9. Nine
Nine
Cassidy
At over sixteen hands, Decorated proves to be an absolute powerhouse of a horse.
Butterflies dance in my stomach as I sit on the horse's back, riding next to Wes over the gravel driveway.
I still have no idea as to what we are actually doing. All I know is that I mentioned wanting to ride, and within a few hours, I found myself atop what has become one of my favorite horses in the barn.
That first week I worked here, I found a quiet moment to eat my lunch next to the fenceline. Deco quickly trotted up, nosey and curious. Since then, he’s always been there whenever I decide to eat somewhere other than the office.
Sweat drips down my back, horse hooves scuffing up rocks as we walk in silence. I remind myself to pick out Deco’s hooves before letting him back outside.
The sky stretches overhead, fluffy white clouds dispersed above us like cotton candy.
In the early afternoon heat, I’m given a glimpse of summer, and can absolutely picture myself still working here. Maybe I’ll get to ride even more—earn Wes’s trust with the horses, and ride any time I want, even. It’s every horse girl’s dream, and it hardly ever becomes a reality, but I can hope.
“You haven’t seen me on a horse, and you’ve let me on bareback. This is a lot of trust,” I comment, knowing exactly how horse owners can be—and rightfully so.
Wes chuckles, the sound rich like the damp spring soil. “I am judging you pretty heavily as we speak. I’ll know a good deal by the time we get to the pond.”
“The pond?” I question, my heart hammering in my chest. Before he even says it, I catch wind of what we are about to do, and needless to say, I am utterly excited.
“We’re swimming.”
A smile breaks across my face as we round the side of the barn and enter the parking lot. At the base of the hill where the farmhouse sits, a small pond spews water from a fountain. The small dock stretches about ten feet over the water, and an unused paddle boat rests upturned in the lush grass.
“Please tell me we are swimming on horseback.” The words leak out of me—as if my excitement can’t be contained.
When I turn to Wes, noting the way his hair curls from beneath his helmet, I see something new.
The Wes I met in the coffee shop nearly a month ago had a tension in his shoulders. He seemed bogged down by life, anxious to check off our interaction like it was just another chore.
Since starting this job, he’s carried that weight around. It makes him a good boss since he’s always willing to jump in, and despite what I would have thought, he’s a very patient teacher.
Every once in a while, I get to see this different side of him. And this version? I like this version. So much so, I have to remind myself that my boss at my very new job is just being kind.
Boosting the workplace morale, I suppose.
Grady continues working down at the breeding barn, and I find myself soaking in the May sunshine.
“You ever taken a horse swimming?” Wes asks, but I somehow don’t believe he doesn’t know the answer.
I’m practically buzzing with excitement. There’s no way he doesn’t sense that kind of energy.
“No,” I answer. “Never.”
“Well, grab some mane on the way out of the water, trust the horse, and let yourself float a little. He needs freedom if he chooses to go where the water is deeper. These horses are old hats at this, but I don’t want you ruining my lesson horse, so no mistakes.”
My smile falls—stomach plummeting along with it. “You’re serious?”
Wes chuckles. “No. That horse is old. Roe and I did this a million times growing up on these same horses. He’ll be just fine.”
I’m not sure how to feel about the confession. Roe and I did this a million times growing up. It feels forbidden to know this kind of information—like I’m being given a glimpse into his life—into the real Wes beyond mucking stalls and mending fences.
Wesley Miller has proven himself to be somewhat private despite sharing his home with a number of employees who help to keep the farm running.
Somehow, learning about his childhood doesn’t quite fit the picture I’ve seen.
I can’t make the puzzle piece wedge into place.
The image I’ve constructed of him is rather grumpy, certainly fixated on to-do lists and run by a strict schedule.
A random swim at the pond that mirrors his childhood?
Not something I’ve seen in the last three weeks.
I press Deco on and give him his head when he noses the edge of the pond.
“Don’t let him roll,” Wes warns, and I can hear the warmth in his voice.
I push forward, heart hammering until the cold water nips at my toes. A laugh escapes at Deco’s heavy sigh—as if he’d waited all day for a dip in the pond.
“Oh my God, he loves it!” I shriek, only to be met with Wes’s laughter behind me.
Intrepid follows our lead until I'm fully submerged—floating above the horse's back and clinging to his mane to keep myself from losing him entirely. Deco holds his head above water, and we circle around until there is sand and earth and I’m on his back, but the water is rushing too quickly.
