Page 61 of Colt

That’s how, a few minutes later, I end up with a helmet on my head—Dean’s wearing one too—with Colton crouching between me and a horse they named Cream Puff, his hands clasped in a cradle-like position a foot or so off the ground.

“He’s the nicest horse we have right now,” Dean explains. “That’s why we picked that name. We thought you’d like him because you’re nice too.”

“Thanks for that.” I look back down at Colton. “But what if I fall?”

Colton’s lips twitch. “You know I’m not gonna let that happen. Now put your foot in my hands, and I’ll do the rest, yeah? On the count of three, I’ll give you a lift up, and then you swing your other leg over the horse.”

Cream Puff lazily turns his giant head to look at us. He’s got white and tan spots with a dark mane, and his inquisitive eyes are light brown, the color of honey.

Or maybe I’m just thinking about honey because that’s what Colton called me. I despise him for doing that.

I also came very, very hard. Ugh.

“You make it sound so easy,” I say.

Colton squints. “That’s ’cause it is.”

Ah, the asshole in him is alive and well.

But that hot squint almost distracts me from the very real terror pumping through my veins. I pluck at my sweatshirt in an attempt to get some air flowing. I’m too hot.

I put my left foot in his hands and prepare to hook the other over the saddle.

Looking down, I realize how close Colton is.

Close enough that his face is practically in my butt. Or the side of it anyway.

Dear Lord, please let my ass look cute in these sweats. Then again, does anyone’s ass look cute in sweats?

Colton’s eyes are piercing when they meet mine. “On the count of three, I’m gonna lift ya. Push off the ground with your other foot. Ready?”

“No. But also yes?”

“I need a straight yes, Dallas.”

Why do I feel like he’s not talking about mounting the horse? “Yes.”

“There we go.” Then he looks away and starts counting off way too quickly. Next thing I know, he’s pushing my left leg upright and I’m trying to toss my right leg over the curve of the saddle.

My stomach lurches as I fly upward. I somehow manage to swing my leg over the horse, and then⁠—

Holy God, I’m actually sitting in the saddle, and I’m not falling off this time.

I feel very high up as Colton hooks my feet into the stirrups. His hands linger half a beat too long on my calves, and the heat of his touch spreads up my legs and gathers low in my core.

He hands me the reins. “Remember, the horse picks up on your energy, so be confident, yeah? You got this. Now what you wanna do is keep your legs relaxed⁠—”

“Right. That’s what Nash told me.”

Colton flashes me a smirk. “I’m a better teacher than Nash.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“You’re not falling yet, are you? And there are not one but two handsome cowboys in the vicinity.”

“I am handsome.” Dean squints at us. “But why are you guys talking so much? Let’s go.”

Colton gives me a few more pointers: keep my thumbs up, squeeze with my legs to change speed or directions, keep my back straight but my hips loose. I wouldn’t say he’s being overly kind, but he is taking his time with me, which makes me hate him slightly less.