Page 66 of Only Mine
“Scared?” Saint asks.
When I turn, he’s right beside me, one arm resting on the fence rail.
“Cautious,” I correct, lifting my chin. “There’s a difference.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Not much of one.”
“I’ll help you,” Rome offers, leading Penny toward the mounting block. “It’s like riding a bike, except the bike has a mind of its own and weighs a thousand pounds.”
“That’s comforting,” I mutter, but follow him anyway.
Ivy’s circling the arena on Scribbles, her small hands confidently holding the reins. “Look at me, Miss Wrenley!”
“I see you! You’re doing great!” I call back, my voice steadier than I feel.
I’m getting on a horse. I’m gonna ride a horse. I’m not gonna die.
Rome pats Penny’s neck. “Left foot in the stirrup, grab the saddle horn, and swing your right leg over.”
I hesitate, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I must look in borrowed boots and helmet, with Saint witnessing the most city-girl stereotype there ever was.
But why do I care what Saint sees? Does his opinion matter all that much?
Yes. Becausehematters.
Ugh. I wish my mind knew how to stop talking.
“I’ll help,” Rome offers, extending his hand.
Before I can take it, Saint steps forward. “I’ve got her.”
His hands circle my waist, warm and steady through my sweater. I freeze, the contact sending bolts of energy racing up my spine.
“Foot in the stirrup,” Saint murmurs, his breath tickling my ear. “I won’t let you fall.”
I obey, placing my left foot in the metal stirrup. His grip tightens as I push off the ground, helping me swing my right leg over Penny’s broad back. In the span of a second, I’m suspended between earth and sky, held aloft by Saint’s strength alone.
I’m on a horse. I’m on a fucking horse.
“I’m on a horse!” I whoop. “I’m sitting on an animal!”
Ivy cheers excitedly in response, and under her exclamations, Saint’s laughter rings out.Laughter.Like he’s enjoying the feat as much as I am.
When I look over at him, his eyes are soft, his hands slowclapping for me. “Good job. Now you really are half animal, half girl.”
For the next twenty minutes, Saint walks beside Penny while I learn the basics. His hand rests on the horse’s neck, steadying her, but I’m hyperaware it’s really me he’s paying attention to.
“Heels down,” he instructs. “Grip with your thighs, not your knees.”
Every instruction feels loaded, his commands doing things to my concentration.
“Papa never helps anyone ride,” Ivy calls out as Scribbles passes us. “Not even Miss Erin, and she asked twice!”
Rome snorts from where he’s leaning against the fence. “That right?”
Saint works his jaw. “Ivy, eyes forward.”
“I am!” She circles back around. “Miss Wrenley, you’re doing really good. Papa keeps staring at you like when he tastes a new sauce and can’t figure out the secret ingredient.”
