by Jill Barnett
Sitting on the bed, she put one leg through each "compartment," just like her Columbia University gym bloomers, buttoned the short, blossomy pants below the knees, and fastened the waistband. Lastly, she pulled on her trimmed knee boots, slid into the short, black jacket with its silver-braided epaulets and the club's monogram on the breast pocket, and grabbed her riding gloves. Then, hat in hand, she was all set, except for a little bit of lost courage.
A horse whinnied in the farmyard, and Addie edged over to the bedroom window. With one finger she inched open a little peep crack in the shade. She bent closer and squinted through the opening. Mr. Creed stood in the yard, his saddle at his feet and that devil horse running loose in the yard. She watched the animal prance around its owner in what looked like some sort of game. Mr. Creed laughed as the horse trotted by, nodding its head and flashing its tail. It went right by him and kept going, all the way to the smokehouse gate, then suddenly it turned and galloped straight at him.
The horse was going to trample him! Addie held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut. She waited for the scream of pain.
The man laughed. Her eyes flew open. The horse skidded to a stop barely a foot shy of him. She dropped the edge of the shade and leaned against the wall, searching for courage. She needed to do this, brave the devil beast and conquer her silly fear. Her heart beat in her chest like an overwound clock and her breath came in small pants. She actually felt dizzy for a second. She thought of that horse running straight at its master. Maybe her fear wasn't so silly after all.
Then she pictured her father's proud face when she'd won the school spelling bee, heard the pride in his voice one Thanksgiving when she'd sat at the top of the stairs, eavesdropping, and heard him boast to a business associate that his daughter could do anything she set her mind to.
That memory was all it took. Addie walked through the farmhouse and out to the yard, mentally assuring herself that she could do this. It really wasn't any different than conquering the cows.
Her reassurance lasted only as long as a match in the wind.
"I'm ready," she announced, standing right in front of Mr. Creed.
He tipped his hat back and stared, forever. Then he moved like a snail, circling her. She slowly turned with him, could feel his gaze on every inch of her, up then down, up then down, like a yellow flame licking at dry wood. She raised her nose a notch to see him better from under the flat visor of her cycling hat.
He laughed.
"What's so all-fired funny?"
"Well, that getup ought to cover your butt."
"So delicately put. You have such a way with four-letter words," she shot back, angry because he was laughing at her uniform—the one she was so proud of.
Her eyes narrowed. He kept laughing.
Somewhere near her stomach a part of her ached like it was filled with too-green apples. He hadn't laughed at Rebecca Latimer, but he was laughing at her. It hurt, but she refused to cry. Instead, she remembered what a toad this man was and told herself she shouldn't give one fig about him. She slapped her glove against her palm and waited until he had finished his annoying attempt to humiliate her.
"Are you through?" she asked when his laughter subsided and he appeared to finally realize his baiting wasn't working with her.
He tightened his lips, obviously holding back a big grin, and nodded.
"Good." She eyed the horse, then him. He bent and picked up a knotted rope thing. Her mind flashed with the image of a hangman's noose. Her throat tightened and she paled, then the image vanished. Taking a deep, brave breath, she said, "Okay. Let's start."
He straightened. "The first thing you have to learn is how to catch a horse."
"Why?"
"Because if you want to ride a horse, you must catch him first." His sarcasm wasn't hidden.
"I know that! I meant why can't you catch it for me?"
"Do you want to learn to ride?" he snapped.
"Yes."
"Then you'll have to learn everything from step one." He stood there waiting, as if he thought she'd give up. That just spurred her on.
"Continue please," she said with a wave of her hand.
He held up the rope thing. "This is a halter. You'll use this to lead and tie him."
"It," she corrected.
"What?"
"It. The horse."
"Him," Montana corrected. "Jericho is a gelding, a male horse."
"I thought male horses were stallions."
"He was." The man had an odd smile on his face.
