“You are not fat,” he said again.
She turned to look at him, drawing back instantly. He was right behind her. “You’re the perfect weight,” he stated.
Amber wondered if he was attracted to her, too.
“Thanks.”
“I’ll help lift you up,” he said.
“If that involves putting your hands on my rump, forget it.”
He had an amazing smile when he chose to use it. “Just try and swing yourself up. I’ll do the rest.”
She thrust her foot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle …
He did the rest.
He clasped his hands around her waist as if she were a figure skater and he was her partner. She didn’t need to use the stirrup so much as clutch at the saddle. The end result was less than graceful, but before she knew it she found herself sitting on the worn leather.
Amber sighed loudly, out of breath. She could still feel where his hands had been. “And they make it look so easy on TV.”
“It’ll get easier,” he said.
She kept clutching the saddle horn, even though she knew she should be looking around for the leather strap thingy. What did they call them? The reins. She should be holding on to the reins in case the animal beneath her—a very big animal—decided to bolt, or to charge, or to buck and twist to throw her off.
“Maybe it’s nothing to you,” she said. “But it’s a big deal to me. I feel like I’ve conquered the world.” She smiled.
“You’re right. No big deal.” He turned on his booted heel and began to leave.
“Hey!” she cried.
But he didn’t turn back.
“Hey!” she called again, louder.
He walked away.
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