by Deb Kastner
He didn’t blame her, after what had happened this afternoon. It was one of the reasons he’d taken Victory back to the corral in the first place. That and wanting to make Dixie smile, do something for her no one else around here could do.
Use his gift for horses to give her a gift.
Only, she wasn’t supposed to find out about it.
He shook his head. Doing something nice for someone just because he—well, liked them, was a new experience for him. Uncomfortable. It threw him off center, like swinging around in circles on a Brahma bull.
She slid between the corral posts and walked up to Victory, holding out a sugar cube on her open palm. Despite her inexperience with horses, she looked as if she belonged there, with this horse.
Love flowed from her eyes, and Erik swallowed hard as he watched her.
“Hello, boy. Remember me?” she asked softly.
Her voice had a husky quality about it that turned Erik’s knees to jelly.
He clenched his fists, needing to get a grip on it before he went and fell in love with her, or something equally foolish. Like maybe diving off the side of a cliff headfirst without looking to see where he would land.
He knew firsthand what love did to a man. His father wasted away when his mother died in childbirth with her third baby. Erik had only been eight, but he knew it was love that made his father go away.
Andrew Wheeler had become a shell of a man, working himself to death, unable to share his love with the children who reminded him so very much of her.
How could God do this to a man, never mind the small boys who’d grown up virtually without parents?
It was a battle his father fought until his grave.
And Erik still fought it now. As a man, Erik understood his father’s pain, but as a child, all he’d known was that empty ache, the feeling of rejection he could never quite shake off.
And his brothers hadn’t fared much better.
Rhett’s wife left him, and Ethan hid under the security of his expensive business suits and mounds of money.
Erik shook his head, not allowing his thoughts to go further. Loving a woman made a man weak. Period.
And God made him weaker. He wouldn’t let it happen to him, no matter how his heart leapt like a calf whenever Dixie was around.
He was a man. Of course he reacted to seeing a beautiful woman. What man wouldn’t?
He might not be able to control his longings, nor even his stray thoughts when he got a whiff of her perfume or when she faced him off with her stunning eyes shooting sparks.
But he could—would—control his actions.
Firming his jaw, he walked Victory around in a small circle, wrestling within himself to turn his attention to the horse and not the woman. He had faith that Victory was ready to ride, but Dixie would need him here to help work out the kinks.
“Ready?” he asked gruffly.
She nodded, her eyes wide. The color of the ocean, he thought distractedly.
He jerked his shoulders as he warded off the thought. The horse snorted and yanked his head on the lead, and Erik chided himself for getting sidetracked again, and so easily.
See? He was already showing weakness. And if there was one thing he despised, it was a weak man.
“The hardest part is going to be mounting. He’s still a little skittish when he can’t see what’s going on. Just slide on him nice and easy.”
Erik talked to Dixie, but made eye contact with Victory, calming the horse with his gaze.
Dixie eyed the large Appaloosa, then began to walk hesitantly around him.
“Place a hand on his rear to let him know you’re there. Otherwise, you’re liable to get kicked,” Erik instructed. “Come on over here to the left of the horse, and I’ll boost you up.”
She looked relieved. He’d been mounting horses since he was knee-high to a grasshopper, but Dixie was obviously new to this, and she was a great deal shorter than he was. He chuckled.
He was unused to laughing, yet it happened often when he was around Dixie. The smell of fresh peaches alone could make him smile.
He wouldn’t follow that thought to its natural conclusion. Or any conclusion at all.
One thing he knew for sure—he couldn’t touch her. He cupped his hands to offer her a lift, but she just stared at his laced fingers, perplexed. “What’s wrong? Put your boot on my hands and climb aboard.”
She wrinkled her nose. “But my boot’s filthy,” she protested.
He laughed from his belly this time. “It’s okay. Really. I don’t mind.”
She raised her eyebrows. “That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard of in my life.”
He grunted and leaned against the horse’s neck.
“Can’t you lift me up?” she asked peevishly.
“That’s what I was trying to do,” he snapped back, more annoyed with his own reaction to her than with her words.
“Erik,” she warned, letting him know she didn’t buy his sudden thickheadedness. She held her arms toward him, gesturing for him to pick her up.
His lungs burned as he struggled to inhale. Didn’t the stubborn woman realize what she was asking of him?
No. Of course not. Why would she? To her, he was nothing more than her foreman. And right now she was expecting him to do his job.
He exhaled what air was left in his lungs, concentrating on the burning tightness in his chest. She wasn’t giving him any choice. He thought he might choke. Strangle.
Reluctantly he stepped forward, reaching for her waist. The scent of peaches nearly drove him mad. His large, rough hands easily spanned her waist. She was so tiny, so vulnerable.
He wanted to kiss her. And suddenly he knew he would kiss her.
She lifted her hands to his shoulders and tilted her chin up toward his, inadvertently encouraging him.
Victory wandered to the edge of the corral, intent on the long grass peeking through the railing, but Dixie didn’t appear to notice. Her gaze was caught with Erik’s.