Addie tried to think, and although she'd avoided anything that had to do with horses, she remembered hearing something about the terms filly and mare. Age had something to do with those terms, so she figured the terms stallion and gelding must be similar. "Oh, I get it. Male horses are stallions until a certain age and then they're called geldings, right?"
He shook his head, grinning.
She didn't understand.
"Give up?" he asked, his voice hopeful.
After a few long seconds she nodded.
He stepped very close to her and leaned down, as if he were about to divulge a government secret. She waited.
The toad told her in three- and four-letter words.
Addie turned bright red. She could feel her whole body burning with embarrassment. He laughed again.
She spun on her heel, her hands in such tight fists that she wadded the leather gloves into a tight ball. She wanted to march straight for the cool safety of the farmhouse, but she took one step then stopped, remembering her father's faith in her.
When she didn't move, his laughing stopped.
Nose up, she turned, giving the horse a thorough inspection. Then she looked the toad straight in his yellow eyes and said, "Technically, I was right. He is an it." She looked up at him from beneath the visor, her nose up just enough. "No wonder he's so ornery." She paused for emphasis. "Is that your problem too?"
All the humor vanished from his face. Until now Addie had never really seen a purple face.
He dropped the harness and came at her. She ran; so did he. She scurried toward the giant oak tree. Her heart beat fast, she dropped her gloves, and her hat flew off. She looked over her shoulder. He pounded after her, closing in. She reached the tree and jumped the large roots, swinging around to the other side to place the big tree between them. She'd thought she'd succeeded. She was wrong.
His arm hooked around her waist and Addie felt the cool air as he swung her around. Her back hit the tree trunk; his body hit her front, pinning her hard against the tree. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited, panting into his damp neck. With every shallow breath, she smelled his scent. He smelled of anger.
Her chest moved into his, rubbing. The chemise didn't shield her from the feel of his chest. Her breasts tightened. His hands closed over her shoulders. She couldn't look up. She wasn't that brave. His breathing deepened and his hands moved slowly across her narrow shoulders, closing in, then stopping at the base of her neck. His thumbs brushed the skin of her throat right where the neck opened on her high West Point collar. Over and over, higher and higher, he moved his lethal thumbs on her throat, his strong fingers holding fast on the back of her neck. If she moved, he could snap her neck. Her eyes grew large with the thought.
His lips brushed over her hairline near the temple. Goose pimples blistered down her arms. His body pushed harder into hers, until her fanny pressed flat against the tree. Addie could feel the pinch of rough bark through her clothes. His breath brushed closer and closer to her ear. She shivered. The breath grew loud, like the crash of a storm wave, powerful, thrilling, uncontrolled, yet somehow distant. Then his knee wedged between hers. He pushed up with his body. She skidded a couple of inches up the tree trunk. Her eyes grew wide.
She'd done it again, pushed the man too far, just like she had with her "yes mastering." He scared her, but not because she thought he'd actually harm her. She was scared because of what he made her feel, of how he awakened a devilish side to her that made her
want to push him into reacting. And when he reacted, it was a carnal reaction, which should have scared her. It didn't, exactly. Instead she felt that it gave her some power over him, and that excited her. She'd never felt powerful before. He moved his face so close to hers she could feel the soft brush of his breath. "Want to find out for yourself, sweet Addie?"
Good Lord, did she? She looked up into his piercing eyes. The game had suddenly changed, and she, a novice, wasn't ready for it. No, she thought, I can't. But she couldn't find her voice.
She had just wanted to test and push. And she'd pushed him too far, which had been too easy and too fast. He must have been staring at naked ladies again. That must have been it. So it was his fault too, she reasoned, having no problem suddenly shifting the blame.
When she finally found her voice, she tried to sound as if he and their position had no effect on her. "I want my riding lesson." She swallowed her pride. "I'm sorry I insinuated that you were like your horse." You're worse.
