Chapter 5 #2
One shoulder lifted in a light shrug. ‘I rode broncs as a pro for a bit.’
Stevie blinked. Well… that explained it. As well as opening up a bunch more questions. Her mother saying your father tells me you’re the best played in her mind and Stevie wondered if Clay Calhoun was some big deal she should have known about and made a mental note to do some googling.
‘Time’s up,’ Clay announced, breaking into her reverie as Gertie eased to a halt.
What? ‘Already?’ Because now she’d finally relaxed and found the rhythm of the horse, Stevie was actually sitting comfortably.
‘It’s an hour lesson,’ he said as he turned to look up at her, his hand stroking Gertie’s neck in long, slow swoops that ended dangerously close to her knee. ‘And you took up half of that insisting on learning how to mount from the ground.’
It wasn’t an accusation and Stevie thought she heard a slight note of admiration in his voice for both her insistence and persistence. And, whether he intended it as a compliment or not, her head got a little big.
‘Oh… sure,’ she said, kicking her brain into action as he looked at her expectantly. She glanced at the reins and the saddle and the hypnotic movement of his hand before she stared at the ground which was a long way down. ‘How do I get off?’
He broke into a smile for the first time since his case of the cranks and Stevie was whammied again by another change in his mood. ‘The same way you got up.’
She looked at the ground again. ‘Okay.’
‘You want the mount block?’
Stevie shook her head. No way. She’d got on Gertie without it. She’d get off without it. ‘Keep this foot…’ He tapped her knee and even though it was brief and impersonal, the touch flushed up her inner thigh, swelling to a breathtaking ripeness between her legs.
Oof… mama.
If Clay noticed, he didn’t let on as he continued his instructions. ‘…in the stirrup and take the other foot out.’
Stevie dutifully followed his orders.
‘Now put this hand’ – he nodded at the one closest, thankfully not touching this time – ‘on her neck close to the saddle and the other hand on the rim of the saddle just off to the side a little near your other hand.’
Again Stevie did as she was told, looking to Clay for approval of her handholds, which he gave with a dispassionate nod. ‘Now lean forward over your hands and push yourself upright until you’re standing with that one foot in the stirrup taking your weight.’
A shot of trepidation took hold as Stevie hesitated. ‘Won’t that drag on one side of her?’
Patting the horse’s neck, he said, ‘It’s fine, Gert’s used to it.’
Stevie drew in a deep breath and braced herself as she slowly lifted herself into a standing position. Her leg shook as it held her weight in the stirrup. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t worried that Gertie might make a sudden movement and toss her on her butt, but the horse didn’t move.
‘Okay,’ she said a little breathlessly as she glanced at him. ‘What now?’
‘Keeping your hands where they are and this foot in the stirrup, swing your other leg behind you with a pointed toe then swing it over Gertie’s back to join this one so both legs are on this side of the horse.’
He made it sound easy but he also moved closer as he explained it, which led Stevie to believe that it might not be as easy as he was implying. His proximity certainly wasn’t helping the jittery sensation she had going on. Was he there to catch her or to guide her?
The thought of either shortened her breath.
‘It’s okay,’ he assured her, although he was back to being grim-faced again. ‘I won’t let you fall.’
Slowly, awkwardly, Stevie swung her leg over the horse as Clay had tutored, both her knees pressing into Gertie’s side.
‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘Now, what you’re going to do is keep your weight over your arms and the centre of the saddle, lean into Gertie as you slip your foot from the stirrup.
You’re going to support yourself against the horse with your extended arms and then when you’re ready I want you to push yourself off and hop down in one smooth movement. ’
Hop down. Just like that.
The thing was, though, Clay was looking at her with the type of confidence he exuded in himself, which was remarkably buoying.
He didn’t seem to doubt that she could do it, so why should she?
Taking a steady breath, she fumbled her foot out of the stirrup and sought for a comfortable hold as she clung to the horse.
‘That’s it,’ he encouraged with what sounded like mild praise. ‘Now just push off your hands and hop yourself down.’
Stevie eyed the dirt, then Clay, then the ground again. It wasn’t that far and yet just hopping down backwards seemed ripe for mishap. He was close though – probably a little too much for her sanity – so he should be able to quickly intervene if she screwed up.
She smiled at him then. Fake it till you make it, Stevie. A mantra she was all too familiar with these past couple of years.
Well, okay… here went nothing.
