Sing to Me (The Highlands Book 1)

by Ali M. Cross

  “Oh yeah. You should definitely be able to mount her on your own. I’m surprised Jack’s been babying you like that.”

  “Um,” he said. He gathered the reins and pommel in his left hand and helped his foot into the stirrup. Sailor shifted and danced her feet. He stayed with her while Fiona openly grinned behind his back. The saddle started to slide toward him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He took the back of the saddle in his right hand and attempted to hoist himself up.

  Sailor stepped her rear end to the side while her saddle slipped almost to her belly and Nix landed with his back on the ground, his foot stuck in the stirrup. “Oof,” he said. Fiona burst out laughing.

  Nix glared at her from the dirt. “Can I get a hand?” he growled.

  “Oh sure,” Fiona said in a super friendly voice. She unhooked his foot from the stirrup and took the reins from him. Then she reached out to help him up.

  When his fingers wrapped around her hand and his palm met hers, a current ran up her arm and gave her heart a jolt. His eyes were so dark. Like Sailor’s. She didn’t like how he always seemed to see right through her, though. Didn’t like how she wanted to let him.

  She dropped his hand as soon as he was on his feet, and wiped her palm against the thigh of her jeans. “You need to tighten the girth strap.”

  “I did that.”

  “Well,” Fiona shrugged, “not tight enough, I guess.”

  “I guess,” Nix mumbled. “Come on, girl. Let’s get this done.” He straightened the saddle, flipped up the side flap and released the girth buckle, then pulled, his biceps bulging, until it was good and tight. He buckled it again. “That good enough?”

  Fiona hid behind Sailor so he couldn’t see her. She knew her face would give her away. “If it’s as tight as you can get it, then I guess it’s good enough,” she said, barely containing her laughter. She’d seen Sailor take that deep breath—and not release it—when Nix let out the buckle. “You’re a sneaky one, aren’t you? So young to be so devious. What do you have against him, hmm?” She was dimly aware, as she murmured to Sailor, that she might ask herself those questions—thank goodness no one expected her to answer.

  “Give it another try.”

  Nix sighed, wiped his hands on his thighs, and put his foot in the stirrup again. A little more cautiously this time, he grabbed hold of the pommel with both hands and lifted himself off the ground. For a moment he hung there before swinging his leg over—and then the saddle began to slip as Sailor released the air she held. As if in slow motion, the saddle—and Nix—slid around Sailor’s gut. He hung on until he was almost upside down. He tried to let go without falling but didn’t quite make it.

  Sailor frisked and pranced away as if she was free and couldn’t wait to get away from the man who wanted to tie her down. Fiona was a bit conflicted as to whether or not she should let her. In the end she gripped the reins and firmly told Sailor to stay put. The horse flicked her ears and slowed her fidgeting.

  “Shoot,” Fiona said. “Guess it wasn’t quite tight enough.”

  Nix lay sprawled on the ground, staring up at the sky. His hat had been knocked off during the fall and lay a few inches above his head, letting his mess of hair fall around his face. His skin was pale against all that dark hair, fine featured, with a strong jaw and straight nose. Almost Roman, Fiona thought. He was handsome. She could admit that, even while pretending to dislike him.

  But it was hard to keep her heart from beating a little quicker when he lay there looking so defeated. She didn’t like it. She needed him to fight. She wouldn’t kick a man while he was down. At least not more than once.

  “Come on,” she said. “You can’t give up now.” I’m not done humiliating you, she thought. Though she wasn’t so sure she wanted to anymore.

  Nix stood on his own, picked up his hat and used it to brush the dust and dirt off his body. Fiona watched him, fascinated, then felt like she’d been caught in a crime when he glanced at her.

  “What am I doing wrong?” he asked. He wasn’t whining; she couldn’t abide whining in men. Too many of the guys she’d known at school and at the Met were whiners. She loved how sensitive her costars were, how musical, how passionate about the way the music made them feel—but too many of them were overly sensitive. Growing up with her hard-working father and brothers had given her a certain appreciation of men who were Real Men. Men who could work in the cold or the heat, sun or rain, without complaining. Men. She had figured Nix, even though he was definitely not a master musician, to be more like her musician friends than like her brothers.