He hesitated, his head swimming with the scent of peaches. He should go retrieve Victory, but his feet felt glued to the ground.
It would take little more than the slightest shift for their lips to meet, and he knew the moment when she realized it, too, the moment she tensed in his arms and tried to pull away.
But it was already too late. Too late to back out. He could no more not kiss her than stop his own heart from pounding in his ears.
He bent toward her, closing his eyes, soaking up the experience with his other dynamically amplified senses. Framing her face, he brushed his lips softly over hers, the merest butterfly kiss, yet a world-rocking revelation.
The skin on her face was every bit as soft and smooth as he’d imagined it to be, a marked contrast to his rough, callused fingertips. Her warm breath, coming in short bursts, met and mixed with his.
When she sighed and leaned into him, he kissed her again, deeper this time, wanting her to experience with him the myriad of feelings that swirled around and through him like the colors of a rainbow.
“No.” He heard Dixie’s voice, almost a whimper, from somewhere beyond the haze he was feeling. His equilibrium had disappeared, leaving him feeling as if he were floating upside down, but her single word cut through to the center of his soul.
Immediately he dropped his hands from her and stepped back, uncomfortable with the way she stared at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of wonder and apprehension.
She opened her mouth, then snapped it closed. Apparently she was as stunned by his actions as he was.
As his world righted, his conscience pricked him, and he wondered if he should apologize. He wondered if he could.
I know. I shouldn’t have kissed you.
But he found himself unable to say the words out loud, so he just shrugged.
“Don’t do that again.” She scowled, her voice low and raspy.
He felt a moment of panic when she spoke, wondering if he’d ruined everything, if she might fire him for his
presumption.
But a moment later, his panic abated as she walked over to the grazing horse and grasped his uneven mane in one hand, lifting her foot to be boosted up onto his back.
Her gaze was clear, as if nothing had happened between them. Maybe that’s the way she wanted it to be.
Maybe it was for the best.
He strode to her side and cupped his hands, helping her mount. Victory shifted, but didn’t protest. He probably barely felt petite Dixie on his back.
Erik handed her one end of the rope, keeping the other to lead her around the corral.
“Comfortable?” he asked. If she was going to ignore the sparks between them, he could do no less. Or more.
She sat ramrod-straight and stiff as a mannequin. “This is the first time I’ve ever ridden bareback,” she admitted in a wobbly voice.
And probably the second time she’d ever ridden in her life, Erik added silently. “It’s better to learn to ride this way first. Close your eyes.”
“What?” she exclaimed, causing Victory to sidestep. Then whispering, she continued. “You’re kidding, right? Close my eyes?”
What? Did she think he was going to try to kiss her again?
“I’ve got the horse in hand, Dixie,” he pointed out wryly. “Close your eyes and feel him shift. It’ll help your other senses become attuned to the way Victory moves beneath you.”
He ran a hand down Victory’s neck, then scratched him behind the ears, eliciting a low whicker in response. “The goal of a good rider is to become one with the horse. You have to learn the peculiarities unique to Victory. Then he’ll never surprise you.” He struggled to keep a straight face. “Most of the time, anyway.”
Looking chagrined, Dixie closed her eyes.
He smiled, knowing she couldn’t see him. There was something oddly wonderful about teasing her.
“I can feel it,” she said, her voice low in awe. “I can feel it, Erik. His muscles, his stride. This is glorious.”
Erik swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Good,” he said gruffly. “Now open your eyes, but keep your concentration focused on the horse.”
She did as she was told, her face radiant with this new discovery.
“And try to relax. You won’t ever blend with the horse if you don’t loosen your posture. You look like a brick wall up there.”
“Oh,” she said, her brow furrowing as she concentrated. “There. Is that better?”
He nodded. “Want to try a trot?”
“Do you think I can?”
“I think you can do anything you put your mind to,” he replied, enormously aware of his double meaning.
They spent another hour together in the ring. Dixie was a natural horsewoman, someone who automatically did things right without having to be told. And when he did have to instruct her, it only took once.
He showed her how to hold the reins, how to direct Victory to the right and to the left, and the most important command, whoa.
She absorbed everything, her expression as bright as the morning star. He’d never seen anyone who took such joy in living, or who worked so hard to get things right.
As she slid down from the horse, he grasped her hips for support, marveling that his hands spanned the entire width of her waist. She was so tiny, yet so strong on the inside. He’d never met a woman like her.
“I can’t believe I’m riding him already,” she said excitedly.
“We’ll put a bridle on him tomorrow and see how he does.”
She whipped around, surprised. “You’re not obligated to help me out with Victory. I know you’re really busy with the stable and all. I appreciate what you’ve already done, Erik, but taking care of my personal concerns isn’t part of your contract.”
He stiffened. Was she trying to tell him she didn’t want his help? Or was she afraid of being kissed again? He wasn’t all that certain he could keep from kissing her.
But she was being stubborn.
And it wasn’t the first time. Couldn’t the woman see he was doing her a favor?
“I won’t…” he began, then broke off, determined to start over. “You’re going to need help,” he ground out, feeling obligated to state the obvious, and ignoring the rest.
