Page 38

“You’re asking too much of him with your inside hand.”

I don't turn around; I already know who it is. "Go away, Chace. I know how to handle my horse."

He comes around to my side, reaching for my hand and adjusting my grip on the lead line. His fingers close over mine, repositioning them lower. His fingers trailing across mine, rubbing slow circles across my knuckles with his thumb. "Feel the difference?"

"You can let go now," I manage.

"I know." He lingers long enough that my pulse does something embarrassing. Then, finally, he steps back like what he did was nothing.

I roll my eyes but leave my hand where he put it. Annoyingly, he's right. Dusty softens through his neck almost immediately, easing into the pressure instead of fighting it. We back him three more times until he's stepping cleanly from nothing more than the weight of my hand.

"Don't let that go to your head," I mutter.

"Too late," he winks.

I move into lateral work next, pressing lightly at his flank, asking his hindquarters to swing over. He's a little stiff on the left side this morning—nothing concerning, just worth loosening before he spends four hours locked in the trailer. Chace moves in behind me to fix my shoulder position, close enough that his chest brushes my shoulder blade.

"Relax," he says, low, right at my ear.

I hate being told what to do, but I roll my shoulders back, mostly to have somewhere to put the current suddenly running up my spine, and Dusty drops his head another inch like he approves.

"See," Chace says. "He knows when you're tense."

"I'm not tense."

"I felt you stiffening as soon as I came up behind you."

"That’s called hostility. Take the hint, Cowboy."

"Sure it is," he smirks.

Dick.

We ease through a few warm-up exercises, and before long Dusty starts to relax beneath the lead rope, softening through his neck and giving me the response I've been asking for. When I'm ready to mount for a few transitions, Chace moves to help me into the saddle.

Except, instead of a normal boost to my knee, his hand settles high on my thigh. His palm is warm through the denim, his fingers spreading just enough that I'm suddenly aware of every place they're touching. He doesn't move right away, just holds me there for a moment, steady as ever, while my heart beats out of control.

I keep my eyes fixed somewhere beyond Dusty's ears and climb into the saddle as if nothing's happening. Only when I'm settled does he let go, his hand slipping away lazily.

I refuse to react. Absolutely not. I gather the reins and stare determinedly at Dusty's ears like they're the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. My body, traitorous thing that it is, has other ideas, and I can feel my cheeks heating.

"Comfortable?" he asks, looking up at me. There's a glint of amusement in his eyes.

You'll beg me.

His words from last night flash through my mind, and suddenly it clicks.

The asshole is doing this on purpose. "Hands to yourself," I snap.

He grins, stepping back, palms up. "I was helping."

"You were pushing your luck."

"Same thing."

Our eyes catch and hold a beat too long, neither of us willing to look away first, until Dusty shifts under me and gives me an excuse to break it.

We run a few transitions over the next twenty minutes. At one point, Chace reaches up to shorten my rein, his arm crossing directly in front of me. For one long second, I'm boxed in by him. His shoulder brushes my leg, and the familiar scent of cinnamon, worn leather, and clean soap wraps around me before he's gone again.