  Yet here he stood, his jaw set in a determined line, his hat straight on his head, his whole demeanor ready and willing, eager even, to learn how to conquer this saddling thing. It was the smallest of things, and yet . . .

  Fiona sighed. Fine, she thought. She could be the bigger person and call a truce. For the moment.

  “I DIDN’T KNOW SHE COULD TENSE HER MUSCLES AND hold her breath like that.” Nix stepped out of the way as Fiona just plowed on through between him and Sailor. “Jack never mentioned it.”

  “Does Jack do your saddle every time?” She leveled a look at him over her shoulder. He didn’t necessarily want to make an impression on her, but he certainly didn’t want to appear like a weakling. He figured she liked the strong, masculine type like her brothers and while he wasn’t going to go changing himself to suit any woman, it wouldn’t hurt to let her see that he was a grown man who could get stuff done.

  “I do the tack,” he reassured her. But then conceded, “But Jack checks it all over before I get on.” The realization that Sailor had been tricking him all this time—and that Jack had been covering for him—gave Nix a newfound respect for his dastardly horse. “You,” he said with an accusing tone and pointed finger. Sailor snorted.

  Fiona laughed. He heard the air grate over her tender vocal cords, but the sound was wonderful, just the same. He felt as if someone had just inflated a balloon in his chest and he stood a little straighter. “Okay, now watch,” she said. She angled her body, inviting Nix to stand beside her instead of behind her.

  She loosened the cinch and held the leather strap tight. Nix nodded. Then she lifted her knee and placed it against the softer part of Sailor’s gut. She jabbed her knee into Sailor’s belly while she pulled hard on the strap. In a flash she had it buckled.

  “What did you just do?” he asked, a bit mystified as he checked the strap. It was tighter than he’d ever been able to get it.

  “I put pressure on her bladder.” Fiona laughed again and patted Sailor’s neck as she walked toward her head. “I made her think about something else besides the strap, so she lost her concentration. She couldn’t think about tricking us while at the same time thinking about what I was doing to her bladder.” She held on to Sailor’s halter and looked into her eyes. “Poor girl. We beat you, didn’t we?”

  Nix stared at her dumbfounded. A bit pleased that Sailor looked as ticked off at Fiona as she had to him. And a bit mystified why Fiona’s use of the word “we” made him consider, for just a heartbeat, if there could be a “we.”

  “Try it now,” Fiona said, taking a step back.

  Suddenly even more anxious that he make a good impression on the feisty woman, Nix carefully got into position, then hoisted himself up. Sailor’s saddle stayed perfect still, barely moving at all.

  “Awesome,” Fiona said. She tossed the reins up to him and Sailor began sidestepping and prancing all about.

  “Thank you,” he called after Fiona, but she didn’t respond. He wanted to watch her get on her horse, but he had to focus on keeping Sailor from tossing him off. Before he knew it, Fiona had already taken the trail, calling for him to keep up.

  She moved swiftly through the gate, then turned right at the top of the pastures instead of continuing down toward the woods like Jack usually did. Nix was pleased to try something new and so he adjusted his seat and kept his concentration focused. He did not want to embarrass himself any more than he already
had and Sailor was in an especially frisky mood. He let his gaze sweep out over the valley with its gentle swells of land, pastures separated by wood fences with horses grazing in the yellowing grass. Beyond the pastures the woods rose, with their amber and gold leaves and the mountains rising behind them. It was stunning and filled Nix with a sense of being truly alive. He felt a little like Sailor, full of energy, and hoped Fiona would take them on a run. Jack rarely let them get above a trot, but Fiona seemed a bit more willing to test him.

  Instead, she slowed down.

  He caught up to her when they topped a trail working down into the valley, then waited for Fiona to start out so he and Sailor could follow. Fiona took the gentle slope as slowly and carefully as if it were the steepest hill in the state. Sailor was practically perched on the tip of her hooves straining to run down the hill. Nix held her back, saying, “Whoa, whoa,” under his breath as if it were a prayer. Sailor sidestepped back and forth and even once or twice rose up off her front hooves. All the while, Fiona and her horse moved ponderously slow down the hill.