Erik’s words were like sandpaper to Dixie, who immediately bristled against the pressure. She didn’t want to depend on anyone, least of all this strong, silent cowboy who kept coming to her rescue. When Erik kissed her, fireworks exploded within her. And it scared her to death. She’d never before experienced anything remotely close to what she felt in Erik’s arms—not even with Abel.
Was this the way it was supposed to be between a man and a woman?
No. Not between her and Erik.
Why couldn’t he just leave her and her horse alone?
She glared at him for a full minute, then blew out a breath and looked away. “You’re right, of course.”
He had no idea how painful it was to admit she needed his help. Especially now, when everything had changed between them, whether Erik knew it or not. But she didn’t even know how to ride well, never mind how to train a green broke yearling.
And despite her relative ignorance where horses were concerned, she was certain the progress Erik had made with Victory this afternoon went above and beyond usual expectations. She certainly hadn’t expected to be able to ride him so soon.
Her lack of knowledge plagued her. She wasn’t even sure she could bridle him, though she’d paid careful attention in her reading to that very thing, had even drawn pictures to illustrate the practice.
But if there was one thing she’d learned from her time in South Dakota, it was that all the reading and education in the world didn’t help much when confronted by the real McCoy, which happened every time she turned around, up to and including Victory, the green broke gelding.
She had a double major in missions and outdoor recreation, and it hadn’t helped her one bit so far. She couldn’t even put up her own tent, never mind pick a horse she could ride. And while she didn’t regret her heartfelt purchase, she knew Victory was more than she could presently handle on her own.
It galled her, but she needed Erik.
“I don’t mind,” he said, his voice gruff. “We can meet here every afternoon for an hour, if you want.” He reached for a bristle brush and began grooming Victory.
“Am I really going to be able to ride him?” she asked softly, holding her breath in anticipation of his answer, knowing he would tell her the truth even if it wasn’t what she wanted to hear.
He glanced up, then returned his gaze to his work. “Yep.”
She was silent for a moment, observing the man with the horse, marveling at how gifted he was. She laid a hand on his forearm, stopping the motion of the brush. The touch was like a live wire of electricity between them. He stared at her hand on his arm, his jaw tensing.
“Erik?” she scratched out when she could speak.
“Hmm?”
“Thanks for helping me learn to ride.”
She whirled on the toes of her boots and marched back toward the main lodge, escaping, thinking to go anywhere but where Erik was.
She knew him well enough to know he didn’t like to be thanked for anything, proud man that he was.
Her heart clenched. It hurt too much to see him turn away from her again. And that’s exactly what she knew he would do, if given the opportunity. Just like Abel, and everyone else in her life. She ran people off like a virus.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell her she made him nervous, especially when she said things he didn’t want to hear. Like how special he was, and how blessed she was to have him working for her.
How God was moving in her life. And how He would work in Erik’s life, as well. She prayed every day God would soften Erik’s hard heart and take away his resentment and anger, as only God could.
She knew he suffered from some deep internal wounds, but of course he wouldn’t talk about it. God would have to change his heart, for Dixie failed at eve
ry attempt.
As the days went by, her prayers were becoming more intense. It was certainly a life-or-death matter, and not only for Erik. Dixie’s heart was dangling from his sleeve, and that was a very dangerous place to be.
Chapter Twelve
Erik groomed and fed Vic and placed him in his stall, fighting off his thoughts as he did his work. But he could only ignore his nagging mind for so long. He had to get away from this place before he shattered like a fist through glass.
He saddled a black mare named Jazz and headed for the hills, toward the stream that ran through the acreage. Maybe in the quiet of the mountains, he’d find his peace. And maybe, just maybe, answer the interminable question nagging him.
What was he going to do about Dixie?
He couldn’t let things go on the way they were, yet he hadn’t the slightest idea how to change circumstances so they would work out.
In truth, he didn’t really know what he wanted, only that he was miserable.
He was attracted to Dixie. Why hadn’t he seen that before, he wondered, finding a cool spot by the stream to tether his horse. The insight didn’t come easily or willingly. He’d give anything not to feel anything for the crazy, stubborn woman.
But he was too analytical to ignore the facts. And the facts pointed to one thing—he was falling head over snakeskin boots in love with Dixie Sullivan.
No matter how he swore off women, or how often the imp on his shoulder reminded him of the dangers loving a woman presented, it had happened. Despite his convictions, despite his resolve.
Was God in this somewhere?
The question badgered him persistently for the next half hour as he sat along the bank of the stream and tossed gravel into the water. A man couldn’t truly love Dixie without God playing into the picture somewhere.
Her faith could move mountains. God was the center of her life. How often had he seen her resting in the shade of a tree, reading her worn and tattered Bible?
She talked about God like He was some kind of personal friend or something, not this monstrous, omniscient entity a million miles away in heaven as Erik imagined Him to be.
He moved his hand to cover the pocket of his Western shirt, reaching for the reassurance of the small, rectangular object lodged between the fabric and his skin.
