Page 55 of Wild and Wanted

Tugging his hat down on his head, he said, ‘Let’s go.’

The uptick in their speed was subtle, gradually increasing, allowing Stevie to get used to the pace as it ramped up. And it was exhilarating, the horse power between her thighs, the wind whipping her hair back as they sped across the pasture to their destination.

They weren’t cantering – she’d seen Clay and the other cowhands ride much faster as they headed out for the day – but it was the fastest she’d ever ridden and her pulse was tripping like crazy, her lungs dragging air in and out.

Not because she was frightened, because she was exhilarated.

And then there was the way the speed changed how she sat in the saddle, pushing her into a forward lean, altering the distribution of her weight, bringing her bare, naked flesh more fully in contact with the surface of the saddle. The friction caused by the increased pace held her on a delicious knife’s edge of gathering tension.

It was like the night she’d been in his truck, smooshed beside him as the road corrugations had vibrated through the seat. It wasn’t enough to get her across the line but her body buzzed with the build of it nonetheless. Lordy… how embarrassing would that be? How would she be able to look him in the eye if that actually happened?

Or had that been his dastardly plan all along?

Clay turned his head and grinned, and Stevie grinned back, giddy with an overload of sensations. She’d never seen him like this, in his natural habitat, and it was adding to the wild mix of awareness. It was like she was really seeing him for the first time.

Clay the cowboy, in his element on the back of a horse, surrounded by pastures and mountains, sky and earth.

Out here, she understood his imperative to ride again after his accident.

He whooped out loud and she laughed, feeling something she hadn’t felt in a long time – free. In this open vista hewn from millennia-old geological events, she wasn’t Stephanie Everhart, Grammy-award-winning singer songwriter with too many people wanting to own her story.

She was just Stevie.

Just another insignificant person tuned into this vast landscape that was too big and grand and untamed to fully comprehend. Tuned in to her body, too, in to an awareness of it she hadn’t known before. That made her feel reckless. Made her feel wild and free. And just a little bit feral, her body thrumming to the tune of her sexual awakening.

Like one of those eagles flying overhead or a wild unbroken bronco.

The tree line approached and something shiny caught Stevie’s eye. Sunlight on water, she realised at the same time she detected the subtle shift in Gertie’s flanks. They were slowing and her rhythm on the back of the horse changed accordingly, the friction easing up as Gertie fell into pace with Electra, slowing to a trot and then an amble, the grass giving away to a stretch of flat, stony bank flanking a gently flowing stream.

‘How was that?’ Clay asked as he took off his hat, wiping his brow with the back of his forearm.

Stevie shook her head, remarkably out of breath for having done very little other than hold on and almost get off. Clay wasn’t out of breath, she noted. He was as cool as a cucumber when she was a jumble of feelings and sensations inside.

‘Amazing!’ Everything tingled from her head down to her toes.

He chuckled. ‘We’ll make a horse woman out of you yet, Stevie girl.’

Her stomach lurched at how good her name sounded on his lips, and she wanted to hear him say it like that – all low and gravelly – as he entered her for the first time. And parts much lower lurched at that thought.

‘Just across the stream now and over to those trees.’ He tipped his head to a clump of tall, stately Aspens about a hundred yards away.

Stevie glanced at the water as it ruffled over the smooth stones forming its bed. ‘How deep is it?’

‘Not very. Up to their hooves. Don’t worry, Gertie’ll follow us in.’

True to his word, her horse plodded into the stream behind Electra. The water was crystal clear, revealing smoothly polished stones of varying shades of grey. It looked blissfully cool and Stevie wished she’d slipped her one-piece on under her clothes.

But then… she couldn’t have gone commando. And almost orgasmed on the back of her horse. An experience she wouldn’t have passed up for anything.

Within moments, Clay had pulled up at his chosen spot, a grassy area just back from the stream, shaded all around by the overhang of leafy branches above. As he dismounted and hauled off his saddle bags, Stevie took a moment to take it all in. She could hear the gurgle of water over stones and the sigh of the wind through the trees and the munch of Gertie as she happily pulled at the grass.

It was so peaceful, so indescribably beautiful; this must surely be what heaven looked like. Keep streets of gold; Stevie would take this beauty any day. Inhaling deeply, she sucked in air so clean and sweet it filled her chest with sunshine.

‘Are you getting down?’

Broken from her reverie, Stevie glanced at Clay, hands on hips, amused smile ramping up his sex appeal. Holding out his hand, he said, ‘Need some help?’

Thanks to him teaching her how to dismount, Stevie did not. But she wasn’t about to knock back an opportunity to touch him, either. Smiling, she swung her far leg around, sitting sideways in the saddle as she reached for his hand. Her long skirt was slippery against the polished leather of the saddle, aiding her slide off Gertie, straight into his waiting arms.