m not your fucking lackey,” Nixon grunted at his brother. I felt a hand move through my hair and withdraw what I assumed was a wallet from the back pocket of Nixon’s jeans. I couldn’t make eye contact again as there was now too much hair in the way.
They then carried on toward the pub, laughing together.
I felt like shouting, good luck getting served , as there was no one there, but I returned my attention back to my assailant, “This is kidnapping Nixon. Unacceptable , even by your standards.” It all felt so undignified.
“Put me down!” I demanded in a strained voice.
“Nope,” Nixon replied lazily.
“I’ll scream, I mean it!”
“I think this must be the first time you’ve ever raised your voice. What happened to that delicate little flower I met in the pool that day?”
I grunted as he shunted me up to get a firmer grip on my body. All I could see now was the back of his legs. “She grew up,” I croaked, feeling slightly lightheaded.
“Yeah, not far. You’re still a tiny little thing.” Nixon said, before smacking one cheek of my backside. I flinched; the sting was not totally unpleasant.
“Ouch. And you’re a giant dick who doesn’t know his own strength. Please let me down, or I’m going to be sick all down your back.”
He chuckled, “Go ahead, it won’t show on this shirt.”
Kicking my legs did nothing, “Nixon stop it! I mean it now.” I was almost breathless. Where the heck were we going?
“I suggest you stop moving or I’ll drop you.”
“I wish you would, you rat. ”
Nixon whistled at the name I’d called him. I never usually went for name-calling, “Giant dick, rat? Why, don’t you give your mouth a rest and conserve your strength? You’re going to need it.”
What the heck did that mean? All sorts of saucy possibilities started to filter into my thoughts.
“What are you going to do?” I panted.
“You’ll see,” Nixon said as he lowered me to the ground. I had to cling onto his arm so I didn’t fall over, my face must have been purple from all the blood that had seeped into it.
“Amy and Mattie will wonder where I am,” I informed him hotly, taking a wobbly step back from him.
“So, what? Fuck-em,” he said with a shrug.
I swayed before him, pushing my hair back.
“Steady,” Nixon warned, his hands on my arms.
Once I had balanced myself, I finished smoothing down my hair and straightened my clothing.
We were now standing by Nixon’s truck and I cleared my throat as he released me and dropped his hands.
“Get in,” he said with a flick of his head. He was parked on the road outside the car park to the pub.
I tapped what was now a bare foot, feeling anxious and he raised his eyebrows that I had again failed to do his bidding.
“Have it your way flower.” Nixon then yanked open the door and lifted me off my feet again. Depositing me on the passenger seat like luggage. He then pulled the seatbelt over me, my tummy flipping as his hand grazed my breasts.
I felt a burst of panic, “My bag is in the pub,” I jabbered, all a fluster. I’d also lost a sandal. “And my shoe, my shoe has gone.”
Nixon slammed the door, rolled his eyes, and said through the open window, “Where is your bag, I can see the shoe. ”
Yanking the handle, I attempted to open the door and he glanced down through the window with a smug look, “Child locks are a bitch, aren’t they?”
“Go to hell,” I murmured.
“Where do you think I’ve been since the day I met you?”
Great, so he’d been in hell ever since meeting me. The man was full of compliments.
I sighed, giving in, I leaned back against the seat, feeling exhausted before shooting him a cross look. This caused him to grin before he repeated, “Your bag?”
I explained it was behind the bar and he shot me a look of warning, “Stay put. If I have to chase you down the road, it won’t be a pretty picture when I catch you. And I will catch you, Jenna.”
And after that warning, he stalked off. He had no idea how powerful those parting words were. I so wanted to be caught.
My mind raced with thoughts of where he was taking me. I wasn’t afraid, not really. More anxious.
I stared at the dashboard moodily. Nixon had basically kidnapped me.
After around five minutes he swung into the cab of his truck, almost folding his body over to fit he was so large. Nixon was the biggest man I had ever met. I jumped as he deposited my bag and missing sandal on my knee and yanked his own seatbelt on.
“Where are we going?” I questioned smoothly sliding my shoe on and then clasping my fingers together in my lap.
“I have something to show you,” Nixon stated as he started the engine and steered the vehicle out onto the road. I had no clue what that meant, he may as well have been speaking a different language.
He took my confusion as something else, “You don’t have to look so terrified,” he said, shooting me a humorous expression.
I kept my eyes on the road, a thousand thoughts circulating brain .
“I know what you’re doing Nixon,” I rasped, fiddling with my clothing.
“And what’s that?” he shot back, his hands so tight on the steering wheel his knuckles were white.
“Trying to intimidate me by not telling me where we are going. But I’m not scared of you,” my words were only a half lie.
I turned and gave him a square, accusatory look and he returned it with his mocking one.
“You’ll know if I start trying to intimidate you, Jenna.”
I opened and closed my mouth; silence was probably the best option. I didn’t do well with words when in the company of this boy.
The truck had picked up speed now and the countryside whirred by. That silence stretched and I felt tears of frustration begin to develop. Nixon must have noticed as he shuffled in his seat before he eventually caved, “I’m taking you riding.”
