Page 44 of The Fire Line

Jay put the camera away before Harris could reconsider. “Absolutely. I enjoy expert criticism, particularly when I suspect the expert may be wrong.”

“That happen often?”

“Constantly. Keeps life interesting.”

Harris disappeared into the barn and returned several minutes later with Rain.

The pale gray Appaloosa followed him into the corral without hesitation, her muzzle near his shoulder. The bandage was gone from Nell’s mare, though the hair around the healing cut had been clipped short.

“Claire cleared her?” Jay asked.

“Twenty minutes at a walk. No hills.”

“And you chose to spend them on me.”

“She’ll recover.”

Rain flicked an ear toward him, apparently withholding judgment.

Harris checked the saddle and adjusted the left stirrup before positioning her beside the fence. “Mount from this side.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you on the other one?”

Jay looked down at himself, then moved around Rain without comment.

Harris steadied her while Jay climbed onto the lower rail. “Keep your toe toward her shoulder when you swing over. Don’t kick her.”

“I have mounted horses before.”

“Seven years ago.”

“Some skills remain in the body.”

“Let’s find out.”

Jay mounted without striking Rain’s side and settled into the saddle with considerable dignity.

“You made it on,” Harris said.

“Your praise means everything to me.”

“Stirrups feel right?”

Jay shifted his feet. “Left might be short.”

Harris stepped closer and reached beneath Jay’s leg, closing one hand around his ankle while the other worked the buckle beneath the saddle flap.

Apparently ankles were sexual now. An exciting and impractical development.

Harris lengthened the leather by one hole, his grip steady around Jay’s boot while he worked. His head was level with Jay’s thigh, and when he bent, the collar of the henley shifted enough to expose the back of his neck and the lighter strip of skin usually hidden beneath his shirt.

Jay looked toward the far end of the corral before his professional judgment deteriorated further.

There was nothing suggestive in the way Harris handled him, which was probably the problem. His hands had a legitimate reason to be there, so he seemed entirely unconcerned with where they went—the same physical certainty he brought to tack, tools, and animals, redirected toward Jay’s body.

“Put your weight in it,” Harris said.