Chapter 20
BECKETT
IHAD BEEN on a horse exactly once in my life.
I was nine and the horse’s name was Buttercup.
Buttercup hated me, for reasons my nine-year-old self couldn’t fathom other than I’d never heard of The Princess Bride character that she’d been named after. I’d been lucky to walk away without a concussion from her kicking out at my head after the most terrifying ride of my life.
So when Sawyer led me to the resort stables the next day like he’d been born to do this—sunglasses pushed up into his hair, looking completely at ease in jeans, boots, and a soft maroon sweater that made me wish I’d made a move last night—I hoped we were only going for the view.
Not to actually ride or anything, because… no.
I glanced over at the horses already trotting along with riders, all of them with an apparent death wish, and quickly looked away.
“There’s supposed to be a nice trail for us to ride down,” Sawyer said, and checked his watch. “The guide said to meet her here and she’d find us.”
“Oh.” I forced my voice to stay normal. “So we’re riding?”
“Yeah, I thought we could use some time away from everyone. Just have a day off from the madness, you know.” He grinned at me, eyes bright and hopeful. “Is this okay?”
“Of course.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
He was doing something he thought would be good for the two of us, and giving us space from his family and Peter and the noise of the week, and apparently that meant I was about to climb onto an animal that could feel fear and try to pretend like I didn’t.
There went my hope of keeping my feet on the ground.
I didn’t say anything as Sawyer led us down to the fence near the stables, where a couple of horses stood saddled and waiting, their coats glossy in the late-morning sun. They were beautiful, I’d give them that. From a safe distance.
“You good?” Sawyer asked, lifting a brow as he slowed.
“Fantastic.”
“Really? ’Cause you look a little green. It wasn’t the smoked salmon at breakfast, was it?”
“No, no.”
Wait. I should’ve said yes. That would’ve gotten me out of this. Dammit.
“Oh, I see.” Sawyer’s grin spread slowly. “You’re scared.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” His expression softened slightly, though the amusement didn’t leave his eyes. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I, uh, didn’t think you’d actually want to ride them. Just…”
“Look at them?”
“Maybe.”
“Wow.” He looked toward the horses, then back at me, his grin turning wicked. “This is surprising. Kinda humanizes you a bit. You’re so good at everything, but turns out you’re scared of these sweet babies.”
He offered up his fist to the horse closest to him, and after a moment, the horse nosed his knuckles, then nudged into his palm like he’d decided Sawyer belonged to him. Sawyer rubbed his neck, murmuring something I couldn’t hear, and the horse practically melted.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll be fine. These are trail horses, so they’re used to new riders.”
“I’ve ridden one before. When I was younger.”
“Oh? What happened?”
“Buttercup and I don’t speak of it.”
Sawyer’s laugh carried across the stable yard. “Buttercup?”
“Don’t let the name fool you. She was temperamental.”
“Aw, she was probably a pony.”
“Pony or not, she knows what she did.”
“Sawyer?” A woman in a vest and riding boots was heading our way, her dark hair pulled back beneath a helmet and two lead ropes in hand.
“That’s me, and this is Beckett,” he said, and she smiled at both of us.
“I’m Maren.” The chestnut gelding nudged Sawyer again, and she added, “Looks like Jasper’s already chosen you. Beckett, we’ll set you up with Duchess.”
The dark bay mare turned her head and stared directly at me.
I stared back, and Sawyer leaned in. “She looks like she’s judging you.”
“Likewise.”
“She’s sweet,” Maren promised.
Duchess flicked an ear at that.
“Sweet,” I repeated.
Out of the corner of my eye, I swore I saw Sawyer’s mouth twitch. “Don’t show fear.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re holding your breath.”
So I was. I exhaled slowly as Maren led us past the gate.
“I know you have extensive experience already, Sawyer, so I’ll just be here as backup in case you need anything on the trail or have questions. Do you need any help mounting the horse?”
“I got it, thank you.” Sawyer turned back to me. “You sure you’re good to do this? Or do you wanna use the safe word?”
I eyed Duchess again. Maybe my nine-year-old brain had exaggerated things and it wasn’t as bad as I remembered. Or maybe being older and wiser meant this would be a cakewalk.
If Sawyer can face his ex all week, you can get on this horse.
“Yeah. Let’s do it,” I said. How hard could it be?
He winked at me and stepped in close, his shoulder brushing mine. “Okay, foot goes here. Hands here, but don’t yank the reins. Duchess doesn’t need you to panic-steer.”
