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He prepared the second horse, an even bigger one than Dollar, and all black.
Then he handed me a lead rope and took my hand. We walked out of the barn, across a small worn patch of dirt, and into a small round pen. "We'll just go in circles until you feel comfortable, and then after we can go for a short ride down to the pond. How's that sound?"
"I'm game." He pulled a green step stool over and helped me mount the horse. I felt the muscles between my legs stretch and immediately understood Finn's earlier meaning. If we'd had sex this morning and then I'd gotten on a horse, I could see how painful my inner thigh muscles would feel. The horse was as obedient and gentle as Finn promised. Finn held my reins and led Dollar around in circles while I got used to the roll and pitch of the horse's gait.
"You want to use your thighs," he instructed. "Squeeze tighter if you want to go faster. Pull up on the reins and say 'ho' if you want him to stop."
We practiced a few times until I felt comfortable. When Finn felt that I'd done enough circles, he opened a gate into a large expanse of green grass—it wasn't well-manicured like a golf course but more like a field w
ith brown patches amongst small new growth. We walked the horses slowly away from the house and barns.
"What do you think?" he asked. Obvious pride showed in the wide smile and his beautiful eyes.
I think I love you. Out loud, I said, "It's great and not as hard as I remembered."
He took me across the pasture with its slight dips and valleys, pointing out the property line and ending at a large pond. It was a Grant Wood painting without the rows of corn or hay but beautiful nonetheless. I see why he loved it. The zip lines above the water were gone, but there was a rope swing tied to a large tree and an unnaturally high mountain of rocks.
I itched to draw it, him, everything.
Finn helped me off the horse, tucked the reins around the saddle horn, and let the two horses free to graze. As soon as there wasn't a horse or Finn to lean against, my knees buckled. "Holy shit." I laughed. "I must be really out of shape if one ride is making me too weak to stand on my own two feet."
"It's probably me, but it's okay if you want to blame the horse for your weakness over my good looks." He grinned and lifted me into his arms like I weighed nothing and carried me down to the small strip of sand at the water's edge. I could get very used to this.
"I had no idea that horseback riding was so physical," I commented, rubbing my inner thighs as discreetly as possible. "Do you ride a lot?" It would explain his thighs of steel. He picked up a piece of grass, licked the side, and then held it between his thumbs. Blowing against it, a sharp whistle sounded. The ears of the horses perked up.
"Not as much now. Too busy, but before my dad died, I rode on the weekends. Sometimes I'd come out during the week. It's relaxing."
"I like it out here," I told him. "It's quiet and beautiful. I'd like to bring my sketchbook."
"I can pose nude for you too," he offered helpfully.
Laughing, I said, "Somehow I don't think I'd get anything accomplished."
"You would, but it probably wouldn't be art." He winked. I couldn't stop my blush, but I smiled back because, hell, who wouldn't when looking at his happy face. He pulled a blanket and a thermos out of a saddlebag. I helped him spread the blanket, and we sat close together facing the pond.
He was sprawled on his side, resting his upper body on a bent elbow and I sat with my knees up so I could rest my chin against them. His free arm rested around my waist, and as we sat in the silent morning watching the sun rise, I couldn't think of a happier time in my life.
"Besides the work at Atra, what else are you doing?"
"Freelance work, like I told you before. Even though the firm laid me off, they still have me do small stuff like designing a newsletter or small graphics. I was doing some catalog work for another company, but they moved that to some big agency in Chicago."
"Is that stressful? Always hustling to get more jobs?"
I nodded. "It can be. Tucker wants me to give it all up and work at Atra full time."
"What's that entail?"
"I'd have to apprentice for several months, and I wouldn't get paid anything more than I do now for my art until I start inking on my own."
"How much more would you make?"
"A lot." I picked a few pieces of grass and started weaving them together. "Tucker pays fifty percent to his artists for any tattoo work that they do."
"But you're reluctant," he concluded.
Anyone else who'd asked, I would've given some flippant answer. With the early morning sun making everything look golden and perfect and his long, muscled body bracketing mine, I found I couldn't taint the moment with a lie.
"I'm scared," I admitted quietly.
