After the Fall by L.A. Witt Read Free Book Online Page B

not ogling.
    I concentrated, watching him get on. He even had the decency to let himself down gently, easing his weight into the seat rather than dropping unceremoniously onto my baby’s spine. He adjusted the stirrups once more, letting them out another notch. Finally, he was situated. With the reins in one hand, he held them out to the right, which pressed the rein against the left side of her neck, but also pulled on the left side of her bit. Naturally, she went left.
    “Wait . . .” He scowled. “No, other way.”
    I laughed. “You learned to ride Western, didn’t you?”
    “How’d you guess?”
    I gestured at his reins. “You’re trying to neck-rein.”
    “Oh. So . . .” He turned to me again, eyebrows up.
    I held my hands out in front of me as if I were the one holding the reins. “Hold them like this. One in each hand.”
    “So I don’t need the cast to—”
    “Shut up.”
    He laughed.
    I rolled my eyes. “Very funny. Anyway, you want her to go left, put some gentle tightness into the left rein and twist your body to the left and look in that direction. Go right, the opposite.”
    His brow furrowed, but after a moment, he shrugged and muttered, “All right.” He gathered his reins like I’d shown him, and then tugged the left rein just enough to pull on the bit. She turned her head but didn’t move.
    “Turn your body,” I said. “Look where you want to go. And give her a little tap with your lower legs—just a tap !—to get her moving.”
    He did as he was told, and Tsarina obediently made a tight little circle to her left. When he switched, tugging the right rein and turning his torso to the right, she circled right.
    “Good,” I said. “Now walk around for a while. Get used to how she moves.”
    Ryan nodded and steered her to the well-beaten path along the arena wall.
    I watched, pretending my mouth wasn’t watering. He didn’t have the natural, effortless posture of a competitive rider, or the relaxed swagger of a cowboy, but for someone without a lot of experience, he was balanced and confident. Every now and then, I had to remind him how to hold the reins—he was used to one-handed Western rather than two-handed English—but overall, he sure knew what he was doing in the saddle. Especially in a dressage saddle that was fucking designed for optimum posture.
    It was quickly becoming apparent that Ryan was one of those guys who effortlessly made the simplest actions into something sexy. When he rode, when he drove, when he was just walking or standing, he had a relaxed air about him. He was probably damn hot on that bike of his, too. Of course, what guy didn’t look good on a bike? Still, he had sexy down to an art form. Laid-back without being apathetic, every gesture and posture underscoring an ability to go with the flow, no matter what. The bad boy minus the attitude. The kind of guy who could probably smoke and make me forget what a disgusting habit it was just because he looked so damned hot doing it.
    Halfway across the arena, he turned Tsarina, and they made a small, perfect figure eight. She was a little impatient, walking fast and trying to sneak into a trot now and then, but she was young, full of energy, and she hadn’t been ridden in a while, so that was to be expected. He handled her beautifully, though, quietly reminding her to walk and turning her in tight circles whenever she needed to remember who was in charge.
    When I’d agreed to this, and knew he’d be riding the horse I was dying to ride myself, I’d expected to be jealous and frustrated. What I hadn’t expected was this ache in my chest. Well, maybe I did. Watching the two of them making their way around the arena drove the point home that I wouldn’t be riding for a while. It was like watching my summer and my horse passing me by while I could do nothing but sit back and let it go.
    There’d be time, though. There’d be next spring and next summer. We’d have the fall and the winter to work here in