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Connor shrugged in answer, standing up and straightening his clothes like he was ready to go. “What are we waiting for then?”
I packed a full bottle of thick red wine and two glasses into an insulated saddle bag, along with two of the cinnamon rolls that my dad made that morning, matches, and two thick blankets for picnicking in the cold. It would be nice to be out in the fresh air and a little riding would do me some good, I thought. When my mom was still alive, we would travel to every horse show in the county, barrel racing, and trail riding until each day was done and we fell asleep smelling of horses and crisp hay. It had been years and years since I had ridden a horse, but I knew it was like riding a bike. I could never forget it. Connor pulled on his coat and boots and I did the same, bundled in my scarf and hat.
Once we got to the barn he waited by the stables as I pulled Strawberry and Merlin from their respective stalls. I brushed and saddled them both, and then helped Connor put his feet in the stirrups to climb up into the saddle’s seat. He looked good on the sweet, old, roan mare, I decided as I climbed onto Merlin’s back, patting the black, fuzzy winter coat across the gelding’s shoulder. Connor gave me the thumbs up, and we left the barn, walking slowly to warm the horses’ legs up and then trotting as soon as we were far enough away. Connor held the reins awkwardly, but Strawberry took it in stride, following Merlin wherever I steered him. Soon, we reached the forest trail and we walked until we reached an opening to a little meadow, canopied by towering oaks and curved by a bubbling little stream. There, I tied the horses, pulling out their bits and letting them drink the water and chew at the dry grass.
“My ass hurts,” Connor complained, rubbing at the seat of his pants as I spread the blanket beneath a tree, making sure it wasn’t wet where I laid the flannel fabric. “Who knew riding a horse could be so painful.”
“You get used to it eventually, it’s a process,” I told him, grinning. “Some wine might help that bruise. You want to start a fire?”
“Do I look like a guy who knows how to start a fire, Sadie?” Connor snorted, plopping down on the blanket next to me as I pulled out the wine bottle and food.
I laughed, shrugging. “Can you gather some wood then? Just some small, dry branches. We won’t be here that long, but I want to be warm.”
“Got it,” Connor proclaimed, saluting me as he headed off beneath the trees.
A chill of wind swept over the meadow and I pulled out the matches just as Connor dumped a pile of twigs beside the blanket. I moved them far enough away and stuffed dry grass beneath them on the patch of dirt, striking a match. It went out and I huffed, striking another, which also proceeded to burn out quickly in my hand. I huffed, throwing the box down.
“Can I try that? I put it in the grass bundle, right?” Connor asked, grabbing the box of matches. I nodded and watched as he carefully covered the burning match and stuffed it into the pile of twigs. The flame caught and smoke rose as the fire began to burn, warming our little area.
I grinned, bumping his leg in appreciation. “Wow, we might just make a farm boy out of you, yet.”
Connor warmed his hands, and I poured the wine, pushing his cinnamon roll over to him. He took it and his glass and drank half of his wine in one go. I raised my eyebrows, blinking at him. “Is something wrong, Connor?”
“I like it here, that’s all,” he told me quietly. He reached for the other blanket, unfolding it and laying it over our legs. “I don’t want to leave. I see why you don’t like the city when you have this to compare it to.”
I took a bite of my cinnamon roll and scooted closer to him, sharing his warmth beneath the blanket. I put my legs over his. “I like the peace of the countryside. I grew up here and it’s a part of me, part of what makes me whole.”
“I never had anything that really made me feel like that, something that gave me a sense of purpose and desire, you know,” Connor murmured. He glanced at me and then looked away, watching the little fire dance with heat in the cold. “Not until now, anyway.”
I took a deep breath, and my hand shook around the thin stem of the wine glass. I downed it all in one, long swallow. I squeezed my hand to stop the shaking and ran my fingers over the soft skin of Connor’s hand, brushing his skin softly and with intent. He looked over at me and when I nodded in confirmation, I could see the blatant desire in his eyes, burning in his gaze. In one short move, he moved us closer to the fire and laid me down on the blanket, pulling the other one over us. I pulled him down to me and he pushed his tongue into my mouth, brushing it wantonly against my own.
