I eye the beautiful beast suspiciously. “But are you sure she really wants me to sit on her? She doesn’t look too happy about the idea.” I stay back a few feet. It’s a warm summer afternoon, and I’m standing under an old spruce next to the barn, where Mason is attempting to give me a horse baptism.
Mason flashes one of his to-die-for little grins that make his eyes sparkle and smile-grooves dent his cheeks. The effect on me never dulls—heart pumps a little faster and I ache a little deeper. In a good way.
“Yes,” he says, with that deep, deep voice I also never get tired of listening to, “she absolutely wants you to ride her. If you don’t, she’ll take it as a personal insult. Also, she really needs the exercise. Doctor’s orders.”
According to Mason, the mare had a very rare foot disease and was about to be put down by her owners, who didn’t want to or couldn’t afford to care for her. He took her in, paid for her treatment, but she’s been confined to her stall for a few months. Now that she’s all better, she’s supposed to go out for nice long walks. No running. Perfect for me. So is this place, a sanctuary for the unwanted, the broken. Like many things people toss aside, these horses still have so much life left in them. All they need is for someone to see that. And possibly a yellow VW bus named Bessy as a mascot. Like them, she’s still running against all odds.
“Hey, look. If you really don’t want to ride Sprinkles, I can call and have your surprise moved. Meryl won’t mind. Much.”
Ugh. Meryl is the ranch’s manager. I’ve met the guy twice now. He minds anything that doesn’t have to do with caring for these horses. He told me as much this morning when I asked him to help with one of the three gates you have to pass to get inside. “City folk!”
I notice the devious glint in Mason’s blue eyes. He hinted that he wants to ask me something today on our yet-to-happen ride, which is why the baby is with my mom today.
I’m guessing Mason wants us to move in with him, and it’s going to be a long, intense conversation. With him and me, there is no other speed. We “intense” pretty well. Maybe that’s what drew us together.
As for the ranch, the main house is huge, like an oversized pine cabin with big windows, views for miles, and tons of space. I can’t say enough about the fireplace the size of my old bathroom. The staff’s homes are on this side of the property near the horses they look after. The rest is wide-open, fenced-in land for the horses to run free.
I hang my head and stare at my black riding boots covered in mud. “I can’t believe the things I let you talk me into.”
“Ginnie, come on. I promise it will be worth your suffering, and Sprinkles will be gentle. She’s a very affectionate woman. Like you.” He folds his muscular arms over his chest, causing his biceps to bulge.
I want to lick him. “Okay.”
I come up to Sprinkle’s side and go for it. Foot. Stirrup. Swing. Butt in saddle. Like Mason showed me. “Ha! I’m up! I’m sitting.”
Mason hands me the reins. “You look,” he exhales, “so sexy up there, Ginnie.”
I scoff. “Oh, stop.”
“Not until I get a yes out of you.”
Yes? But he hasn’t asked me anything yet.
Before I can point that out, he’s up on his horse, Max, and the beast is off. Sprinkles follows in a slow trot without any guidance from me. Thank God.
Within ten minutes, I’m looking at the hills, rocking my hips to a steady rhythm, and I haven’t fallen over. I am a rock star. On a horse.
Mason, on the other hand, is up ahead, quiet and brooding, which sets me off. “Is your head all right?” I call out. He hasn’t had any episodes since he re-entered my life. Says they stopped after he slipped on the ice. I still worry though.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
“Are you sure?” Because I can’t see his face, and I don’t dare ask Sprinkles to go faster.
“Yep.”
I stare at the back of those wide shoulders stretching the fabric of his T-shirt. There are no signs of hunching or pain. Just hot muscles—biceps, back, and wow-butt.
We come up on a big pine next to a small rock formation surrounded by big green bushes. On the grassy spot is a blanket, champagne, and a picnic basket.
Oh. Wow. This is romantic. It dawns on me that this is more than a casual ride with “a surprise” and a discussion about maybe moving in. He wants to take us to the next level. Kissing. Champagne. Sex.
My throat goes dry. I’m nervous about taking this step, even if I want it. “This for us?”