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I knew the little brawler would be the most likely candidate for the only Jackson sister to like me.
When Eliza steps back, Jackson takes her place, slipping an arm around my waist, his hip bumping mine gently. I look up just in time to catch Jackson mouthing a 'thank you' in his youngest sister's direction.
The other three—or two, actually, considering Lottie has already slunk off somewhere, flaming hair nowhere to be seen—aren’t quite as welcoming. They’re not rude or anything. Well, Grace isn’t; she’s just quiet, I think, like Jackson.
Lux, however, is another story. A frowning, sullen story.
As we walk inside the house, I catch Jackson digging her in the ribs and whispering what I'm assuming is hushed reprimand. Eliza must notice it too, because she casts me an apologetic glance and links her arm through mine. “She's not as scary as she looks. Promise.”
One out of four.
Not bad.
* * *
He's trying to kill me.
Jackson is absolutely trying to kill me. He even laughs when I say as much, the mischievous grin on his face only confirming his nefarious intentions.
“You'll be fine.”
I snort, and when the monstrosity next to me snorts too, I reign in a flinch. The big bastard can probably smell fear.
“Are horses supposed to be that big?” Surely not. It must be some kind of super-breed because the thing is fucking massive. As tall as Jackson, maybe even taller, and ripped. Can a horse be ripped? Because this one is. I'm also not sure if a horse can be pretty, but the beast kind of is. A sleek black coat from head to hoof, so shiny that it glints in the sun.
Pretty, muscly, scary bastard.
“This breed is,” Jackson answers my somewhat rhetorical question, giving his big friend a pat.
Clyde.
Clyde the horse.
Clyde the Clydesdale, to be specific. Eliza named him, she told me proudly. She also told me that he's the newest rescue Lux saved from a hoarded situation; she does that a lot, I learned. The youngest Jackson showed me pictures of what Clyde looked like before they cleaned him up, and it gave me a newfound kind of respect for this place, and the horse.
But, no matter how beat up the poor guy may have once looked and how that may have tugged at my heartstrings just a little, it did not make me sad enough to find him any less terrifying.
“I'm not riding that.”
“You'll be perfectly safe.”
“How the fuck am I even supposed to get up there?”
Jackson gestures to a step ladder perched nearby.
Crap. “I can't do it.”
“Yes, you can.” He hooks a finger around the belt loop of my jeans—extra tight because apparently friction and horse riding don't mix—and tugs me forward. “You told me you wanted to learn.”
“I told you I wanted to learn how to ride ahorse. That's not a horse.”
“Come on.” Jackson yanks me closer, bending until his lips hover over my fluttering pulse. “Please. For me?”
A soft sigh escapes me, my hands going to his hips to steady myself. “You're playing dirty.”
Teeth graze my skin as he chuckles. “Is it working?”
“Absolutely.”
