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“When you’re out riding the line, your horse is your best friend,” Jackson said. “You need to bond with them, and the process of tacking and untacking them is part of that bonding. The horse has to trust you. How much ridin’ you done?”
“Not much.” Wyatt’s voice tickled over his skin in a familiar way Jackson both liked and hated. He turned to face him, still annoyed Wyatt was taller than him and unsure why. “It’s all been supervised, no range riding or anything like that.”
“Can you at least mount the horse? You got the long legs for it, but you seem to have a bit of a problem stayin’ on your feet.”
“Yes, I can mount a horse.”
“Fantastic. Show me.” Jackson stepped closer to Juno’s head and held on to the halter just in case Wyatt did something to startle her.
Wyatt stared at the saddle for a long moment, as if he could teleport himself onto it if he tried hard enough. Jackson waited, aware of Michael nearby untacking his own horse and watching them at the same time. Both their dogs were sniffing around the stalls, not paying their humans or the horses any attention. Jackson couldn’t look away from the intriguing wannabe-cowboy who’d yet to mount the horse in front of him.
“Should we go outside to do this?” Wyatt asked.
He’s stalling.
“Ceiling’s plenty high in here,” Jackson replied. “Show me what you got, Wilson.”
Wyatt narrowed his eyes, the rebellious twenty-year-old in him rising to the challenge Jackson had purposely thrown down. He put his left foot in the stirrup, which should be at a good height for him since they were adjusted for Jackson, grabbed the pommel with one hand and the back of the saddle with the other. Not the best way but Jackson wasn’t here to critique him yet. Just observe.
Jackson counted four bounces on Wyatt’s right foot before he pushed off the ground. He managed to get his stomach across the saddle, lost his left foot’s hold on the stirrup, and ended up sort of flopped across the saddle, long legs dangling. Michael snorted. Jackson covered his eyes with one hand and groaned.
Wyatt slid back down to his feet with a thump. “That, um, didn’t work.”
“Wanna answer my question again?” Jackson reached for the saddle strap, over this particular exercise. He had chores to do before clocking out for the day.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I can’t mount a horse without a little help.”
“Good. You need to remember one thing, and that’s don’t lie to us about what you know and what you can do. That’s a fast ticket to a broken neck, kid.” He pulled the saddle off and thrust it at Wyatt. “Hold this. Don’t drop it.”
“You aren’t going to teach me to mount?” Wyatt’s perfectly innocent tone poked at Jackson’s temper—and the part of him that was still attracted to the guy, damn it.
Jackson fixed him with a cold glare, impressed that Wyatt didn’t flinch or back down. “Not today.” If there was a God, Brand would assign someone else to teach Wyatt everything he needed to know, and then Jackson could do his very best to avoid the tempting little brat.
Okay, not little. Very tall, very grown-up. Still a fucking brat.
“Watch what I’m doin’,” Jackson snapped as he continued to untack Juno. He talked Wyatt through the steps as he did them, which was ass-backward to how he’d normally teach someone but this also wasn’t an official lesson. Just him doing a favor for Hugo while they waited for the boss to get back.
He showed Wyatt where everything was stored in the tack room, then went over every single thing in the room. Every hook and shelf, where to find the saddle soap, rags, and other things. Michael came in once with his own stuff, and he gave Jackson a curious look but didn’t offer up any commentary. Maybe Jackson was being a little anal about things, but he’d worked here longer than the other hands, and everything in the tack room had its place. Might as well get Wyatt used to the way things were done from the start.
Then he grabbed two brushes, took Wyatt back out to Juno, and showed him how he preferred to brush down his animal. They needed to ensure their horse was free of sweat and dirt and comfortable until the next time they took him or her out to ride. Jackson did his best to explain those things as they worked, concentrating on the sharp smell of horse and not the faint scent of Wyatt when he got too close. Some combination of shaving soap and deodorant that was both earthy and spicy, and way too appealing.
“When do we take the bridle off?” Wyatt asked.
Jackson inspected the horse’s flank where Wyatt had been brushing her. “After she’s in her stall. And it’s a halter, not a bridle. The bridle uses a bit, and we don’t usually use those unless the horses are around strangers or the public. They don’t need them.”
“Oh.”
“You should have spent a few more hours on the internet before you interviewed, kid.”
Wyatt bristled. “I’m not a kid.”
“You’re half my age. You’ll always be a kid.”
“Half? Yikes. You’re old.”
Jackson bit back a growl when he saw Wyatt’s teasing smile. “Watch it. Let’s get Juno into her stall and hope Brand is back with an idea on where to store you for the night.”
“No more rooms left at the inn?”
