Chapter 31 #2
Her breath hitched before she could stop it.
She turned toward him, and something charged the quiet between them, tight and electric.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The fox stretched and yawned inside the pen, but Sadie barely noticed.
All she could feel was the flutter beneath her ribs and the way his gaze traced the shape of her face.
Then Quentin cleared his throat, just slightly. “So. Uh. Ever wanted to ride a horse?”
Her brows lifted. “You remember I’ve never been on one?”
He smiled, a little sheepish, a little hopeful. “Yeah. Thought maybe today’s the day.”
Sadie hesitated. She’d always wanted to try, but fear and a healthy respect for gravity had kept her firmly grounded.
“I’ll walk you through it,” he added quickly. “Promise. No dramatic falls. Ideally.”
“Comforting.” Still, she nodded. “Okay.”
They walked together toward the stables and he stopped at a stall and motioned toward a horse with a coat dappled in brown and white.
“This is Winnie,” Quentin said, voice softening as he ran a hand through her mane. The horse leaned into his touch, calm and trusting, and when she turned her dark eyes toward Sadie, something in Sadie eased.
“She’s sweet as a button,” he said with a grin.
Sadie stepped closer, her gaze meeting Winnie’s. The horse was beautiful, her coat gleaming under the soft light streaming through the stable windows. Sadie reached out, her fingers brushing against the horse’s muzzle. Winnie huffed a warm breath against her hand, and Sadie smiled.
Quentin handed her a small white cube. “Here, feed her this. It’s a sugar cube. Horses love sugar.”
Sadie hesitated, eyeing the cube. “And she’s not gonna, like, bite my fingers off?”
Quentin snorted. “Only if you’ve deeply wronged her in a past life.”
“Very reassuring.”
Still, she held out her open palm, and Winnie slurped up the sugar cube. Sadie yelped as the horse’s warm, slimy tongue tickled her skin, causing her to flinch back with a squeak.
“That’s... weirdly adorable,” she said, laughing as she wiped her palm on her jeans. “But also slightly traumatizing.”
Quentin grinned as he tightened the saddle strap around Winnie. “You’ll get used to her. She already likes you.”
Sadie eyed Winnie, who stared back with the intensity of a creature that knew too much. “Yeah, well, let’s see if she still likes me after I sit on her.”
Sadie glanced back at Winnie, who nuzzled her hand as if in agreement.
Quentin gave her a reassuring smile as he led Winnie out of the stable and into the pen outside.
The open space made Sadie’s nerves spike just a little.
There was a lot of room out here to fall dramatically and become a ranch legend for all the wrong reasons.
“Alright,” Quentin said, giving Winnie a final pat before turning to Sadie. “Let’s get you up there. I’ll help you.”
Sadie eyed the saddle with a mix of excitement and nerves. “So… do I just climb up and hope for the best?” she joked, though her voice wavered slightly.
Quentin chuckled, shaking his head. “Not exactly. Here, put your left foot in the stirrup and grab the pommel with your hand.”
She hesitated, then followed his instructions, lifting her foot to the stirrup. Quentin steadied her with a firm hand on her waist. “Now push off with your right foot and swing your leg over.”
Sadie took a deep breath and did as he said, her heart skipping a beat as she landed in the saddle. Winnie shifted beneath her, but the horse stayed calm.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “I did it.”
“You did,” Quentin said, stepping back, his eyes bright with pride. “And with minimal screaming. You’re a natural.”
Sadie laughed nervously, gripping the reins a little too tightly. “Yeah, if naturals feel like they’re about to fall off at any moment.”
Quentin moved to Winnie’s side, adjusting the stirrups and making sure Sadie’s feet were in place. “Relax. She’s not going to let you fall. And neither will I.”
Sadie forced herself to loosen her grip slightly, taking another deep breath.
“Alright, let’s start slow,” Quentin said, as he guided Winnie into a slow walk, staying close, with one hand resting lightly at Sadie’s knee as they moved. The sway was strange at first, but then it settled into something rhythmic, soothing.
“This is… kind of amazing,” she said after a moment, the initial fear giving way to awe. Being up there, with the open sky above and the world stretching out around them, felt freeing.
Quentin glanced up at her, his grin as wide as ever. “Told you you’d like it. You’re doing great.”
Sadie beamed, her confidence growing with each step Winnie took.
After a few steady laps, he stepped back and held out the reins. “Ready to steer?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “You’re about to give control to someone who tripped over a shovel yesterday.”
“Living dangerously.”
Quentin walked her through the basics and soon Sadie was guiding Winnie in a slow, meandering circle.
"Can I be honest? Plug your ears, Winnie," Sadie said with a teasing lilt, glancing at the back of the horse’s head as if Winnie might actually understand her.
Quentin tilted his head, amused. “This feels personal.”
Sadie paused, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips as her eyes swept across the endless expanse of golden grass and the sky that stretched wider than any she’d ever seen. “I always thought I wasn’t a nature person,” she murmured “Too many bugs. Too much dirt. Too much… everything.”
“And?”
“And now I’m riding a horse in Montana and reconsidering my entire personality.”
Quentin’s chuckle was warm, his gaze soft. “I’m glad. Montana suits you.”
Sadie smirked, trying to brush off the flutter in her chest. “Careful, you might just turn me into a cowgirl.” she teased, though her voice carried a softness.
“I could live with that.”
They slowed, Winnie coming to a gentle stop. Sadie looked down at him, her chest tight with something bright and terrifying and entirely new.
“Thanks for this,” she said quietly. “I never would’ve tried without you.”
“Anytime,” Quentin replied, his grin widening as he reached up to adjust Winnie’s bridle. “Next time, we’ll go for a real trail ride. You’ll love it.”
Next time.
It would mean she would come back here.The idea of returning scared her.
Because coming back meant getting attached.
It meant admitting that she liked this. Liked him.
It meant roots, permanence, the kind of thing that could turn solid ground into something fragile beneath her feet.
She had lived so long untethered, certain that floating kept her safe.
No strings, no ties, no place to miss, no person to lose.
But then Quentin looked up at her, sunlight catching in his lashes, his expression open in a way that made her chest tighten.
The warmth in his eyes, the easy confidence, it was familiar, reassuring.
Because beneath the panic, beneath the whisper that said don’t fall, there was a flicker of something else. A small, steady ember of hope.
The kind of hope that made people do stupid, beautiful things. Like buy houseplants they had no intention of watering. Or agree to activities that involved saddles and large animals. Or, God forbid, actually consider staying.