The Horseman

“Oh? And how would you do that?”

“By lifting those skirts of yours, my sweet, and making your blood burn.” He nipped her earlobe, making pleasure skid along her nerve endings. “You just say the word, and I’ll be happy to oblige you.”

“Happy to? I suppose there’s nothing you gain from the experience.”

“Only the satisfaction of pleasuring you. I live to serve you, my love.”

“Aren’t you a true gentleman? Putting a lady’s needs above your own.”

“I sure hope so. You tell me.”

“Well, I may need you to satisfy me again. Practice makes perfect.”

“That’s not true, because you are already perfection.” He brushed a few flyaway curls from her eyes. She leaned into the affectionate stroke of his finger-tips, loving his tender strength.

What a man. She floated with love for him. Were her feet touching the ground? She was certain they weren’t, that he made her walk on air. Her body felt well loved, a new and wonderful sensation. Desire for him, to have him inside her, coiled within her.

How could she already want him? Yet her body was ready for him, wet and trembling and alive. The way only he could make her.

“Hey, pretty girl.” Dillon welcomed the gray mare with his hands, holding her big, comely head against his chest as he stroked her cheeks and jaw.

The mare he’d rescued, who’d been beaten. Katelyn held out her hand and the Arabian shied, stepping back, skin flicking over her taut, powerful muscles.

“Easy, girl,” Dillon said, switching to his grandfather’s language, the lilting music speaking to the mare’s soul and calming her.

Katelyn saw the harsh scars raked into the animal’s back and rump. At least three dozen of them, ugly and ragged. The poor thing. Those were made by the angry lash of a bullwhip, reminding her that all of these horses were unwanted or abused or homeless.

Was that why Dillon had chosen her? Doubt fluttered in her chest. Did he love her? Or was she someone to save? Someone who needed rescuing and sheltering? Like these mares.

Somehow that made his love for her less. Made her unsure as he released his hold on her to dig more peppermint from his jacket pockets.

“Hello there, Spirited One.” Dillon held two treats, one in each hand. “He’s angry because I’ve ignored him. I usually come see him several times throughout the morning. Today, I had to buy more peppermint. But going to town isn’t the reason I’m late.”

He tossed her a sideways glance and blushed. The memory of his lovemaking sizzled through her, making her hot when she ought to be freezing.

The stallion watched and waited, not pacing today, just watching. Quivering.

“He can’t be happy with me. I brought him here. Caged him in.”

“Doesn’t he resent you for it?”

“Maybe a little.” Honest, Dillon held out both hands, waiting. “He knows I’m helping him, and he’s grateful, but he’s not the kind of animal anyone can pen in for long.”

The stallion lifted his head, his wide nostrils flaring, scenting the candy. Debating.

“You’re going to lure him close with the peppermint and then rope him, aren’t you?”

Dillon realized she wasn’t only speaking of her fears for the stallion. “If I trick him, I teach him I’m not a man he can trust.”

“But you need to break him. You’ll have to trick him sometime.”

“Never. I don’t trick horses. Ever. Besides, I told you all I want to do is help this stallion. I swore that to you, remember?”

“I know.”

“Did you think I’d forgotten?”

“No. That never crossed my mind.”

“Good.” He hauled her against his chest, turning her so he spooned her and protected her from the wind. All she had to do was lean against him and he sheltered her from the elements, held her up and kept her steady as the stallion ventured close, wary, enticed by the candy Dillon offered once again.

Snug in his arms, she waited with him. Watched, spellbound, as the stunning creature ambled forward. She noticed the gash on the animal’s shoulder, where the bullet had grazed him, for the first time. A large scab marked his black coat. “Is that the bullet wound?”

“Yep. My brother and I had a hard time holding him to get the bullet out and lancing it.” Dillon’s chin rested on the crown of her head, light and affectionate, and nestled against him she felt wanted.

Loved. Valued. A month ago it had been unthinkable that any decent man would want her.

And this man, the most decent and honorable of them all, wanted her. Just her.

Dillon spoke in the magical language, as it sounded, of gentle words and sounds that eased the worry from her heart. Made bearable the wounds in her soul. She watched the stallion stand taller and the shadows ease from his eyes. It was the emotion behind the words, she realized, the steady affection that any creature wanted.

Especially her. Grateful, she kissed Dillon’s jaw and he grinned at her, lopsided and handsome. So very handsome. How was it that he became more dear to her and more attractive with every day that passed?

Because I love him. It was true. The warm, bursting affection, the emotion that thrilled through her when they touched. She kissed him again.

“Be careful what you start, ma’am, because I’m the man who will finish the job.” He was still erect, his hardness something she began to think about more and more. How treasured he’d made her feel. And he wanted her again. So soon.

Does he really want me that much? It seemed incredible, and she closed off the memory of another man, who had turned away from her touch. Who had come to her at night out of duty. Whose touch had not sparked a connection within her and whose kiss had not lit a fire of want and need.

Dillon was making her love him, the same way he charmed the horses with words and gentle touches, and she could not stop the current of feelings drowning her with need and caring. The stallion reached over the top fence rail, warily, but beginning to believe he would come to no harm, and stole the treats from Dillon’s hand. Crunching greedily, he backed away.

“Good boy,” Dillon praised in the magic voice that swept through her, knocking down every defense, and laid her bare. She was as vulnerable as the sand to the ocean tide, and he was sweeping her away.

“One day he’s going to stay close and ask for another piece. We’ve got him interested. He’ll start negotiating soon.”

“Negotiating?”

“He wants something, and we want something. I’ve started with the peppermint. He likes it and wants it, and I want him to get used to coming to me when I show up. So it’s mutual. That’s how it starts, the partnership between him and us.” Dillon pulled a wrapped disc from his pocket. “Want one?”

“Well, I do have a sweet tooth.”

“Lucky me.” He unwrapped the candy and focused on her mouth.

She parted her lips before he moved. The candy slid across her bottom lip and over the tops of her teeth. His fingertip followed, stroking craftily along the sensitive surface of her mouth.

“Good?” When she nodded, he blushed, growing bashful. “Why, thank you, ma’am. I’m glad you think so.”

He kissed her with great care, so she could feel what sang in his heart.

It had been a wonderful day. Katelyn glowed with contentment as she looked over the top of her book and across the breadth of the hearth where Dillon was stretched out on the length of the couch. His brows frowned in concentration, the thick book standing on end in the center of his chest, lost in reading.

I love him. She felt like a bird caught on an uprising wind, lifting her frighteningly fast and far from the solid, reliable earth. Drawing her so far up, where she’d never flown before.

She loved a thousand things about him. He was handsome and gentle and as steadfast as the mountains. He was shy and confident, all at once. He was strong and smart and good-hearted. He made her content just to be in the same room with him. He made her feel with a part of her she didn’t know existed. So new and fragile.

He turned the page with a rustle of paper that warred with the pleasant crackle of the fire. She looked around the room, sparse and in need of a woman’s touch, but it was snug on this cold winter’s eve. It was home.