  When they finally reached the bottom, sweat dripped into Nix’s eyes and he could feel Sailor twitching with tension. Surely now they were on the bottom Fiona would let them run. He wanted to, Sailor definitely wanted to—but Fiona just moved on down the path, slower than before.

  He watched the rump of her horse, sway right, then sway left, like a pendulum counting the minutes not the seconds. Every step, Sailor fought him. She walked sideways down the trail, or reared up to shake him off. Anything to get going, to be on the move—with or without her rider. Nix longingly gazed at the woods surrounding them. He was no longer at all sure what Fiona had in mind. So far they’d only meandered around the pastures. They’d passed more than a few paths that veered off toward the woods, with interesting topography and room to run, but every time she kept to the fence line. This had to be the simplest path the ranch had to offer and yet Jack hadn’t even started Nix and Sailor on it.

  He was about to say something about it, to get Fiona to take one of those paths into the woods, when her horse lurched forward. He watched as Fiona slumped over the horse’s neck and readied himself to rescue her, but she righted herself and pulled the horse to a stop. He tried to do the same, but ended up kind of dancing around Fiona—the best he could do with Sailor.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, trying desperately to appear as if he just wanted to stay busy and not at all like he was on the verge of falling off and being abandoned by his horse.

  Fiona’s face was as fierce as a storm cloud. She slid off her horse and walked around her, pausing at the right front leg. Nix watched as she dragged her hands down the leg, then frowned when the horse leaned away from Fiona and picked up her leg.

  “Darn it,” Fiona whispered under her breath.

  “What is it?”

  “She’s lame.”

  “Lame?” Nix felt pretty lame himself on his ADHD horse.

  Fiona sighed and stood. She looked around, then up at Nix. “I’m going to have to put her up here, and . . .” She looked around again, as if searching for an alternative. “I’m gonna have to ride back with you.” She frowned.

  Nix felt immensely powerful. The great Fiona MacDonald needed help from him.

  “So,” he hedged. “You need my help? I don’t want to be accused of forcing you to accept assistance you don’t need.” He immediately regretted his words because he knew they cut a little deeper than he intended.

  She stomped over to Sailor and grabbed hold of her halter, making her stand more or less in place. “Just help me up.”

  Fiona gestured impatiently for Nix to slide back in the saddle, then grabbed hold of the pommel and a chunk of Sailor’s mane. She started to hoist herself up but it wasn’t like she’d been riding every day for the past six years. She’d been focused on altogether different muscles and the feat of lifting herself onto the horse and swinging her leg over Sailor’s giant neck suddenly seemed as impossible as singing would be right now.

  Thankfully, Nix grabbed her under her arms and helped pull her up, though it burned her to have to rely on him. Then of course she was lying sideways over the saddle, angling close to Nix to avoid getting jammed in the ribs by the pommel and trying to think of how to get her leg over the darn horse so she could sit upright—and facing the right direction. It would have been uncomfortable riding behind the saddle, but she should have done that. Sucked it up and put up with the awkward ride back to the barn.Sailor’s rump was roomy enough.

  Instead, she was lying in Nix’s lap contemplating how to get turned around. To make matters worse, she was pretty sure Nix was laughing. She could feel him . . . jiggling. And he seemed to be quietly snorting. She would not give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him. Besides, he could barely ride a horse, he hardly had any right laughing at her just because she was having a hard time getting on.

  She leaned back and maneuvered herself into a half-seated position with her weight on her right hip. “Hang . . . on,” she muttered as she pressed her back against Nix’s chest. He was tall and solid behind her and it reassured her. She leaned way back so her head was on his shoulder as she lifted her leg and tried to get it over Sailor’s neck and the pommel. Her cheek came to rest on his bare neck. He smelled of leather and lemon and something darker, something spicier.

  She wanted to breathe him in, touch the hair that curled behind his ear. She wanted to tuck into him and let him put his arms all the way around her. She sat forward at the same moment Sailor decided to hop to the side. Fiona screeched as she felt herself jostled sideways. She was sure she’d be landing on her butt any second—but then Nix’s arms were around her, holding her in place.

