Page 97 of Doing Life

“Well, I’ll totally keep my eyes peeled,” he shot back.

“Sarcasm is not helping right now. Shut up.” Brick sounded panicked. “Where’s that stream? Surely there’s trees and cover around the stream?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think Brick’s right. We’re going to have to run, though.”

Lance’s eyes went wide. “I don’t know how to run on a horse, man.”

“You just hold on, stay calm. You’re tethered to me. Chris, Brick—are you listening? These horses are trained. Both of you, I need you to shift your hips and kind of give him a little whap, not hard, with the reins and tell him ‘go’. They know this. They’ll follow me if they know you’re ready. Are you with me?”

“Don’t worry, Boone, I won’t let anything happen to Chris,” Brick said.

“And I won’t let anything happen to Brick. You know he only has one hand,” Chris shot back.

“Guys, please. Pay attention.”

Lance tilted his head. This was bad. That wasn’t teasing. This wasn’t the easy calm that he was used to hearing from Boone. This was terrible.

The tension in Boone’s voice—he was trying to seem okay and he was absolutely not all right. He was scared.

“I think that now is a good time to go. I’m holding on.” Lance nodded and figured he looked terrified, but it didn’t matter because Boone had to be watching ahead.

“Let’s move, cowboys.”

All of the sudden his butt started bouncing more.

And then even more.

He stopped even trying really, to hold on to the reins. The best he could do was grab hold of the horn of the saddle with both hands and pull his toes up to keep his boots in the stirrups.

He’d never felt anything like this. He thought about closing his eyes, but it didn’t matter, did it, if his eyes were opened or closed. The light was nauseating, the dark was terrifying, and he had to trust that Boone had this.

Because God knew he didn’t have it.

A crack of thunder made him jump, and one of the horseswhinnied. Yeah, that was making the hair stand up on his fucking head.

“Hold on!” Boone shouted, and rain slapped against him, cold as hell, taking his breath. Jesus, the air temp had to have dropped twenty degrees.

“Shit!” Chris’s voice was tinged with utter panic.

“Hold it together,” Brick snapped. “You got this.”

“I don’t got this.”

Lance didn’t say a word. He was focused. Present. Paying attention. Keeping his butt in the saddle. He was not going to be the reason all of this went to hell. He was not.

Every bone in his body jostled as they ran, and he held on to the horn with all of his might, not daring to loosen up even the least little bit, because all he could imagine was the rain getting between his skin and the leather of the horn, and it would all go to hell. He knew this.

Mud splashed on his jeans. Or maybe it was the rain. He didn’t know.

He knew he was soaked to the skin. He knew that.

Lance felt a mixture of standing-up hairs and goosebumps. His balls were trying to crawl into his body because they were getting smashed on the damn saddle. When he felt that, he realized he needed to sit up, that he was crunching over like he was hiding.

It was so fucking loud. How was the world so goddamn loud?

Between the splash of the hooves on the mud and the rain coming down and the thunder, it was like the world’s most fucked-up symphony. He swore he could hear the clouds crashing into each other and the screaming from Boone and Chris. Not to mention his own heartbeat, which was incredible and huge.

Underneath it all was this wild squeaking under his ass, of the denim on the leather. Why did leather squeak like that? Itwas maddening, and he was going to have blisters on his thighs.

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