Chapter 5 - Wade #2
Teaching her to ride is practical. Necessary, even, if she's going to be involved in ranch operations. But it's also intimate in a way I didn't fully consider when I made the offer. Being that close to someone, guiding their body, correcting their posture—
I shut down that line of thinking immediately.
This is professional. She's a business partner, nothing more. The fact that she's attractive and determined and makes me feel things I haven't felt in years is irrelevant.
Completely irrelevant.
I repeat that to myself as I head to the main house for dinner, as I sit through an evening of good-natured ribbing from the guys about my "teaching job" tomorrow, as I lie in bed that night staring at the ceiling.
Next Day
The stable is quiet when I arrive at five-forty-five, just the soft sounds of horses moving in their stalls. I start preparing Daisy—our gentlest mare, perfect for beginners, talking to her as I brush her down and check her hooves.
"We've got a new rider today, girl. City girl, never been on a horse. So, I need you to be on your best behavior." Daisy nickers softly, and I pat her neck. "Yeah, I know. I'm nervous too."
Not nervous. That's not the right word. Uncertain, maybe. Aware that today could go badly in about a hundred different ways.
At exactly six a.m., the stable door opens and Sierra walks in.
She's wearing jeans that actually look broken-in, a long-sleeved shirt despite the warming day, and the boots from yesterday, cleaned as best as they probably could be. Her hair is pulled back in a braid, and she's carrying a water bottle.
"Morning," she says, and despite the early hour, she sounds alert. "Am I dressed appropriately?"
"You'll do." I gesture to Daisy. "This is Daisy. She's fifteen years old, extremely patient, and has taught more people to ride than I can count. If you're going to learn on any horse, she's the one."
Sierra approaches slowly, holding out her hand like I showed her yesterday with Ranger. Daisy sniffs it, then allows Sierra to stroke her nose.
"She's beautiful," Sierra murmurs. "Hi, Daisy. Please don't let me fall off."
"I won't let you fall off," I say. "That's my job. Now, first lesson. How to approach and handle a horse safely."
I spend the next twenty minutes going over basics. How to approach from the side, never directly from behind. How to read a horse's body language. How to move around them confidently but not aggressively. Sierra listens intently, asking clarifying questions, not trying to rush ahead.
"Alright," I finally say. "Time to get you in the saddle. Come here."
I've positioned a mounting block next to Daisy, and I guide Sierra to stand beside it. "Left foot in the stirrup. Hold the saddle horn with your left hand, the back of the saddle with your right. Pull yourself up and swing your right leg over."
She follows my instructions, and her first attempt is awkward but successful. She lands in the saddle harder than ideal, and Daisy shifts slightly, but the mare holds steady.
"Good," I say. "Now straighten your back. Sit deep in the saddle, don't perch on the edge."
I step closer, and this is where things get complicated.
"Your posture's off," I say, keeping my voice professional. "You're leaning too far forward. May I?"
"Yeah, of course."
I place my hands on her hips. Just my hands on her hips, completely normal and necessary for teaching someone to ride, and guide her into the correct position.
"Feel that? You want your weight centered, your spine aligned. Like you're being pulled up from the crown of your head."
"Like this?" She adjusts, and I feel the movement under my hands.
"Better. Now shoulders back, but relaxed. Don't tense up."
My hands move to her shoulders, pressing gently. She's warm under my touch, even through the fabric of her shirt, and I'm suddenly very aware of how close I'm standing. How small she feels under my hands despite her curves, despite her boobs jiggling and brushing against my arms.
"Good," I say, stepping back quickly. "Keep that posture. It'll feel weird at first, but it'll become natural."
I adjust her stirrups, showing her where her feet should rest. "Ball of your foot on the stirrup, heels down. That's your anchor point. If something goes wrong, heels down helps you stay in the saddle."
"Got it. Heels down."
"Now the reins." I hand them to her, then have to step close again to position her hands correctly. "Hold them like this. Firm but not tight. You're communicating with the horse through these reins, not fighting her."
Sierra's concentrating hard, her lower lip caught between her teeth. This close, I can see faint freckles across her nose that weren't visible yesterday. Can see the determination in her eyes, the slight tremor in her hands that she's trying to hide.
She's scared but not backing down.
"You're doing fine," I say, and I mean it. "Most people are terrified at this point."
"I am terrified. I'm just stubborn enough not to show it."
"I've noticed." I step back, giving myself space.
"Alright. We're going to start with just walking.
Gentle pressure with your heels means go.
Pull back gently on the reins means stop.
To turn, you'll apply pressure with your leg on the side you want to turn away from and guide with the reins. But we'll work up to that."
I lead Daisy toward the arena, Sierra sitting in the saddle with white-knuckled determination. Once we're in the enclosed space, I unclip the lead rope.
"You're on your own now. Just ask her to walk forward. Remember. Gentle heel pressure."