Page 55 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

“You look like you were born in that saddle,” Dalton said, moving up beside me.

I glanced at him, grinning. “Feels like it sometimes. God, I missed this.”

“Where’d you learn?” he asked.

“Family farm,” I said. “Dad got stationed at Nellis for three years when I was in high school. Longest we’d ever stayed anywhere, actually. Mom was so excited to finally unpack all our boxes that she went a little crazy with the whole ‘putting down roots’ thing.”

The trail curved gently to the right. Dalton was getting the hang of it pretty quickly. I knew he would. He was just one of those guys that would be good at anything he tried.

I guided Mac around a low-hanging branch, ducking slightly. “I’d get up before dawn every day and ride out into the desert. Sometimes I’d pack a lunch and stay out there for hours.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“It was peaceful,” I corrected. “I’d never had that before. We’d always lived on base, surrounded by people and noise.”

We fell into a rhythm, the horses walking side by side. I didn’t know if Martha and Joe rode a lot, but the horses seemed to know the trail pretty well. I snuck glances at Dalton out of the corner of my eye. His posture was still a little stiff, but he was relaxing. He looked like he might actually be enjoying it.

We stopped beneath a canopy of apple blossoms. The wind kicked up, catching the petals and sending them swirling through the air like confetti. I slid out of the saddle, holding on to the reins.

Dalton dismounted more easily than he’d gotten on, once again proving he would be good at anything he did. For a moment, we just stood there taking in the beauty. Some of the trees had already lost their blossoms and little fruit was budding.

He reached out and plucked a blossom from my hair. “You’ve got something…”

“Yeah?” I asked, not moving. Not breathing.

“Right there,” he said. His fingers brushed my cheek in a touch so gentle it short-circuited my brain. Yesterday, the man had been aggressive and demanding. I loved it. But the gentle Dalton was also nice.

He kissed me. It was soft and sweet, completely different from the desperate hunger we’d shared yesterday. This was tender, exploratory, like he was savoring the moment instead of devouring it. His lips moved against mine, his tongue gently demanding entry. I melted into him, my hands finding the solid warmth of his chest.

When we finally broke apart, I was breathless. His thumb traced my lower lip.

“That was different,” I said. “Good different.”

He smiled that rare, genuine smile that transformed his entire face. “Yeah. Good different.”

The horses had wandered a few feet away, content to graze on the sweet grass beneath the trees. My heart was pounding in my chest. I was buzzing with arousal but not in a way that demanded I throw him on the ground and straddle him. His kiss had undone me in the best way.

“We should head back,” I said, though I made no move to step away from him.

“Should we?” His hands found my waist, pulling me closer.

“Martha and Joe are probably wondering where we are.”

“They’re probably taking bets on whether I fall off the horse on the way back.”

I laughed. “You’re doing great. Natural born horseman.”

“Right. That’s me.”

“I could live in this moment forever,” I said honestly.

He looked at me, really looked at me, and something deep in his expression shifted. “I could, too,” he said, almost too softly to hear.

But duty, like always, was calling. Our shift was in less than two hours. We rode back slowly, enjoying the quiet. I didn’t know what was happening to me and I wasn’t entirely sure I liked it. Cheryl warned me about falling for him. And dammit, that kiss pushed me right over the edge.

Back at the barn, we removed the saddles and brushed the horses down. Honeycrisp gave Dalton a fond nudge like she was telling him he did okay for a novice.

Martha walked into the barn with two glasses of cold lemonade and a look that said everything and nothing all at once. “You two are welcome back anytime. It’s good for the horses to get some exercise.”

“Thanks, Martha,” I said, flushing.

Dalton took a long drink and gave Honeycrisp one final pat before we got back in the truck and headed out.

He didn’t say much on the ride back, but when we pulled into the airfield, he reached across the seat and brushed his fingers against mine.

“I don’t do feelings,” he said. “But that didn’t feel like nothing.”

I stared at him. “No, it didn’t.”