I twisted in my seat with a puzzled expression, the tears that had threatened instantly dried up. His words were welcomed and I went to smile but he cut it dead, “And don’t get your hopes up. This isn’t a fucking date. I just want to prove a point.”
“And then?” I prompted.
“And then we’re done. You’re on your own,” he said firmly.
I left it a minute, my eyes roaming over his striking profile before I questioned, “What does that mean, we’re done. I didn’t realise that we’d even started?”
He shot me a sideways glance as he steered the car through the gates of Kiplings Riding Centre, “We haven’t, and we never will, Jenna. Only on my terms and you know what they are.” I almost winced at that one. Yes, no strings attached sex. Great.
I didn’t allow those words to upset me, I was too focused on where he’d brought me. If he cared enough to take me riding, his words were surely nonsense .
As Nixon parked the car, I pointed out the obvious, “I’m hardly dressed for horse riding.”
He gave me a bland look and then exited the car, walking around the bonnet. Simon, the son of the owners approached him with a friendly smile and the two men shook hands. I watched them through narrowed eyes as I sat stubbornly in the car, making no move to climb out. My sister Amy had started working here on and off.
I heard Nixon instruct Simon to saddle Apollo. A slither of panic ran down my spine. Apollo sounded like the name of a horse I so didn’t want to ride.
As Simon walked away, Nixon came back to the car and leaned in through the open window of the driver's side.
“Let’s go,” he said with a flick of his head.
I took a deep breath, pushed my bag off my lap into the footwell and climbed down from the car. The woodchip of the courtyard was squishy against my sandaled feet.
As I rounded the bonnet, Nixon met me halfway, an unreadable expression on his face as he looked me up and down. It made me feel self-conscious.
It was a cloudy day and the sky cast shadows across his jaw. I peered up at him, feeling about five.
“I can’t do this. I’ve only been on Vicky a handful of times and what type of name is Apollo?”
As I spoke the words a strong whinny sounded from the side of us and I turned, my mouth dropping open in alarm as I stared across at Apollo. OMG! The beast was massive , not as large as the horse that Nixon had rode to the pool that night but still big. I identified his colouring as a bay, his feet and nose were black and his body was brown. Nixon moved to the side of me and looked forward at the horse.
“Stunning, isn’t he?” he said, his voice thick with his passion for the animal .
My response was to gulp and I shivered, feeling out of my comfort zone again, a place I seemed to be whenever I was in Nixon’s company.
What followed was head-spinning kind of stuff, Nixon went all-out teacher-mode to my student. He introduced me to Apollo whilst readjusting his tack here and there. Providing me with some details about horses in general and about Apollo’s temperament. He said that whilst he was a large horse and a stallion he was fully broken and quite easy to ride. Nixon must have seen how I’d paled and he’d rolled his eyes, stating, “You won’t be riding him today, Jenna, so you can lose the terrified expression,” he informed me as he stroked the beast's flanks. “Today, you will ride with me. Then if you like it, you can come here and ride one of the mares. Have some lessons before going out on your own. Apollo is much too tall for you anyway.”
This revelation sent a slight frisson into my body, part panic part pleasure. The thought of being on a horse with Nixon so close behind me was certainly one I relished.
And that is exactly what happened.
Nixon had another brief conversation with Simon before he walked back over to me and Apollo. He looked like a superior pagan God.
There was a mocking slant to his eyebrows as he watched me, clearly amused by my look of panic, “You’ll be quite safe. I’ve been riding since I was five,” he informed me confidently.
Nixon put his hands around my waist and told me to lift my leg and place my foot into one stirrup, which I did. Not easy in my toe-post shoes but I managed it. My polished toes looked out of place against the skin of the animal. Nixon told me to grab the pommel of the saddle and then to pull myself up. He half-lifted me and placed his hands on my bottom to push me over. I managed to raise my other leg over the horse's back and swung myself into position, holding onto Apollo’s neck with my other hand like my life depended on it .
I jumped as Nixon’s fingers caught my ankle and drew it slowly from the stirrup. He then placed his own booted foot in there and swung his other leg around the horse's back whilst pulling his body up and onto the saddle. I was wedged between his legs, the muscles of his powerful thighs corded beside mine. His chest was hard against my back and he slid his arms around my waist. My skin felt hot wherever he touched it.
It took a while to get comfortable, especially as the horse shifted on his feet, obviously taking in the extra weight of two riders and making up for it.
As I shuffled my bottom backwards, I heard Nixon’s sharp intake of breath. One of his hands then rested on my stomach with the other taking the reins.
“Hold on to the saddle with both hands,” he said against the cuff of my ear. His body was rock hard and so warm against mine and I felt safe. I was on top of a huge horse and felt safe. A definite first.
As Nixon slid his foot into the other stirrup and clicked his heels, the horse set off walking. I wobbled slightly as my legs were dangling down each side of the horse, but I knew I wasn’t going anywhere, I was pinned in by Nixon’s strong jean-clad thighs and his tight hold on me.
