Summer Nights (Fool's Gold #8)(17)

She told herself this was his horse and he had the right to say who could ride him and who couldn’t. Still, Khatar was so friendly.

“Could I try?” she asked.

“No.”

“For a minute?”

“He’ll throw you then trample you.”

“He won’t. He adores me. I’ll show you.”

She was standing by the fence, with the horse between her and Shane. In one quick move, she climbed onto a lower rung and reached for the horse. Khatar moved toward her, turning to give her a better angle. Shane’s entire body stiffened as his face went white.

“Annabelle, don’t!”

His tone was frantic. She realized he wasn’t kidding about his concern. She started to get down, only to slip on the wood and start to fall. She caught herself by grabbing onto Khatar. He stayed perfectly still, as if wanting to make sure she didn’t get hurt.

Shane came around the front of him and stared. “Well, I’ll be.”

“Dangling here,” she reminded him, her feet flailing as she started to slip.

Shane reached for her and grabbed her around her waist.

“Give me a leg up,” she said.

For a second, he didn’t move, as if he couldn’t decide. Then he guided her foot to his thigh.

She pushed against him and found herself going up and over, then settling on Khatar’s back. There was no saddle, nothing to hang on to.

“This might have been a bad idea,” she whispered.

“That’s what I said.”

Khatar started walking. She hung on with her thighs and discovered she could easily adjust to his steady rhythm.

Shane watched them, then shook his head. “You win. I’ll get the bridle and we’ll see what he’s willing to do.”

He disappeared into the barn, then reappeared with the bridle. Khatar walked over and stuck out his head toward the leather straps. Shane slid the bit into his mouth and then adjusted everything and handed her the reins.

“Go for it,” he said.

They circled the barn a couple of times. When Shane held open a gate to a corral, she urged the horse in that direction and he did as she asked.

“He would look amazing painted,” she said.

Shane winced. “I can trace his bloodlines back three hundred years.”

“It’s water-based paint. It would come right off.”

“That’s not much in the way of comfort.”

“I have a costume,” she offered. “If that helps.”

“It doesn’t.”

“The ceremony also includes a male sacrifice. I’m supposed to cut out a guy’s heart.” She patted Khatar’s shoulder. “Not for real, of course. Just pretend.”

“Good to know.”

“I haven’t had any volunteers.”

“Are you surprised?”

He talked her through a series of turns, then whistled the horse into a trot. The bouncing of her entire body on his bare back wasn’t pleasant, but she survived.

“Had enough?” Shane asked a half hour later.

“I think my insides have turned into a milkshake.” Annabelle pressed her hand to her stomach. “But Khatar was great. I told you he was friendly.”

“Just for you.” He grabbed the reins and led the horse to the side of the corral. “You going to be able to stand when you touch ground?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, hoping she wasn’t lying, then eyed the horse’s bare back. “What do I hold on to as I slide down?”

“I’ll catch you.”

She was less sure about that. Mason had been big, but at least there’d been a saddle to grab on to. With Khatar there was only his mane and she had a feeling that his good mood would disappear if she used that to lower herself to the ground.

Deciding she would be safer seeing what she was about to crash into, she swung her leg over his neck and sat facing Shane, then pushed off Khatar and slid down and down until her feet touched packed earth.

For a second she managed to keep her balance. Then her thighs gave way and she started to collapse.

“Didn’t we already do this?” Shane asked, grabbing her around the waist and holding her up.

“I thought I would do better,” she admitted, putting her hands on his shoulders and willing herself to stay upright.

The tingles she’d experienced earlier returned. Along with the zings and zips from the last time she’d been riding. Although it wasn’t the riding that seemed to be a problem. It was being held by Shane. And maybe problem wasn’t the right word. Complication seemed like a better fit.

Which was really interesting, because wasn’t she the one looking for messy? And weren’t complications really close to a mess?

He didn’t wear a hat, she thought absently. Weren’t cowboys supposed to wear hats? Not that she minded. His dark hair gleamed in the bright sun. He wore it short enough that the slight wave didn’t turn into curls.

His eyes were made up of various shades of brown and there were crinkles in the corners from when he smiled. Only he wasn’t smiling now. He was looking serious and sexy.

She told herself not to look at his mouth. Or think about what that mouth could do to her. So she kept her gaze on his eyes, which turned out to be equally dangerous, because it seemed to her a woman could get lost in his gaze. Get lost and never find her way back.