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“Not exactly true. I rode one at a birthday party when I was five.”
“That was probably a pony.” This is where Drew usually would have inserted a joke about Maisie’s short stature, but she found it didn’t set the tone she was going for that day. Not that she planned to take down all her internal fences, but maybe they didn’t need quite so much barbed wire on them, either. “The idea for riding him is the same, though. All you have to do is sit in the saddle and hold on. Tarzan will take care of the rest, with some help from Stormy and me.”
“But—” Maisie gestured at the horse as if lacking the words to express how completely out of her comfort zone this was.
“I was going to save this as a surprise for later, but…” Drew paused for dramatic effect. “I got a big bag of cinnamon bears for dessert.”
It just so happened Drew had recently discovered this particular weakness of Maisie’s, and she was not above using it to her advantage.
“Liar! I ate the last one yesterday.” Maisie clamped her mouth shut but too late to keep the confession from escaping. “Sorry, but they’re really good.”
“I still can’t believe you’d never had them before.” Drew flashed a devilish smile. “But you only think you ate the last one. I stashed a brand-new bag just for this.”
“For what, the picnic?”
“More like for general instances of bribery.” Drew shrugged. “I raised Hannah. I know how to deal with a petulant child.”
“Me?” Maisie stuck her hands on her hips, assuming what Drew had come to think of as her fighting stance. Some people liked to do battle with their fists in the air. Maisie’s weapon of choice was words.
“Settle down.” Drew wasn’t looking for an argument, especially not over something as silly as candy.
What are you looking for?
That was a fair question to ask herself, and another one for which she didn’t have an answer ready. However things had been between them in Las Vegas, what she and Maisie had now was a business deal, plain and simple. So why had she taken the day off and planned for what anyone else looking in from the outside would surely think was a date?
Maybe because part of her wished it could be. Which really raised the question, why would Drew do that to herself? Why set herself up for heartbreak by going after a woman who was only passing through and, who by all indications, wasn’t even interested in dating a woman, at least beyond a Vegas fling?
Drew didn’t have an answer. All she knew was being around Maisie was different than any relationship she’d had before. It wasn’t just the romantic type she was thinking of. The companionship between them was unlike any friendship Drew had experienced, either. Or family, for that matter. It was completely unique and immensely satisfying. Losing that was going to hurt like hell. So why did she seem so intent on digging in deeper and making it hurt even worse?
Perhaps this picnic was a terrible idea. It didn’t matter. Drew still wanted to go. The sooner they were on their way, the sooner she could relax and enjoy the ride instead of tormenting herself with this police-level interrogation her brain was waging.
“Here’s a proper cowboy hat for the ride.” Drew placed a hat, similar to her own but not as beat-up, on Maisie’s head. It also happened to be a youth size, but once again Drew refrained from teasing Maisie about this fact. “That’ll keep the sun off your head. Now, it’s time to get you up on your horse.”
Maisie eyed the saddle like it was as unreachable as the summit of Mt. Everest. “How?”
“I’ll give you a hand.” Drew untied Tarzan’s reins from the post, gathering them up in her left hand. She double-checked the cinch on the saddle and nodded with satisfaction. “Should be all set. Come stand over here so I can give you the reins.”
Maisie moved closer but remained at least a foot away from both the horse and Drew. She reached for the reins, but Drew shook her head.
“You won’t be able to reach from that far away unless you’re planning on pole-vaulting.” Putting her right arm out, Drew grasped Maisie’s shoulder and pulled her in close, positioning her so she stood even with Tarzan’s foreleg, her back pressed to Drew’s chest. “A lot of people try to get on from the middle, but that’s a mistake. If you’re standing there, and a horse decides he doesn’t like you—not saying Tarzan will do this, but as a rule—well, he’s gonna lift that front leg there and give you a swift kick.”
Drew shifted the reins from her hand to Maisie’s, instantly feeling the woman’s breathing intensify as she continued to hold her from behind in a semi-embrace.
“Take it easy,” she murmured in the same calming voice she would use on a spooked animal. By way of example, Drew inhaled, deliberately and slowly, breathing in the sweet, fresh scent of berries from Maisie’s hair. Drew swallowed, trying to focus on the task at hand and not the rush of sensation threatening to burst her flood gates. “Snug up on the reins so you have control.”
“Like this?” Maisie tightened the reins, and Tarzan lifted a leg to take a step backward. Maisie squeaked but didn’t let go.
“Ease up just a tiny bit. If you pull back too much, it’s like putting a car in reverse.” Drew watched while Maisie adjusted her hold on the reins. “Good. Hold it there, but now I want you to take that same hand and grab some mane.”
“I can’t pull his hair!” Though Maisie was facing away from her, Drew could hear the horror in her voice.
“Relax, darlin’. A mane’s not the same as pulling a person’s hair.” Drew traced a finger across Maisie’s auburn locks, releasing another whiff of berries that nearly left her breathless. “It doesn’t feel any different than this to him. I promise. But if you don’t have a good grip, and he starts to move, it can get dangerous. Will you trust me?”
Maisie hesitated, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Okay.”
“Good. Grasp that mane, and I’m going to turn the stirrup around so you can reach it from here.” Drew edged away from Maisie, the air feeling cold against her chest as soon as she’d removed herself from the warmth of Maisie’s body. But now was not the time to contemplate the instant feeling of loss it brought on. She had a girl to get on a horse. “You’re gonna put your left foot in the stirrup and grip the saddle horn with your right hand, okay?”
“Like this?” Maisie lifted her left leg to the stirrup but missed. “Oh, shoot. I’m too short.”