He led us across the courtyard and past a paddock towards one of the training fields. The clouds had cleared and the sun beat down on us. My body felt hot, but it had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the body I was plastered back against.
Nixon kept the horse steady; he didn’t urge him into a trot or anything else. We just sauntered across the field, surrounded by stunning rolling views of the Norfolk countryside. It was idyllic.
I drew in a fresh breath of air. Part of me wanted to talk and start a conversation that could have been seen as normal, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment. Nixon felt relaxed behind me, his breath sweeping across my bare shoulder. I could feel his chest rising and falling and that arm of his so close to the bottom of my breasts. His touch caused an electric type charge to fizz through my insides in rhythm with the horse's movements.
And then, Nixon upped the ante as he whispered in my ear, “Hang on tight, Little Mermaid.” The boy by the pool raised his head again and so I did.
He clicked his tongue and Apollo shunted forward and picked up the pace. Nixon’s body pushed into mine from behind, bending me slightly over the horse's neck, probably for balance. His hand tightened and I knew he wouldn’t let me fall.
As Apollo raced across the open fields, trees whizzed by, the air whooshed against my face and hair and I tightened my hold on the saddle as his hooves pounded across the ground.
I fought to catch my breath. My heart was racing, I felt alive and free. The whole experience and who I was sharing it with, lit me up inside. My body was dancing with excitement and charged with energy. I had never felt that way before in my life.
Nixon steered the horse across the fields before directing him this way and that. We even went through a wooded area and a small stream and I laughed with glee, feeling thoroughly joyful.
Occasionally, I would feel Nixon’s chin against my shoulder, almost like he was stroking the skin with the harshness of the scruff on his jaw. His rough to my smooth.
I lost track of time, drinking in the views and the company. I even released the pommel with one hand and stroked Apollo’s neck.
As Nixon slowly led us back, my heart dipped when I saw the paddock and the yard of Kiplings. Our ride was over.
Once we trotted back into the yard, Simon and another boy were there and they took the reins from Nixon. He must have nodded for them to help me down as Simon held his hands up .
Both of Nixon’s hands encircled my waist and he helped to lift me off the animal, my foot swinging over Apollo’s neck.
Smoothing my hair back and my skirt down, I watched as Nixon ejected his body lithely from the saddle.
I stepped back and stroked Apollo's nose as he watched me, those brown eyes slightly clouded. I wondered how old he was.
Nixon and Simon spoke briefly before the animal was led away.
My hands were curled into my skirt and my hair was messy. As Nixon approached, he pushed a clump of my hair back from my face. His eyes locked with mine.
“What did you think?” he questioned, again his face a mask. If he’d enjoyed the ride, he certainly wasn’t showing it.
I smiled and looked up at him from beneath my lashes, I could feel my face was flushed, “It was amazing. I loved it,” I confessed in a breathy voice.
His slight smile crinkled his eyes and I thanked my lucky stars that he was showing me some emotion again. I preferred him angry than indifferent but being pleased was so much better. He had to care about me in some capacity, I could feel it.
“Thank you, Nixon.”
He cleared his throat, before checking his wristwatch.
“Come on, I’ll take you home. Your brother has probably sent out a search party,” he replied in an even voice.
Nixon drove me home and very little was said but I didn’t care, I was just enjoying being in his company without fighting with him.
As he pulled up outside the entrance into our farm which sat just before his own, I undid my seatbelt and thanked him again. I so hoped he kissed me. He didn’t of course.
His eyes searched my face and I said, “Goodnight then.” Gathering my bag.
“Goodbye Jenna. ”
His flat tone made me sad. Why was he fighting me so much? It certainly wasn’t just because of the silly war between our families. It was like he was scared to get involved and was dressing it up as something else. Whatever he was doing, he wasn’t being honest.
“Surely not goodbye. Aren’t you going to teach me to ride?”
There was a pregnant pause and he scratched his jaw thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving mine.
“That isn’t a good idea,” Nixon huffed.
“Why?”
“Because being close to you is fucking with my head and that’s not a good thing, for either of us.”
“Why?”
“Just take my word for it,” he sighed. “Here, you should be able to open the door now.” He said obviously having disengaged the child locks on the doors.
“What if I don’t want to take your word for it?” I said, tilting my chin.
Nixon squeezed his eyes closed momentarily before shooting me a piercing stare.
“You can pursue it all you want, Jenna, I just hope you deal well with disappointment.”
My lips curled in the semblance of a smile as I took in his words, “I’ve been dealing with that my entire life Nixon.”
At my words, his brow creased and his gaze roamed my face. He was confused. He too thought I lived the perfect life in my lonely little bubble. Well, he was wrong, they all were.
His mouth opened as if to question me but I twisted in my seat and opened my door, jumping down.
“See you around,” I said. My words sounded like a line from one of those Western movies my dad watched .
I then turned my back and made my way up the long driveway to my house. It wasn't until I got to the porch that I heard Nixon start the engine and then drive away.
Out of my day and my life, but I hoped not for good.