"This time I'm going to walk him past you and grab you as we go," I said. "Same motion. Just with twelve hundred pounds involved."
"Comforting."
"You'll be fine." I swung up into the saddle. Looked down at her from there. "Eyes forward. Wait for it."
She turned forward. Squared her shoulders. Breathed out and let them drop.
I walked Bishop wide, gave him room to arc, and came in easy—the way you'd walk a green horse past something new. Bishop's stride was smooth and unhurried and I felt him settle into it, that good working rhythm he had.
I leaned out of the saddle as I came up on her left.
My arm went around her waist and I pulled.
She went perfectly limp—all of it, instant—and her weight came up and over and she landed across the saddle in front ofme, her back against my chest, her hair loose and in my face and the smell of her cutting right through the heat and the horse smell and everything else. In an instant, I had her draped across the saddle, ragdoll limp.
Bishop kept walking. Good boy.
"You good?" I managed.
"Mm." Her voice came out slightly breathless from the grab. "Yeah."
Bishop walked another twenty feet before I brought him to a stop.
She didn't move immediately. Neither did I.
I became aware that the arm I’d used to grab her was still around her waist. Still holding her. Tucked in where the corset met her skirt, where I could feel her breathing underneath…
"Okay," I said. "I'm going to help you down."
"Right." She put her hand on my forearm to brace herself. "Yeah."
I swung down first, ground reins loose, and put both hands at her waist. She slid down Bishop's shoulder and I took her weight until her boots hit the dirt, and then we were standing close again, my hands still on her, her hands finding my arms for balance.
She looked up at me.
The hat was gone again. Her braid had completely surrendered. She was smiling like crazy, like she’d just gotten off a rollercoaster.
She looked like herself. Completely, entirely herself.
"That's what it'll feel like," I said. My voice came out even. I was running out of things to be proud of. "Rick's going to be faster. More momentum. You'll feel it in your ribs when you land."
"Okay." She didn't step back. "I can handle that."
"I know you can."
She was still looking at me. Something in her face that I couldn't fully read, or didn't want to.
Then Dale's voice cut across the paddock. "Holt. Rick's ready when you are."
I let go of her waist.
Took a step back.
Looked over at Dale, and then at Rick Garza, who was sitting easy on his horse at the far end of the paddock—relaxed, professional, a man who did this for a living. Who was about to put his arm around Daniela's waist and pull her across his saddle and hold her there while the cameras rolled.
Three seconds of camera time.
I had absolutely no opinion about that.