  He laughed out loud this time, still holding on to her as Sailor pranced around like a dancer on pointe shoes. A very bad dancer with no rhythm or timing at all. “Sailor, give the lady a break, will you?” he asked, his voice rumbling through Fiona’s body.

  Sailor threw her head up and down as if conceding, then she high stepped from foot to foot for a moment, making Nix hold on even tighter.

  “Oh my gosh,” Fiona breathed. “She’s a demon!”

  Nix chuckled and Fiona, despite her best intentions, joined him. “You got that right.”

  “Ah, I’ve gotta get on.” Fiona grunted as she tried again to pull her leg up and over. To her mortification and relief, Nix leaned over and grabbed her calf, lifting it over the pommel.

  “There,” he said at the same moment she said, “Whew.”

  He slipped his arms along Fiona’s side to take the reins from where they were wrapped around the pommel. She was uncomfortably close to him now. She felt his body pressed against hers, her legs along his. She was certain he held his arms more snuggly against her than he had to, but she found she liked it. She didn’t want to, but she did.

  She wished she could hear him laugh again—to not only hear it but feel it. She wanted to hear him talk. She wanted to lean back and press her face against his neck, to feel the warmth of him, smell the spicy lemon scent of him.

  They rode in silence while Sailor moved at a brisk walk. It wasn’t at all a smooth or romantic ride, Sailor was far too worked up for that. Fiona thought about urging her into a gallop, but she was reluctant to end the ride any faster than she had to.

  Instead, she sat as still as she could, keenly aware of Nix’s breathing, of his warmth, of his closeness. She found herself wondering who he really was. Where did he come from? Why did he decide to open a club here of all places? And why a variety club—she’d never even heard of a club like his, but thought it would do far better in a big city like Denver or better yet, New York, LA or Vegas.

  She cleared her throat as if to speak, but couldn’t bring herself to ask the questions. If he talked about his life, he’d want to know about hers and she wasn’t interested in talking about it. She didn’t want to revisit her failures and her many shortcomings—especially not with a man who intrigued her. She couldn’t afford to be intrigued. S
he needed to keep her distance.

  FIONA FIT IN HIS ARMS. THAT’S ALL HE COULD THINK about. The way they melded together like they were built to ride like this. He’d never felt more comfortable in the saddle, more sure of himself. Sitting high above the ground on Sailor’s strong back, with Fiona in his arms, he felt like the king of the world. Even when he’d had every spotlight shining on him and a crowd of thousands shouting his name—he’d never felt this proud, this strong, this right.

  He tried to think of something to say, but he didn’t want to scare her off. And he wasn’t sure he’d trust his voice, anyway. He wanted her to lean back against him again, to rest her cheek against his neck like she’d done before. He thought about how her skin felt against his. How her breath skimmed along his chin. He’d dated plenty of women before—in his previous life it was practically a requirement that he have at least one woman on his arm whenever he was seen in public. And he’d had one real relationship, but even then he’d never felt this way.

  Comfortable. Alive. Connected.

  He felt her sigh and shift slightly so she was even closer. His chest constricted and he felt a burst of emotion. Oh God, he prayed. I feel something for this woman. But I think she’s broken or afraid or maybe not interested in me at all. Help me to help her. To care for her the way she needs. And if it be thy will that we have a relationship, help us find each other. Help her see me and trust me.

  He felt like he should say something more, but in the end just tacked on an amen, feeling awkward even before God. He’d dismiss it all, dismiss every wish that wisped across his mind, but for that sweet burning in his chest that made him think God had heard and approved of his prayer.

  Either way, he reminded himself, he had to put his trust in God. He knew he still had a lot of atoning and growth to do before he figured he’d be worthy of a real relationship. And for all he knew, Fiona would have healed up by then and gone back to New York or Germany or anywhere in the world that appreciated talent like hers. He’d heard her sing—the Met might be giving her the cold shoulder right now but he had no doubt that if she was all healed, someone would snatch her up.