Page 43 of Quiver

Shivering, she pulled up short when Fletcher stopped next to Winston’s stall and said, “Saddle him up.”

“What?”

“You want to work, and you love to ride. If we’re going to spend more time together, we all have to kick things up a notch.”

“Are we going to spend more time together?”

Fletcher sighed so hard it lifted a couple of dark curls off her forehead. “I suppose we ought to at least try.”

She should’ve probably accepted the offer while it was on the table, but the part of her that never could leave well enough alone blurted out, “What changed?”

Fletcher laughed. “Nothing. That’s the whole point. We’re not nice girls. We never have been. We’re both obsessed and driven and temperamental, and neither one of us has ever been able to shake the habits we built without meaning to when we were fifteen. We also happen to be with the only person in our lives who gets those things on a level that transcends judgment. Why the hell not lean into it?”

“Lean into it?”

Fletcher pointed from Kylie to the horse and back again. “You want to blur the lines between sanity and obsession? You don’t do it part time. You said the bomb could drop at any moment? Then we’ll work at any time, unless this was all your flair for the dramatic kicking up when it didn’t need to.”

She shook her head quickly. “No. I want this role, my career, my dignity, everything.”

“Not everything,” Fletcher corrected. “You’re not ever going to get everything, but if this is your choice, let’s go.”

She stared at those dark eyes for a second longer than she had let herself so far, feeling the stirring desire for that elusive everything, but knowing better than to believe it possible. There was an offer on the table, a better one than she expected or deserved, and for the first time, gratitude overwhelmed defiance.

“Thank you.”

Chapter Nine

“This won’t happen quickly,” Fletcher called as Kylie sat astride Winston in the middle of the arena. She tried to sound firm and commanding, when really the sight of her there, proud and strong again, stirred a swirl of emotions she had to hide behind the façade of work once more. “Even on the accelerated path, we can’t cut the total number of hours it will take to bring you up to speed, literally.”

“But we can put more of those hours into a single day, right?” Kylie asked as she turned slightly in the saddle to face her and Bear, who stood close by her side.

“Something like that. You’re able to fatigue muscles you haven’t used in a while only so much. We can shoot, and then we can ride, and then we can combine the two.”

“Arm day, followed by leg day,” Kylie summarized. “I’m familiar.”

“Except more like arm morning, leg afternoon, and combo evenings. We’ll run this more like a training camp than a gym program. You need to eat well, and sleep, and for the love of all things holy, hydrate or die.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Kylie laughed. “I know this means nothing to you, but I’ve been on and off Broadway for years. I dance, I sing, I do two-show days and then wake the next morning for Good Morning America. I’m not afraid of work.”

It didn’t mean nothing to her. She’d always been impressed by Kylie’s work ethic. Even in high school, she’d known someone so pretty could’ve slid by without trying nearly as hard as she did. The only part of her still rebelling against what they were doing together was the part that had spent the last decade believing Kylie would never put in that kind of effort for her. Then again, Kylie wasn’t doing any of this for Fletcher, a fact she needed to remember, no matter what came next.

“Let’s start with a trot around the ring.”

Kylie leaned down and patted Winston’s neck. “You heard the boss woman, old man. Don’t let me down.”

Then she urged him forward. She didn’t rush, giving them both time to make a few minor adjustments, nor did she linger before using only her thighs to coax more out of her mount. And in the moment, Winston did seem like hers. He responded like the much younger boy he’d been when they’d first worked together. He kept his head up and steady as he high-stepped beautifully around the arena.

Fletcher stood in the middle, turning slowly to track their progress in the full circle, doing everything in her mental power to focus on the minutia of positioning and poise, but even her most detached critical assessment merged completely with a deeper awareness that Kylie was stunning in the saddle. Her heels sank deep in the stirrups, calves and thighs flexing in an easy give-and-take rather than a battle for control, carriage upright, hands quiet, auburn waves shimmering down her back.

Okay, maybe her hair didn’t have any bearing on their training, but Fletcher had always admired the cascading waves. At fifteen, she’d ached to touch them every bit as much as any other part of her body, but, then again, that was before she’d understood a great many things about the rest of her body.

“Ready to move on to a canter?” Kylie called as she completed her second lap.

Fletcher froze for a second, trying to process the question and doubting her own readiness for anything more than she’d already agreed to. She was a professional, a teacher, a trainer with an intense eye for detail and superior focus, but in less than five minutes of watching this woman ride, she’d lost all sense of neutrality and let her mind wander right down the most dangerous of memory lanes.