“I won’t panic-steer.”
“You absolutely look like you might.”
I shot him a look, and he grinned and reached for my hand, guiding it to the saddle. His fingers were confident around mine in a way I’d seen from him in flashes, but not like this. He knew what he was doing here.
I liked that. Because for days I’d been watching him closely, reading his mood shifts and stepping in before Peter could get too far under his skin—but here, Sawyer was the steady one.
“Left foot in the stirrup,” he said. “Push up, swing your leg over, and try not to kick Duchess in the ass unless you want to make this more exciting.”
I snorted softly. “Excellent instruction.”
“What can I say, I’m a natural teacher.” He stepped back and let me put his instructions to good use.
I steeled myself and then mounted with less grace than I would’ve liked. Duchess moved beneath me, and every muscle in my body went rigid—until Sawyer put his hand on my thigh.
“Relax,” he said. “She can feel you tense up.”
“That’s unfortunate for both of us.”
“She’s not going to do anything.”
Duchess chose that exact moment to toss her head, and I arched a brow at Sawyer. “You were saying?”
He pressed his lips together, biting back a laugh. “She’s…spirited, is all. Just try to stay calm.”
Sawyer squeezed my thigh once before stepping back, and I immediately missed the contact.
Before I could beg him to come back, he mounted Jasper in one smooth movement and settled into the saddle like it was second nature.
No hesitation, no stiffness, and damn he looked good on a horse.
For a moment all I could do was stare at him, which was helpful in making me forget I was on a horse too.
Sawyer had a loose hold on the reins, and I looked down at the way I held mine and tried to mimic him. When he leaned down, giving a quick pat to Jasper’s neck and saying something only he could hear, I swallowed and said, “It’s you and me, Duchess. Be good to me and I’ll be good to you. Truce?”
She flicked her ear again, and I didn’t know what that meant, but at least she’d heard me.
This was all going to be fine. Really.
The trail started behind the stables and curved toward the trees, away from the resort buildings and all the guests still recovering from game night.
Maren rode ahead, close enough to keep us on track, but far enough that Sawyer and I could have a sense of privacy.
The morning was cool, but bright, and the air smelled like damp earth and pine and hay.
Not a bad combination, just an unfamiliar one.
For the first few minutes, though, I just focused on staying alive.
Because Duchess did not love straight lines. She also seemed deeply invested in stopping every time a patch of grass looked tastier than whatever grass she’d passed five feet earlier.
“Duchess,” I said, trying to sound calm and authoritative, the way I did with my clients, “we’ve discussed this.”
Sawyer looked over. “Who’s winning that negotiation?”
“Not me.”
Duchess dipped her head again, and I gently tugged on the reins the way Sawyer had shown me.
She ignored me. Of course she did.
Sawyer circled back, laughter in his eyes. “You’ve got to mean it.”
“I do mean it.”
Sawyer guided Jasper closer, then leaned over and adjusted my hand position on the reins. His fingers covered mine for a moment, showing me the pressure, the angle, and the difference between asking and telling. “There. Keep your wrists soft, but don’t let her decide everything.”
The second he let go, Duchess started toward a bush, apparently determined to experience every snack the resort grounds had to offer.
“Hey,” I said, correcting her before she got too far. “No.”
This time, shockingly, she listened.
“Look at you,” Sawyer said, smiling proudly.
“I’m basically a cowboy now.”
“All you need is a sexy hat.”
“What, this helmet isn’t doin’ it for you?”
He laughed. “My lips are sealed.”
As we rode, Jasper and Duchess fell into a slow rhythm side by side, and after a while, the resort disappeared behind us like we’d slipped into a quieter pocket of the world.
Every now and then I glanced over at Sawyer, noticing the way he’d tip his face toward the sun filtering through the branches.
Out here he didn’t have to try to be brave or funny or unaffected or any of the things that wore him down.
I wondered if he was starting to see what I could.
“So,” he said, glancing over at me, “Buttercup.”
I groaned. “I knew you’d circle back.”
“See, I can be patient.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
“Oh, come on. You casually mention childhood horse trauma and then I don’t get details? What happened?”
“Duchess, I need you to stop listening, please,” I said. She inclined her head slightly, but whether that was her agreeing or listening closer, I couldn’t tell. “My mom took me to a friend’s farm one summer when my dad was stationed in Virginia. She thought riding would be good for me.”
“And it wasn’t?”
“Buttercup tried to kill me, so no, that was not a fun trip.”
“Don’t stop there.”