There’s no way this is going to end well as the horse heaves himself out of the water. Without the leg strength I once had, I’m left clinging to his mane, but even that doesn’t work.
I slide—unceremoniously—off the horse's back and land in the mud with an oof and a splash. Deco, for what it’s worth, ambles away before giving a full-body shake.
He seems pleased to gobble up the bright green grass at the edge of the pond, and is utterly content with ignoring his rider, now sitting with mud and pond water up to her waist.
Wes now sits atop his horse next to me, his clothes dripping. The sun competes with the smile on his face as he dismounts and lets Intrepid graze. “I told you to hang on,” he teases, and I scowl.
“I did,” I mutter. Embarrassment flushes my cheeks. “I mean, I tried to.” I let out a breathy chuckle.
I’ve worked at enough barns to know how it all works. If you want to ride for free, then you have to prove yourself useful. The best chance is being good enough that you can hop on a green horse and correct some kind of behavior. That’s the stuff that really gives you a fighting chance.
Unfortunately, I’ve been away from horses long enough that my muscles don’t work right, and one dip in the pond has me sliding off like a proper beginner.
There’s no proving myself here, and the chances of riding again are lost.
“Why don’t I help you back on. He’s awfully tall.”
My brow furrows, and I can almost feel the line it’s etching into future me’s face. I smooth it away. “I’m getting back on?” I question.
“Don’t see why not.” Wes nods toward his hand to encourage me.
When I take it, the calluses scratch against my palm—a sign of all his hard work. His skin is warm beneath my fingers, heated and slick after a dip in the cool water.
I’m all too aware of the dusty blue t-shirt and the way it clings to every curve of muscle beneath.
There’s no six-pack there. Instead, there’s the toned and sturdy form of a man who spends his time outdoors on a farm.
All power with just enough cushion to make him the most comfortable place to rest.
But there’s no resting when you’re on the clock.
I look up, cheeks warm as I realize I’m now standing, dripping wet, and still holding my boss’s hand.
When I let go, the motion is quick, and even though Wes is still staring at me, his smile since fallen, I peel my gaze away and wipe whatever weird buzz I have off my skin by brushing my palm along my soaked leggings.
Deco still munches grass as I gather the reins and prepare myself to get up, trying to clear my mind.
Wes is suddenly at my back, his body so close I’m suddenly aware of every inch of him. So much for shaking it off.
“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice low enough to make my stomach dip.
Oh God.
I cannot be attracted to this man. I simply cannot.
I have my future happiness riding on this job.
What if I act on this… feeling, and it isn’t reciprocated?
What if it is, and then it all blows up in my face?
Would I end up back at the bar? Would I end up with another tattoo I’ll be forced to cover?
“Yeah,” I say, my voice a bit breathless. “You can.”
When his hands meet my hips, I suck in a breath.
Everything’s moving in slow motion as if my mind and body are in shock—trying to absorb as much stimuli as possible in case it’s needed in the future.
My concerns are lost at the capable hand sliding down my hip.
The movement is deliciously slow until his touch skates down my thigh and stops at my knee.
A small voice whispers, but what if it doesn’t all blow up?
I don’t move, hyper aware of the place right by my knee where he taps once—twice.
“Lift this leg, Cass. I’ll give you a leg up.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Somehow, I can’t remember getting a leg up being this… hands-on.
“Right,” I whisper, bending my leg at the knee.
His other hand moves from my hip down to my shin, and now they’re both there—sure and steady. I start to believe I imagined the entire thing.
“Up on three,” he says. “One, two, three.”
I jump, using the extra lift to get my leg draped over Deco’s back until I’m situated with the reins in my hands, and my mind buzzing from all the places his hands were just touching. I tell myself we didn’t do anything. He gave me a leg up, and that’s all.
But I can’t stop thinking about the slide of his touch, and how it might feel if I let go of my reservations—if I reciprocated.
It would be too obvious if I didn’t bring myself to meet Wes’s gaze. He’d know exactly what I was thinking—fire me for being inappropriate, and I’ll have to tell Ellis and everyone else I don’t need their help moving in tonight.
The fact of the matter is, I want this job, and I want the house.
I want to get away from my old life so badly, my bones almost ache with the need. That life didn’t feel like mine—not completely.