As if the animal had heard her, it moseyed over near the tree and stared at them, then it bent and began to gnaw on the grass. Montana watched it for a long moment. His body still pinned her but his breath slowed, then the anger left his face. His gaze was still on the horse, but she could see him thinking. The serious, sensual line of his lips changed, replaced by a cat-and-the-canary smirk. It changed too fast, giving her the sudden urge to examine his mouth for feathers.
He grabbed her waist, distracting her caution, and lifted her, purposely not setting her down. His eyes took on the same randy look he'd worn in the pantry. "You're sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. Put me down!"
"I can give you some other riding lessons."
"Riding what?" she frowned. The lecherous grin he wore told her that she shouldn't have asked. "Never mind!" she said before he explained in four-letter words. "Just put me down and give me that halter thing!"
She could see him thinking again, and then his look changed to amusement. He thinks I can't do this, she thought. He set her down, so she donned a confident air and promptly marched over to the halter, picking it up, turning it this way and that in an effort to figure out how to hold it.
Montana's tall body blocked the warm sun. "Unhook it."
"I could have figured that out. I'm not stupid."
"You were the one who asked for lessons," he reminded her.
"There are some things, Mr. Creed, that are just common sense." She glanced up at him. "Please don't treat me like an idiot just because I'm a woman. My brain is just as big as yours, sir!"
"Fine." He turned and sauntered over to the tree, leaning back against it. He tipped his hat back, crossed his arms over his puffy chest and waited.
She'd show him. With an air of false confidence, she approached the horse. It looked up at her, chewing. She closed in from the right. Its head shot up and it whinnied just before loping away.
Addie fanned the dust away from her face. The devil horse now stood near the empty pen by the barn, innocently staring at her.
She slowly walked toward the barn, swinging the halter at her side and giving the animal a wide berth. She moved in from the right again and heard Montana laugh. His horse took off again.
"Look what you did!" Addie planted her hands on her hips and glowered at the man. "You scared him away!"
He kept laughing. "Want some advice, or would you rather use your 'common sense'?"
"What advice?" She drew a long breath and prayed for patience.
"Always approach a horse from the left, saddle him from the left, and mount from the left."
"Why?"
"So you don't get that big brain of yours knocked 'common senseless.' '' His smile said he'd gotten her. And he had, with her own words.
"Funny." She crossed her arms and slapped herself with the halter. She waited for him to stop laughing. "If I'm going to learn, I need to understand everything. Now, why the left side?"
"Well," he drawled, "I seem to recall it had something to do with knights and the size of their swords."
"I don't have a sword," she reasoned.
"I do." He hooked his thumbs into the top of his pants. "Wanna see?"
She could feel her face flush, so she stiffened her spine and turned, calling out over her shoulder, "No thank you. I forgot my spectacles." That ought to shut him up, she thought, heading for the horse, from the left.
"Why, sweet Addie, I do believe you have a sense of humor!"
She stopped, glaring at him over her shoulder. "You're a sick man."
He shrugged.
Mumbling, she walked up to the horse. It stared at her with big brown eyes that she didn't trust. She held the halter so the rope loops would slide over the animal's nose. A smug little smile appeared on her face. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. She started to slide the halter on, and the horse threw its ornery head up and out of reach. "Dadgummit!"
The toad's deep voice rang out. "Slip the lead rope over his head and talk sweet to him."
Addie looked at the halter, trying to see the "lead." She tossed the long end over the horse's neck and looped it through the rest of the halter. It worked. Now she had to talk to it. "Nice horsey," she muttered. "Let me put this little rope on your nose like a good… boy."
The devil scrunched up its fat pink lips and bared its long, yellow teeth.
"If you bite me, you obnoxious beast, I'll—''
"Uh-uh-unnnh…"
Addie jumped and looked guiltily over her shoulder. He stood right behind her, shaking one long, tanned finger. He had heard every threatening word.
"Talk sweet."
"It wouldn't do any good. It hates me!"
