Chapter 5 #2
We walked the perimeter of the paddock. My hands were sweating despite the chill.
Daffodil walked beside me, her hooves making soft thuds in the dirt.
She was so big. Every step reminded me of the power in her body, the muscle and bone and sheer size of her.
But she was also careful. When I stumbled over a rock, she slowed, waiting for me to catch up.
"You're being very patient with me," I told her. "I appreciate that."
Ripplan leaned against the fence, watching. Not hovering. Just there. His presence was oddly comforting, even though he made me nervous in an entirely different way.
"Okay," he called finally. "Time to mount up."
My stomach dropped. "Already?"
"You've been walking for twenty minutes."
"I could walk for another twenty."
"You could. But you won't learn anything."
I looked at Daffodil. She looked back at me, placid and unbothered.
He opened the gate and walked over, checking the cinch one more time. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, tugging and adjusting. "Left foot in the stirrup. Pull yourself up. Swing your right leg over."
I stared at the saddle. It looked impossibly high. "What if I fall?"
"Then you get back up."
"What if I break something?"
"You won't."
"You can't know that."
"I can." He met my eyes. "I'll hold her steady. She won't move."
I took a breath. Put my foot in the stirrup. The leather was cold and stiff under my boot. I grabbed the saddle horn, my palms sweating so profusely it was hard to grip.
"Pull," Ripplan said.
I pulled. Made it halfway up before my arms started shaking. I hung there, awkward and graceless, one leg in the stirrup and the other dangling uselessly.
"Push with your leg," he said.
"I am pushing."
"Push harder."
"I'm pushing as hard as I can."
I dropped back down, breathing hard and utterly humiliated.
"Again," Ripplan said. His voice was calm. Patient.
"I can't."
"You can."
"I really can't. My arms are noodles."
"Then use your legs more."
I tried again. And again. On the fourth attempt, I actually got my leg over and immediately froze.
Oh God.
The ground was so far away. The horse felt huge beneath me, all muscle and movement and living, breathing power. I could feel her warmth through my jeans, the shift of her body as she adjusted to my weight. My hands clenched the reins too tight. My whole body went rigid.
Daffodil shifted, uneasy.
"Relax," Ripplan said. "She can feel your fear."
"That makes two of us." My voice came out strangled.
"You're holding your breath. Breathe."
I sucked in air. Let it out. But I couldn't make my muscles unclench. Couldn't stop seeing myself falling, breaking something, ending up in a hospital two hours away in traction with no one to call.
Daffodil sidestepped. The movement was small but it felt enormous. I grabbed the saddle horn with both hands, my knuckles white, a faint noise escaping from my lips.
"Okay." Ripplan's voice was calm. Steady. "Okay. Dismount."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. Swing your leg back over. I've got you."
I practically fell off. My legs shook when I hit the ground, and I had to grab the stirrup to keep from collapsing.
"I'm sorry," I said. My throat was tight. "I just—"
"Don't apologize." He studied me, his expression thoughtful. Not disappointed. Not frustrated. Just considering. Then he looked toward the far end of the stable. "Wait here."
"Where are you going?"
"You'll see."
He disappeared inside leading Daffodil away and emerged a few minutes later leading the biggest horse I'd ever seen. Black as midnight, with a long, thick mane that fell over its neck like silk.
The horse was massive. His hooves were the size of dinner plates, and when he moved, I could see the muscles rippling under his coat like water.
"This is Starlight," Ripplan announced, like he was introducing me to a long-lost friend.
"Oh no," I said. "Absolutely not."
"You need to feel safe on a horse before you can learn."
"And you think putting me on a horse the size of a small building is going to make me feel safe?"
"You won't be alone." He swung up into the saddle with an ease that made it look effortless, his body moving with the horse like they were one creature. Then he held out his hand. "Come here."
"I don't—"
"Trust me."
Trust him? Did he realize how big that horse was? I could more easily climb on top of a house. At least a house didn't breathe and shift its weight and have opinions about whether it wanted me on it.
But he was still holding out his hand. Waiting. Patient in that infuriating way he had, like he had all the time in the world and knew I'd eventually do what he asked.
The worst part was, he was probably right.
I took a breath. Then another. My hand lifted almost of its own accord.
His fingers closed around mine. Warm, calloused, steady. Suddenly the impossible seemed a little less so.
He leaned down, and before I could process what was happening, his hands closed around my waist and he lifted me. Just lifted me, like I weighed nothing, and set me on the saddle in front of him.
Oh.
Oh no.
A small squeak escaped my throat, half fear, half something else entirely, as the ground suddenly seemed very, very far away. My hands scrambled for purchase, finding the saddle horn and gripping it like my life depended on it.
But then I registered the solid warmth at my back. The arms bracketing me on either side. The steady presence that made the terrifying height feel manageable.
I wasn't just sitting on top of a massive horse.
I was sitting with him.
"Breathe," he murmured, his voice low and close to my ear. "I've got you."
I was pressed back against his chest, his arms on either side of me holding the reins.
His thighs bracketed mine. I could feel the heat of him through my jeans, smell leather and woodsmoke and that indefinable something that was just him.
The horse's warmth radiated up through the saddle, solid and alive beneath me.
I'd never been surrounded by so much power in my life.
Every romance novel I'd ever read had a scene like this. The heroine on a horse with the hero, his body solid and warm behind her, his breath stirring her hair.
I'd always thought it was ridiculous. Overdone.
I was wrong.
Though knowing my luck, this wouldn't end with some passionate declaration and great sex. More likely he'd take me out into the woods and make me walk back as punishment for wasting his time.
"Comfortable?" His voice rumbled against my back.
I couldn't speak. Managed a nod.
"Good. Hold on."
He clicked his tongue and Starlight moved forward. Smooth. Steady. Nothing like the jarring movement I'd felt on Daffodil. Ripplan's body absorbed the motion, and I moved with him, safe in the circle of his arms.
We rode out past the paddocks, toward the trail that led into the foothills. The sun climbed higher. The air warmed.
I'd seen the mountains from the ranch, of course.
Seen them from town, from the highway on my drive in.
But this was different. This close, they weren't just a backdrop.
They were everything. Massive peaks rose against the impossibly blue sky, their faces carved with shadow and light.
Snow still clung to the highest ridges, brilliant white against dark stone.
The foothills rolled out in waves of green and gold, dotted with stands of pine so dark they were almost black. Wildflowers I couldn't name painted the meadows in splashes of purple and yellow and red. The grass moved in the breeze like water, rippling and shifting, alive.
A breeze swept down from the peaks, carrying the scent of pine and snow-melt and something wild I couldn't identify. It lifted my hair, cooled my skin. Made me feel small and significant all at once. Tiny against all this grandeur, but somehow part of it too.
I started to relax despite myself, lulled by the rhythm of the horse's gait and the solid presence behind me.
"Why'd you take this job?" Ripplan asked.
The question surprised me. "What?"
"I read your resume. It was pretty impressive. You could work anywhere. Why here?"
I watched the landscape roll past. Thick grass, wildflowers and pines, the mountains rising ahead. "I wanted something different."
"Different how?"
"Just different. My whole life has been the same. Same town, same people, same everything." I paused. "I wanted to see if I could do something that challenged me."
"And this challenged you?"
"Terrified me." I laughed. "Still does, honestly."
"Could've fooled me. You handled that clinic setup like you'd been doing it for years."