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When I don’t answer, he simply chuckles, shakes his head, and gestures for me to follow him.
I step off the deck and traipse across a small, sparsely green yard with patches of mud and sporadic puddles. The dew from the overgrown grass soaks through the bottoms of my jeans and wets the tops of my feet, exposed in my turquoise Tieks, as I trail behind him toward the barn. The gray wood is cracked and decaying near the foundation, and I look up, seeing the hay door open near the roof of the barn, but the main doors on the bottom are still closed. Before we reach the entrance, he veers left and slides open the door of a lower, attached structure, and I follow him over the threshold and immediately smell the familiar scent of the animals. It’s a stable.
He heads down to the third stall, and I hang back as he opens it, bringing out a brown mare with some paint markings down her snout and on her legs from the knees to the heels. She’s already saddled, and I look down at my flats, frosted with mud around the sole of the shoes. I have sneakers in my room, but if I stay, I’ll need to get some work boots in town.
And soon.
Taking the reins, he leads the horse out of the stable, and I follow, seeing Noah walk up to us and toss a couple of shovels into a pile next to the barn.
“Oh, my God, are you okay?” he blurts out, looking at me worried. “Was there an animal attack I didn’t know about?”
What?
And then I see his bewildered stare drop, and I follow his gaze, seeing the purposeful tears and shreds of my designer skinny jeans that my family’s personal shopper put in my closet a few weeks ago.
Slices of thigh peer out between shreds of dark-washed material, and Jake laughs under his breath as I look back up to see a lopsided smile on Noah’s cocky face.
I lock my jaw and look away.
He’s teasing. I’m just not in the mood.
Of course, I haven’t been in the mood for years, so I guess this is who I am now.
I tuck my hair behind my ear, and he eventually passes, his lips tight with the laugh he’s holding in.
“Tiernan,” Jake calls.
I walk over to where my uncle stands on the other side of the horse and follow his lead as he holds the stirrup toward me. Reaching up, I fist the reins in one hand and grab hold of the saddle in the other, slipping my left foot into the stirrup. Hoisting myself up, I swing my leg over and straddle the horse, fitting my other shoe into the right stirrup. It’s a perfect fit. I don’t need him to adjust anything. I haven’t asked what we’re doing or where we’re going, knowing it doesn’t really matter. I won’t argue.
I look around for his horse, but then, all of a sudden, he’s pulling himself up and plopping down right behind me.
What is he doing?
“I said I know how to ride,” I tell him.
But he reaches in front of me and takes the reins, forcing me to let them go. I grip the horn of the saddle with both hands, scooching up as far as I can, because he’s right there, and I’m practically in his lap.
My heart starts beating a little harder as irritation crawls under my skin. “I don’t need help,” I tell him.
He only clicks his tongue and nudges the horse, setting us off around the barn. We round the wooden fence and gallop into the forest as the horse climbs the steep hill, sending us under the shade of the trees, and I squeeze my fists around the horn to try to keep myself from sliding backward.
But as much as I try, I still feel his body there.
The day grows darker as the trees shield us from the sun, and the air cools, but something pleasant stirs at the feel of the animal under me. Her muscles working against my legs to get us up the hill. My pulse starts to race a little, but I don’t hate it. A little refreshing, actually. He’s solid behind me, and I feel secure. For the moment.
“Are you uncomfortable?” he asks.
His voice vibrates against my back.
But I don’t answer.
“Are you comfortable?” he presses instead.
Still, I stay silent. What does it matter anyway? He imposed himself despite my protest. Will it matter if I’m comfortable with him on the horse or not?
He doesn’t care. He just wants a response out of me.
His sigh hits my ear. “Yeah, your father could piss me off without saying much, too.”