"Give me your hand."
"Why?"
"Do you want to learn to ride?"
"Yes."
"Then stop questioning me and do I say." He held out his hand, callused palm up. "Give me your hand."
She shifted the halter to her left hand and placed her hand in his. The second their skin touched Addie looked up at him. His exasperated expression was gone. He stared at their hands with an odd, surprised look. She looked down. Her small, pale hand looked even whiter and smaller next to his. The yellow calluses on his fingers stood out, and those silly goosebumps raced over her skin again.
He cleared his throat, then lifted her hand and placed it on the horse's warm neck. In his deep, quiet voice he said, "Stroke him."
She did, but she wasn't thinking about the feel of the horse. His hand still covered hers and he guided her movement, slowly taking her hand up near the animal's ear and dragging their hands down its long neck. She could feel his rough hand; his arm brushed hers as he moved her hand, and the heat from his tall body made her feel suddenly flushed and damp, except for her mouth, which for some crazy reason had dried up.
"Whisper what you want," he bent down and said into Addie's ear, but he didn't let go of her hand.
What did she want? She'd forgotten. It was awfully hot, and her clothes felt suddenly tight. She exhaled.
"Tell him what you're going to do to him." He released her hand, but he didn't budge. She could still feel him, just a fly's shadow away.
"Here, horse, I'm going to put this thing on you." The animal glared at her. "Real easy, I promise." She slowly slid the halter over the horse's nose, then held it in place and looked at Mr. Creed. "I can't reach that thing that goes over his head."
"It's called the crownpiece. Here." He leaned over her and his stomach rested against her back. She could feel the hard buckle of his belt. She shut her eyes and gritted her teeth until the heat passed. He handed her the rope strap and she clipped it to the small metal ring. Her hands shook a bit.
"Reward him," he told her.
"How?" she whispered.
"With some sweet words and soft strokes."
"Nice horse," she croaked, and patted the animal's neck.
"Stroke it. Don't pat it." He touched her shoulder, slowly running his burning hand down her arm. "Like this."
She held
tight to the lead, but felt her legs melting and almost fainted. Then she remembered to breathe.
"Remember," he whispered into her ear, "always stroke something long. It feels better."
She couldn't swallow, couldn't speak. Her mouth was too dry.
He finally stepped back and cleared his throat, loudly. "To lead him, walk beside his neck. Like this." He grabbed her shoulders again and she tingled. Addie could have sworn that he rubbed them before he turned her so she was facing the same direction as the horse.
"Now push forward on the lead."
The horse walked about five feet and then stopped. Addie pushed on the rope. The devil didn't budge.
"Talk sweet," he reminded her, returning to his leaning spot by the tree.
She tugged on the rope. "Move, you obnoxious, mule-headed beast," she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.
It snorted.
"Cluck at him!"
She turned and gave Mr. Creed a withering look. "Chickens cluck, not humans!"
"Use your tongue. I know you can," he shouted, and with his hands cupped around his mouth, he "clucked."
The horse almost yanked her arm out of the socket when it took off toward its owner. She trotted alongside, wishing vile curses down on the beast. It stopped in front of the tree and she tried to catch her breath, wondering what had ever possessed her to try to do this, and with this horse.
"Not bad." Her instructor ambled over. "Now the saddle."
"What?" she screeched.
He raised his hands in the air. "You have to learn to saddle the horse."
She didn't say one word. She just burned.
"I told you before. If you want to learn to ride, you'll have to learn everything. A horse isn't going to be sitting there, all saddled and waiting for you to put that white butt of yours on it."
"Would you please stop talking about the color of my—my derriere!"
"All right. The horse won't be waiting for your round, little ass."
She swung her fist right at him. He caught it.
"Uh-uh-unnnh. No hitting the teacher."
"You have a dirty mouth."
"That didn't keep your tongue out of it the other night, did it?"
She jerked her hand away and stormed off.