Page 82 of Quiver

She smiled. “That’s a tall order, Bouchard, but sure. If you make it through unscathed, I’ll let you have the class without any more protests.”

Fletcher blew out a low whistle. “No protest at all? Are you even capable of such a thing?”

“About as capable as you are of sitting in a chair for an hour while I touch all your stuff.”

She laughed, a low, rolling sound of pleasure that felt better than the twinge it caused in her side. “I guess if we’re capable of compromising, anything else must at least be in the realm of possibility.”

Chapter Nineteen

“Why don’t you bring Gabrielle out first?” Fletcher called from her perch in the center of the arena.

“You mean Winston?” Kylie called.

“No, I mean Gabrielle.”

Kylie walked back toward the lawn chair she’d dug out of the storage closet and set up like some ringmaster’s throne like maybe she’d still misheard.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Fletcher said calmly. “You and I aren’t the only people who need more practice. I want her to spend more time in the arena when we’re working.”

Kylie pursed her lips, and it looked like she might break their no-fighting goal before they’d even had a chance to get started, but when she finally spoke, she said, “You want her on a halter?”

“Yes. Secure her to one of the rails but give her enough lead so she can watch you no matter where you ride.”

“Okay.” Both her tone and her body language radiated tension, and Fletcher couldn’t blame her. They were all cutting against their grain in a myriad of ways this morning, but as she left, Fletcher found she did trust her, which was a rather strange sensation. She didn’t know if it was a trauma response or maybe a function of waking up together, but she hadn’t felt the urge to hold Kylie at arm’s length today, which, in turn, seemed to kill Kylie’s impulse to lob verbal attacks. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe such a truce could last indefinitely, nor was she sitting around waiting for it to fall apart, and without diverting so much energy into defense, she couldn’t help but notice how nice it felt just to exist with someone else.

No. Not anyone else. With Kylie.

Maybe she had hit her head. She gave it a little shake to make sure nothing rattled. Then she smiled at the silliness, but it wasn’t as if logic could make sense of such a transformation.

“All right, here’s your girl.” Kylie led Gabrielle and Winston into the arena side by side. “And my good boy.”

Winston stepped a little taller under his saddle, no doubt thrilled he was about to be ridden while the younger mare stood idly by. He and Kylie were such a good fit for each other, regal, confident, and vain, but never to be overlooked in their will or their ability.

Once Gabrielle was secured, Kylie swung onto Winston with the usual grace and power Fletcher had not yet grown inured to. Her mouth still went a little dry as Kylie worked him through his paces, starting slow and easy, taking time to find her seat and allowing him to get used to working together after time apart. Then she simply suggested he move to a trot, a little squeeze of her thighs, a loosening of the reins, and Winston obliged. The similarities between how she rode and how she’d communicated over the last few days were hard to ignore. Fletcher had forgotten Kylie was capable of such a light touch, but now that she remembered, she found it impossible not to respond in much the same way as the horse. It was hard to be stubborn in the face of such a soft need. She didn’t have anything to push back against, nothing except the rapidly fading lessons of the past.

She gritted her teeth. Wasn’t this exactly what she’d been afraid of? As much as the constant fighting exhausted her and led to its own kind of lapses, she’d at least stayed secure in her resolve not to get burned again. Kylie’s recent warmth could still lead to the same kind of flame, only it didn’t feel nearly as threatening, which of course made it more dangerous.

Kylie adjusted her heels in the stirrups, only a slight outward turn, the subtlety nearly imperceptible, but Winston gave way as if it had been his idea, and maybe she’d convinced him it had been, because he broke into a smooth, easy canter. Kylie sat in the saddle as if she’d been glued to it, her hips rocking in rhythm, her upper body relaxed and ready, her hands quiet and steady, as only her auburn hair rolled out in waves on the breeze their own movement created.

“How you doing over there?” Kylie called as she passed.

Fletcher only managed to nod her unfettered approval.

“No notes?”

The question didn’t even make sense. She noted every detail of Kylie and the responses she sparked in her own body, but she couldn’t think of a single thing to comment on or complain about. What could she possibly add to such breathtaking perfection? Hell, she wasn’t sure she remembered how to teach or process or even speak her own name.

One thing was certain, however. She wasn’t in danger of breaking their pact, because as long as Kylie managed to keep riding like that, Fletcher had no intention of going anywhere.

“Bex and Ava are here,” Kylie called from her spot in front of the kitchen sink. They’d finished a relatively full morning in the arena for the third day in a row, and so far Fletcher barely chafed at her restrictions. Kylie couldn’t tell if she was still hoping to get time off for good behavior, or if maybe she felt worse than she let on. Judging from the way Fletcher had stretched out on the couch after lunch, Kylie suspected the latter, but she hadn’t nodded off. Instead, they’d been discussing plans for the days ahead, and Fletcher had seemed hopeful Bex’s arrival might bring good news on that front.

She sat up with only a slight intake of breath. “Maybe she’ll clear me to bathe.”

“Maybe she’ll give you a sponge bath herself.”

Fletcher grimaced much worse than she had when engaging her abs a second earlier. “Pass.”

Kylie laughed. “Might not be all bad. She’s apparently got good hands, and she’s incredibly good-looking.”