Page 71 of Courage, Dear Heart

I put the lead in her hand. “Guide Buttercup around the paddock in a slow circle. I’ll be right behind you.”

Jillian looks up at Jamie. He’s so happy, he’s practically floating above Buttercup.

I follow them a few paces behind. Let this be their moment. “You’re next, Jillian.”

She looks over her shoulder. “I’ll probably need as much guidance as Jamie.”

I smile, all too happy to oblige. “It will be my pleasure to teach you to ride.”

I don’t intend for it to come out as a double entendre, but images of Jillian riding me pop in my mind and I guess they make it to my face because the next thing I know, Jillian is looking at me with a raised eyebrow and pressed lips in an attempt to refrain from laughing, and her cheeks are turning a pretty pink.

She shakes her head and tugs at the lead, Buttercup following Jillian’s gentle guidance. Atop the horse, Jamie tilts his head to the sky, not a cloud in sight, and sighs out loud. The sound escapes his lips and rolls out of him as if he’ddropped a boulder and was finally able to breathe. Jillian’s step falters for a split second and she continues to walk in a circle. I catch up with her. Her gaze meets mine, wet with unshed tears, and she blows out a loud breath as if she caught the boulder Jamie dropped.

I take her free hand into mine. Whisper, “It’s happening. He’s letting go. You need to do the same.”

She nods, blinks several times, and then smiles. “Take a picture of us? Maybe a video too?” Jillian gives me her phone.

I reluctantly let go of her hand and jog ahead. “All right. Video first. Smile, everyone.”

Even Buttercup smiles, quivering her lips and snorting. The sounds she makes send Jamie into a fit of giggles. The sound is hesitant at first, then grows and vibrates throughout his body, his small shoulders shaking. Jillian looks up at him, her lips parted, the hint of a smile slowly forming until it’s in full bloom. Her face transformed with joy. She’s never been more beautiful than in this very moment, and I capture every second of it in the video.

I take a few pictures and both of them pose for me. Buttercup loves being the center of attention and she hams it up for the camera. And then I walk to Jillian and pull her into my arms in a hug. I kiss her forehead and inhale her fresh scent.

Jillian goes on her toes and whispers in my ear, “I’m so glad we’re here. Look at how happy he is. Thank you so much for inviting us.”

I hold her tighter and whisper back, “I’m glad you’re here too, and I’m glad being here is helping Jamie.”

She sighs into my neck, her breath tickling me and doing very non-PG things to my body. A tap on my shoulderreminds me that we have company. We separate, but I hold her close still and look up at Jamie. He’s smiling and gives us the thumbs-up.

I think we got a seal of approval. And as far as approval goes, Jamie’s is the most important one of all.

We do several more circles with Jamie around the paddock and then it’s Jillian’s turn.

I saddle another mare for her. “This is Katniss. And yes, she’s named afterThe Hunger Gamescharacter. All the horses are named after book characters.”

“So Buttercup is named afterThe Princess Bride?”

“She is.”

“I like that.”

Jillian stands beside the mare, her hands lightly gripping the saddle. “It’s been years since I’ve been on a horse.”

“You’ll be fine.” Her hesitation stirs something protective in me—and something else, something deeper.

I position myself behind her, close enough to catch the light floral scent of her shampoo as the breeze carries it my way. The back of her T-shirt has ridden up slightly, exposing a strip of smooth, creamy skin. My hands span her hips, guiding her firmly, my thumbs brushing over that bare patch. Her breath hitches, a small innocuous sound, but it’s enough to send a jolt of heat straight through me.

“Step up.” My voice is barely above a whisper, husky with the effort it takes to stay composed.

She shifts, her head tilting back enough for her to glance over her shoulder at me. Her blue eyes catch the light, and there’s a flicker of something in them—curiosity, challenge, maybe even arousal. Her lips part slightly, and I watch, transfixed, as she nibbles on her bottom lip.

My grip tightens instinctively, my fingers pressing into her hips. Her chest rises and falls, her breaths coming quicker, and I have to lock my jaw to stop myself from leaning in closer, from closing the minuscule space between us.

“You can’t look at me like that here,” I whisper, the words barely audible but carrying all the weight of the tension crackling between us.

Her gaze holds mine for a beat longer, her cheeks flushing as she turns back around. I can feel the tension radiating from her, the way her hands tighten on the saddle, and I know I’m not the only one feeling this.

With one swift movement, she pulls herself onto the saddle, my hands steadying her the entire way. I don’t let go until she’s settled, her hands gripping the reins, her legs fitting perfectly around the mare.

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