Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
You’re human. You’re allowed to make mistakes. I repeat my therapist’s refrain in my head.
And then I remind myself that pain in the ass or not, I’m the one Dad left the ranch to. I need this money to keep the company I’ve poured my heart and soul into in business. I have every right to be here.
Just like Cash has every right to be pissed off.
After a beat, he lifts his head and brings the walkie-talkie to his mouth. “No one can come get us?”
“We’re tied up. Ella refused to nap, so Sawyer had to go back to the house. We’re one cowboy short and can’t spare another.”
Cash shakes his head. “Of course we are. All right, we’ll head back now.”
My stomach flips. What does this mean? Are we walking back? Glancing across the hills, I don’t see the barn or the house. We’re far out.
Cash shoves the walkie-talkie back into his saddlebag. Then he checks the thick leather strap that goes around the horse’s belly.
My stomach flips again. Oh, no.
No-no-no.
“Tour’s cut short,” he says. “With two of us on one horse, it’s gonna take us a while to get back. Let’s go.”
My heart pings around my chest like a panicked pinball. “The horse can carry both of us?”
Cash isn’t wearing sunglasses, so I can see the skin crinkle at the edges of his eyes when he squints at me and says, “He don’t have much choice, does he?”
“I’ll walk.”
“You won’t make it a quarter mile in those boots.” He holds out a hand. “Don’t forget the snakes.”
“Exactly how many fanged animals are out here? How are any of y’all still alive?”
His lips twitch, curling into a handsome smirk that makes my stomach flip for an entirely different reason. “Decades of experience. Dumb luck. Let’s go.”
Turning my head, I get one last glimpse of the river. Dad, if you’re out there, please help me survive this.
I take a deep breath and head for Cash and his waiting horse. “You pick a black horse to match your soul?”
“You wanna know if I ride like the devil?” He shifts, angling his hips toward me. “Get in the saddle and find out. Grab the reins in your left hand, then put that hand on the pommel.”
“I don’t have much choice, do I?” Rolling my eyes, I do as he tells me. “Something tells me Satan’s got nothing on you.”
“Aren’t you lucky, then? Now put your other hand on the back of the saddle and bend your left knee.” Cash squats and grabs my leg, one hand on my knee, the other on my ankle. I’m suddenly aware of my body, how hot I am, the bloom of electricity inside my skin. His grip is gentle but firm. Confident. “I’m gonna give you a leg up. When I lift you, swing your other leg over the saddle. I got the rest. On the count of three, I’ll lift.”
My brain is short-circuiting. Maybe that’s why I can only stand there, frozen with one knee bent, as Cash counts to three.
I yelp when he lifts my leg, using it as a springboard to launch my body onto the horse. I manage to toss my other leg over the horse’s side, and then I land with a thump in the saddle.
It’s almost like I’ve done this before.
I have done this before. But it’s been twenty years. No way muscle memory lasts that long, right?
I feel very, very high up. Cash’s horse is taller than Maria. He nickers softly beneath me.
Cash’s hand is on my calf now, guiding my boot into the stirrup with brute efficiency.
I’m on fire. Help. “You can’t manhandle me like this.”
“Watch me, City Girl. Scoot forward. Even more. Jesus, Mollie.” He puts his hands on my hips and yanks me toward the pommel. “There.”
Then he’s somehow climbing onto the horse behind me without any assistance at all. He doesn’t even use a stirrup.
Only when he lands on the horse’s back behind the saddle do I realize just how close we’re going to be on this ride.
Very, very close.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think. I can only feel the press of his chest against my back. His thighs bracket mine, my backside tucked neatly into the cradle of his pelvis. He wraps his arms around me, reins in hand.
Cash is literally plastered against me from shoulders to shoes.
He doesn’t hesitate as he clicks his tongue, urging the horse forward. Doesn’t attempt gentleness. He is pure practicality, all firmness and confidence. If I’m being honest, his lack of pretense is…obscenely sexy.
It does not help that the center seam of my pants presses against the pommel with the horse’s every step, hitting me right where I don’t want it to.
I stiffen, squeezing my eyes shut. I really hope I don’t burst into flames. Or faint. Or have dreams tonight about fucking the inconveniently gorgeous cowboy behind me who also happens to be an absolute jerk-off.