Page 37 of If the Boot Fits

She jumped off her right leg at the same time he lifted her left. She felt as light as dandelion fluff as she flew upward. Remembering her job, she grabbed the saddle horn and found her balance as she straddled the horse. Excitement zinged through her along with a generous helping of nerves.

“Now fit your toes into the stirrups and loosen the reins slightly.”

She had to peek over the side to find the stirrups, but she managed to get both feet in place.

“I’ll be leading him,” Asher said, “so you won’t have to worry about directing him, but I want you to get a feel for holding the reins. Let go of the horn and find a comfortable seat.”

She really didn’t want to let go of the horn. That handle seemed the most stable piece of the entire operation, but she didn’t want Asher to think her afraid, so she released her hold and shifted slightly until she found a position that felt relatively natural.

“Good. Now, when we start walking, I want you to continue sitting straight but don’t be stiff. Feel his rhythm and let your body sway along like you would if he were your dancing partner. Don’t fight him. Move as one.”

“I’ll try.”

He grinned. “You’ll do great.”

And she did. Until Bruno grew bored and kicked their slow waltz into a bouncy polka.

17

With the sun warming his shoulders and back, Asher slipped into a bit of a lull as he rotated at the focus point of the riding circle while Bruno plodded around the circumference. The rope tugged gently against his hand as he pivoted, his gaze riveted on the woman in the saddle as his mind replayed their conversation.

“I hope you consider me a friend. . . . I can listen and pray on your behalf.”

How had he ever mistaken Samantha Dearing for a self-absorbed princess? She might be the daughter of the wealthiest cattleman in the county, but she cared about people. Not only cared but looked for ways to help. Like with his brother. And now with him.

She’d offered to pray for him. When was the last time a woman other than Mama Bess had made such an offer? He couldn’t recall a single instance. Of course, he’d been so busy working over the last six years, he hadn’t had many opportunities to converse with women. Still . . . the experience seemed rather extraordinary. She seemed rather extraordinary.

“Whoa, Bruno. Whoooooa!” Her squeal sharpened Asher’s focus in an instant.

Bruno had transitioned into a trot. The paint had been trained to respond to changes in his rider’s seat, so it was likely that Samantha had bumped him with her heel or shifted in the saddle enough to make the horse believe it was time to pick up the pace.

“Tilt your hips forward,” he called as he jogged toward her, reeling in the lead line as he went. “Keep your heels down and your shoulders over your hips.”

“It’s too b-bouncy.” She clung to the saddle horn but started listing to the left.

Asher dropped the lead and sprinted forward. “Ho, Bruno. Ho!” His voice rang with an authority the paint recognized.

Bruno stopped, but Samantha kept sliding.

He reached her side right as she fell from the saddle. Her face smooshed against his chest when he wrapped his arms around her waist, and her left foot tangled in the stirrup, leaving her suspended like a human bridge between horse and man. After a bit of wiggling and twisting, she managed to free her foot and slide the rest of the way off the horse and into Asher’s arms. A situation he enjoyed more than he probably should.

Once her feet found the ground, however, Samantha straightened and created some distance between them.

“I’m sorry.” She reached up to straighten the bonnet that had gone askew after crashing into his chest during her less-than-elegant dismount. “I panicked. I didn’t expect Bruno to start running.”

Asher willed away the grin that clamored for release. “That was a trot, not a run, but it is one of the trickier gaits for new riders to master. You’ll like the canter. It’s faster, but much smoother.”

She gave him a dubious look. “I don’t think I’m ready for faster.”

The grin he’d been fighting found its way onto his face. “Not yet, but you will be. You’ve got a great teacher, after all.”

Her eyes danced. The fear from a moment ago faded behind a tide of rising sass. “Oh, I do, do I?” She placed a hand on her hip and raised a brow as she looked him over. “Well, my instructor did manage to save me from taking a nasty tumble, so I suppose he deserves credit for the rescue. Probably shouldn’t tell him how much I appreciated his gallantry, though. I’d hate for his head to swell. Just imagine if his hat no longer fit. He’d be a bareheaded cowboy in Texas. The laughingstock of cattlemen statewide. We must guard him against such shame.”

Asher chuckled as he folded an arm over his chest in a show of solidarity. “I’ll take your secret to my grave, milady.”

She nodded with a regal air. “Your nobility is commendable, sir. Now, help me back onto this steed before I talk myself out of trying again.”

Asher helped her mount, yet her playful words stung his conscience. He’d been far from noble or trustworthy when he’d broken into her home last week. What would she say if she learned the truth? Would the admiration warming her gaze chill into a frosty disdain? The thought speared him in the chest. In the short time he’d known her, he’d come to crave her good opinion. Yet how could he be the noble gentleman she thought him to be if he hid the truth from her?