“I know what you’re risking,” he said. “So okay. We do it your way.”
He held his hand out between us. A handshake. Like we were closing a deal.
I almost laughed. I reached for it—and he didn’t shake it. He pulled until I came up off my heels and into him.
His mouth found mine, slow and thorough, his hand sliding up into my hair. I forgot every careful thing I’d just said.
When he finally pulled back, he set me gently back on my feet. He reached past me, picked up his brown felt hat from the workbench, and settled it on his head.
“Last one with the door open,” he said. “Starting now.”
sixteen
. . .
BROCK
She was better at it than me.
During family dinner, she’d ask politely about my shoulder and pass me the rolls without our hands ever touching. I’d sit there remembering I’d had my mouth on her two hours earlier in the tack room.
Three days of that. Then the first shoot.
They wanted a clip of me teaching her to ride. Sienna set it up like the job it was. Propped her phone on a tripod on the fence rail, checked the light, and handed me Dusty’s reins. It was the oldest, laziest mare we owned.
She cracked open one of the Outlaw cans and set it on the post where the camera would catch it. Colt had been thrilled when she wrangled them into sending more. I’d caught him drinking a purple one at six in the morning instead of the usual coffee.
“There goes my shot,” Sienna muttered.
I turned to see that Moose had just planted his fluffy tail right in front of the lens and was barking like he’d been waiting all morning to do that.
“Cut,” she laughed, walking over to scratch behind his ears. “You’re not sponsored, buddy.”
I rested my arms on the rail and shook my head. “Tough crowd.”
She dragged Moose out of the frame, got him settled in the shade, and came back brushing dirt off her knees. Checked her phone, hit record, and nodded at me.
I led Dusty into frame.
“Alright. First thing, you gotta get on. Hands here.”
I put her hands on the saddle horn and brushed her knuckles doing it. Her breath caught.
“Don’t,” she said, still smiling for the camera. “We’re filming.”
“I’m teaching you to ride. Left foot in the stirrup.” I stepped in behind her, chest to her back, arm around to cover her hands. “Then you pull yourself up. I’ll guide you.”
“You’re doing that on purpose,” she muttered through her teeth.
Her hand stayed light on the horn. Steady. Dusty didn't so much as flick an ear.
Sienna glanced down. “She’s huge.”
“She’s asleep.”
I gave Dusty a pat on the neck and the old mare shifted forward. Sienna let out a surprised laugh as Dusty started ambling across the yard. For the next ten feet, she grinned down at me, just like she had the day we dragged that calf out of the ditch.
I kept pace beside her and put a hand on her knee to steady her when the saddle rocked.
