Page 27 of A Bittersweet Summer

Wes now sits atop his horse next to me, his clothes dripping. The sun competes with the smile on his face as he dismounts and lets Intrepid graze. “I told you to hang on,” he teases, and I scowl.

“I did,” I mutter. Embarrassment flushes my cheeks. “I mean, I tried to.” I let out a breathy chuckle.

I’ve worked at enough barns to know how it all works. If you want to ride for free, then you have to prove yourself useful. The best chance is being good enough that you can hop on a green horse and correct some kind of behavior. That’s the stuff thatreallygives you a fighting chance.

Unfortunately, I’ve been away from horses long enough that my muscles don’t work right, and one dip in the pond has me sliding off like a proper beginner.

There’s no proving myself here, and the chances of riding again are lost.

“Why don’t I help you back on. He’s awfully tall.”

My brow furrows, and I can almost feel the line it’s etching into future me’s face. I smooth it away. “I’m getting back on?” I question.

“Don’t see why not.” Wes nods toward his hand to encourage me.

When I take it, the calluses scratch against my palm—a sign of all his hard work. His skin is warm beneath my fingers, heated and slick after a dip in the cool water.

I’m all too aware of the dusty blue t-shirt and the way it clings to every curve of muscle beneath. There’s no six-pack there. Instead, there’s the toned and sturdy form of a man who spends his time outdoors on a farm. All power with just enough cushion to make him the most comfortable place to rest.

But there’s no resting when you’re on the clock.

I look up, cheeks warm as I realize I’m now standing, dripping wet, and still holding myboss’shand.

When I let go, the motion is quick, and even though Wes is still staring at me, his smile since fallen, I peel my gaze away and wipe whatever weird buzz I have off my skin by brushing my palm along my soaked leggings.

Deco still munches grass as I gather the reins and prepare myself to get up, trying to clear my mind.

Wes is suddenly at my back, his body so close I’m suddenly aware of every inch of him. So much for shaking it off.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice low enough to make my stomach dip.

Oh God.

I cannot be attracted to this man. I simply cannot. I have my future happiness riding on this job. What if I act on this… feeling, and it isn’t reciprocated? What if itis,and then it all blows up in my face? Would I end up back at the bar? Would I end up with another tattoo I’ll be forced to cover?

“Yeah,” I say, my voice a bit breathless. “You can.”

When his hands meet my hips, I suck in a breath. Everything’s moving in slow motion as if my mind and body are in shock—trying to absorb as much stimuli as possible in case it’s needed in the future. My concerns are lost at the capable hand sliding down my hip. The movement is deliciously slow until his touch skates down my thigh and stops at my knee. A small voice whispers,but what if it doesn’t all blow up?I don’t move, hyper aware of the place right by my knee where he taps once—twice.

“Lift this leg, Cass. I’ll give you a leg up.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Somehow, I can’t remember getting a leg up being this… hands-on.

“Right,” I whisper, bending my leg at the knee.

His other hand moves from my hip down to my shin, and now they’re both there—sure and steady. I start to believe I imagined the entire thing.

“Up on three,” he says. “One, two, three.”

I jump, using the extra lift to get my leg draped over Deco’s back until I’m situated with the reins in my hands, and my mind buzzing from all the placeshishands were just touching. I tell myself we didn’tdoanything. He gave me a leg up, and that’s all.

But I can’t stop thinking about the slide of his touch, and how it might feel if I let go of my reservations—if I reciprocated.

It would be too obvious if I didn’t bring myself to meet Wes’s gaze. He’d know exactly what I was thinking—fire me for being inappropriate, and I’ll have to tell Ellis and everyone else I don’t need their help moving in tonight.

The fact of the matter is, I want this job, and I want the house.

I want to get away from my old life so badly, my bones almost ache with the need. That life didn’t feel like mine—not completely.