sunburn stood out in garish streaks on her cheeks. Holding out his hand, he beckoned her closer.
“No.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Chico doesn’t sway like the wagon.”
She pressed against the tailgate. “I don’t like horses.”
An idiot could see that. Tipping his hat back, he asked, “How much do you like Comanche?”
That did the trick. She looked around as if warriors lurked behind every anthill. He mentally shook his head. As if he’d permit any threat to get that close. Reluctantly, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to draw her onto the saddle. Her skirts tangled around her legs as she dangled awkwardly.
“Throw your leg over the saddle horn,” he grunted as he strained to hold her high enough and keep Chico from prancing his displeasure with the unbalanced weight.
“We’re too high.”
“Hardly.”
She grabbed the horn as Chico sidestepped. “Says you!”
“A horse is your best friend out here.”
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