Page 37 of Sweet Like Whiskey

I can’t help but smirk. “Sounds like a good time to me.”

That blush returns to Jackson’s cheeks, but he doesn’t take the bait. “Come on. Let’s get ’im saddled outside, and then you can hop on top.” He stills. “Not likethat.”

I hold up my hands placatingly. “Hey. Top, bottom, I’m fine with either. Sides are good, too. You know, for that record we’re keeping.”

Jackson closes his eyes, taking in a slow breath. “What am I gonna do with you?” he mutters, following quickly by, “Don’tanswer that.”

I wave him forward, battling my laughter. “After you and Shorty.”

Jackson leads the beast of a horse out of the stall and into the open before looping his lead around a post. Then he leaves me with the horse while he collects gear.

I eye Shorty and hold out a hand the same way Jackson did. He’s a pretty horse, all shiny brown with a white stripe running down the center of his nose. Shorty, presumably having deemed me worthy, greets my palm, his breath puffing hotly against my skin. The tickling sensation has me chuckling. “You’re not so bad, huh?”

Jackson returns, a saddle and some other items in his hands. If he caught me talking to Shorty, he doesn’t mention it. He explains the various pieces of equipment he’s holding and how to dress a horse. First, he removes the simple halter Shorty is wearing and puts on a more complicated bridle. Next, he lays a saddle pad down on the horse’s back, followed by the leather saddle, which he cinches under Shorty’s belly. He adjusts the length of the stirrups for my legs and goes over the proper way to hold the reins in one hand. And then he waves me forward.

“Hold here,” he tells me, putting his own hand on the horn of the saddle. He taps the stirrup closest to us. “Then put your foot in here and pull yourself up.”

“Just like that?” I ask.

“Just like that.”

“All right,” I mutter, getting into place. Jackson steps out of the way, watching as I ready myself. I pull in a breath, then another, and then I hoist myself up.

I don’t make it.

Jackson rushes in as I stumble backwards, his hand holding tight to my hip as I regain my balance.

“That went well,” I say mildly.

He huffs a laugh, which has me grinning. “You’re green. It’s to be expected. Try again,” he says, letting go and stepping back.

I stick my foot in the stirrup and look over my shoulder. “Maybe I need a boost.”

“You don’t need a boost,” he says flatly.

“I think I do,” I hedge, well aware my jeans are pulling tight against my ass in this position. “What harm could it do?”

“Plenty, I’m sure,” Jackson mumbles.

I flash him my winningest smile. “Please?”

Jackson eyes me for an extended beat, and then, much to my surprise, he steps forward, plants his hand on my ass, and says, “Lift.”

I jump, and he pushes. This time, my leg sweeps cleanly over the top of the horse, and Jackson lets go as my butt hits the saddle. My pulse sprints like I just ran a mile.Well, then.

Jackson clears his throat. “There. You’re up.”

“On top,” I clarify.

“Jesus,” he groans. But he dutifully helps me get my feet positioned in the stirrups. I shift a little, testing the sturdiness of my position.

“Out of curiosity,” I say slowly, unable to help myself, “which do you prefer when you’re…riding? Top or—”

“I’m not answering that,” he cuts in, scooping up the reins and handing them over. “Here. Pull left to turn the horse left. Right to go right.”

“Easy enough,” I mutter, bracing myself as Jackson gives Shorty’s bridle a gentle tug. He eases the horse around and leads us out toward a clear area of grass, where the ground is slightly trampled and there are no obstacles for us to hit.

“Keep a loose hold on the reins,” Jackson reminds me, walking Shorty in a large circle. “Knees wide. Once you have a feel for the motion, I’ll let go.”

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