Springing backwards, her hands let go of the saddle, both boots landing on the earth seconds later a little too close to Clay for comfort, the impact causing her to wobble a little.
He reacted quickly, snatching her around the waist, which caused her to startle and wrap her hands around his biceps as she leaned into the solid wall of him.
‘You okay?’ he asked, concern in his voice.
It wasn’t exactly a textbook perfect dismount, but she was stable now and she’d done it! Whooping her accomplishment, Stevie beamed up at him. ‘I did it.’
The concern etched in his granite features disappeared and he grinned, and man… it should be illegal for Clay Calhoun to grin, his amber eyes glowing as he seemed to enjoy her achievement as much as her.
‘You did,’ he said with a chuckle.
And it was so deep and warm and his body was hard and strong against hers, honed and fit, muscles solid beneath the plaid of his shirt, and she could see his eyes, shaded by the brim of his Stetson, were dancing over her face and his lips were so close and turned up as he laughed, and she’d just ridden a horse in Wyoming and Stevie was so completely swept up in the moment that, for a second, she lost her head.
Quickly rising up on her tiptoes, she closed her eyes as she planted her mouth on his – sort of.
It kinda missed a full-frontal lip lock and landed more on the side of his mouth requiring some awkward realigning but what she lacked in finesse, she made up in gusto, leaning into the closed mouth peck with everything she had.
And lordy – his mouth. Stevie was instantly addicted. Better than chocolate, better than a golden gramophone, better than Willie Nelson’s Martin N-20 guitar.
So this was what drugs felt like.
Clay, on the other hand, appeared not to be so enamoured as he attempted to pull out of the kiss.
But Stevie – utterly wrapped in the moment – didn’t clock the withdrawal, her mouth following his mindlessly, her fingers clutching the front of his shirt, dizzy and breathless from her triumph and the taste of him.
The earthy intoxicating smell of him – horse and hay, sweat and sunshine – filling her nostrils and swamping every erogenous zone with a level of yearning she’d never even known existed.
Her entire body hummed with the urge to drag him down to the dirt and ride him like women rode men in Yolly’s romance novels. Like he’d rode Electra yesterday.
But then it was over, his mouth wrenching from hers, and she heard herself whimper in some kind of protest as, dazed and disorientated by an almost feral longing for more, she sought his mouth one more time. Something was stopping her, though. A hand. On her shoulder? His hand on her shoulder.
And that was when, like a bucket of cold water being thrown in her face, she realised what she’d done and how totally out of line she’d been, and she wanted to die on the spot.
Oh no. No, no, no.
Stevie’s face flamed at her behaviour. What was wrong with her?
Had she lost her mind? Stealth kissing him like that?
Forcing her mouth on his? Not that he seemed too perturbed given his arm was still anchored around her waist and he was breathing kinda hard for a guy who’d barely been involved in the process at all.
‘Oh God.’ Stevie’s hand covered her still tingling mouth as she took a half step back only to come up against Gertie’s solid flanks. Still, it managed to create some space between them as her eyes searched every plane and angle of his face, trying to figure out what to say.
What did someone say to a person they’d ambushed with a kiss when they absolutely shouldn’t have for a multitude of reasons not least of all lack of consent?
The thought that Yolly would know made Stevie absurdly want to burst into tears, which was so not what this already embarrassing situation needed.
‘I’m so… so sorry. Clay, I—’ She shook her head as her hand slipped from her mouth. She what? How did she explain this to him when she couldn’t explain it to herself? ‘That was totally… out of line and… unforgiveable and – I…’
‘It’s okay.’ He cut through her escalating panic. ‘No need to freak out.’
‘No need?’ Stevie’s eyes bugged. She supposed a guy like him was probably used to women rushing him for kisses, but Stephanie Everhart did not do this kind of stuff.
Clearly that was the Stevie in her. Or maybe it was the Yolly.
‘How can I not freak out?’ she hiss-whispered, although why she was whispering she had no idea. No one was around and they were miles from any kind of civilisation. ‘You must think I’m some kind of desperate… ridiculous… virginal—’
Stevie stumbled over the word, her cheeks flaming as she dropped her gaze. She couldn’t look him in the eye when mentioning anything to do with her virginity.
‘Foolish…’ she continued, looking at the tanned, whiskery column of his neck which, even in her a state of maximal internal recrimination, gave her a delicious kind of shiver thinking about how good those soft prickles would feel on her neck, her breasts, her belly.