Page 45 of Sweet Like Whiskey

Jackson nods, standing just behind my leg and grabbing hold of my hips. For a second, I stop breathing.

“You’re gonna swing this leg over the horse,” he says, patting my far hip, “until you’re standing in the air. Support your weight with your arms, and then let this foot”—he pats the other hip—“out of the stirrup and slide down. Less chance of tripping that way.”

“I didn’t trip,” I say hoarsely. “It was a calculated fall.”

“Mhm,” he grunts. “C’mon.”

Jackson gives my hips a little squeeze to encourage me, and I’m powerless to do anything other than follow his directions. Hekeeps his hands in place as I swing my right leg over the back of the horse. He gives me another squeeze to stall me once I’m upright.

“Now lean your weight on the horse. Yep, like that. And take your foot out of the stirrup.”

I close my eyes and tryreallyhard not to focus on the fact that I’m bending over a horse with Jackson’s face quite near my ass. Not wanting to get a boner against poor Shorty’s side, I pull my left foot out of the stirrup and let my weight pull me down. Jackson’s hands stay on my hips, guiding me, until my feet hit dirt.

It takes a second, but Jackson lets go. “Good,” he says gruffly.

I nearly groan. He should not be saying that word inthatvoice.

Jackson heads back toward Starlight, and I shake out my legs, trying to let the simmering heat from Jackson’s touch fade away. “I’d say that was a ten out of ten dismount. What do you think?”

He shoots me a look. “Don’t get cocky now.”

Snorting, I stretch my back and look around. I’m a little stiff, but I’m sure that’s to be expected after sitting in the saddle for so long. “Why’d we stop?” I ask.

Jackson grabs Shorty’s reins and leads him next to Starlight, securing both horses to a nearby tree. “Wanted to show you something.”

“Cryptic. You didn’t bring me out all this way just to get rid of me, did you? Because I have to tell you—that seems like a lot of work.”

He stares at me blankly. “Why would I possibly do that?”

“Oh, so youdolike me.”

He blinks before shaking his head. “Impossible.”

Huffing a laugh, I follow Jackson as he heads up a short hill. “It’s okay, Jack. I won’t tell anyone you want to suck my face…”

The wordoffpuffs out of me as I reach the top of the hill. We’re standing on a natural overlook, not terribly high up but high enough for a breathtaking view. Pastureland stretches as far as the eye can see, black-and-white cows dotting the landscape. The river cuts through the fields, water glistening blue in the late afternoon sun. Far away is a fence line, so small it’s barely visible.

“Is this all yours?” I ask, voice hushed.

Jackson hums. “It is, and then some. Look. There’s Marty.”

He points at a speck in the distance, and I laugh. “How can you tell?”

“Just can,” he says.

I shake my head and glance behind us. I didn’t realize it as we were heading through the woods, but we’re at the base of the mountains now. They seem impossibly tall, towering above the tops of the trees. Quiet, but imposing. I can’t even imagine all these mountains have seen.

“It’s gorgeous here,” I tell Jackson, not for the first time.

When I turn back around, I find him watching me instead of the scenery. He hums, and my pulse kicks. But then Jackson blinks and looks away.

I follow his gaze back toward the cattle, clearing my throat. “Your dad says you have a hybrid herd.”

Jackson nods. “Mm. We’ve found a Holstein-Angus cross works best for our operation. Holsteins are good milkers, and Angus is a standard for beef. The hybrids are good for both, so we crossbreed and split ’em accordingly.”

“Did you always know you wanted to be a cowboy?” I ask, Jackson’s seriousness making me smile.

“I’m not—”

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