Summer Nights. Сьюзен Мэллери

not a killer,” Shane said quickly. “He’s difficult. Or has a reputation for being difficult.”

      “You didn’t find out for yourself?” she asked. “You just assumed?” Annabelle looked at the forlorn expression on Khatar’s sad face. “Maybe you should do a little more checking.”

      “I’ll get right on that,” Shane told her.

      * * *

      THE WORLD LOOKED DIFFERENT from the back of a horse, Annabelle thought thirty minutes later. She was perched on Mason, her friend Charlie’s large horse, hanging on to the saddle with both hands. Although she’d read a couple of books on riding, none of that information had prepared her for how far away she was from the ground.

      “I don’t think I can do this,” she said desperately.

      The horse stood perfectly still, which was a good thing. If he took even a single step, she was pretty sure she was going to start screaming.

      “Just relax,” Shane told her. He held on to Mason’s bridle and patted the horse’s shoulder. “Get used to how it feels.”

      It felt too high and way too scary, she thought frantically. A hundred or so yards away, Khatar ran back and forth, keeping close to the fence line as he called out to her.

      “If you’re telling me to be careful, I’m so listening,” she murmured, knowing the horse couldn’t hear her. Riding while a horse danced? What had she been thinking? “Maybe I’ll try a car wash instead. That would raise money, right? I can wash cars.”

      Shane flashed her a grin. “Come on, Annabelle. I was riding a horse before I could ride a bike. It’s not that bad.”

      “I’m too small.” Her short legs were sticking out so much they were practically parallel to the ground. “Does he even know I’m on his back? What if he thinks I’m a bug and decides to shake me off?”

      “Mason’s a good horse. You’ll be fine. Now take the reins.”

      She shook her head. That would mean letting go, which was so not going to happen.

      “Use your left hand,” he instructed. “You can still hang on with your right.”

      “I don’t want to,” she whined, but then slowly, carefully, picked up the reins. The thick leather was worn and softer than she would have thought. She still kept a firm hold on the massive saddle, but felt slightly more horsewoman-like, perched there and actually holding reins.

      “Now think about him moving forward and gently kick him.”

      “What?”

      “You want him to move, right?”

      “Not really.”

      She was up to sitting on a horse while the horse stood still. Everything else seemed a little too risky. She reminded herself this was for a good cause. But kicking?

      “I don’t want to hurt him.” Or piss him off. At this point, as far as she was concerned, the horse was seriously in control of the situation.

      “Then don’t,” Shane told her. “Like I said. Be gentle.”

      She sucked in a breath and lightly touched her heels to his side.

      Nothing happened.

      She did it again. This time Mason turned and stared at her, as if asking if that was her or just a leaf.

      “It was me,” she informed the horse. She wiggled in her seat, urging him forward. “Walk.”

      He took a lurching step.

      Actually it probably wasn’t lurching, it just felt lurching to her. The entire world seemed to jerk slightly as he walked. She screamed, dropped the reins and grabbed onto the saddle with both hands.

      She heard something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh but was hanging on too hard to look in Shane’s direction.

      “You’re not helping,” she yelled.

      “You’re doing fine.”

      “This is not fine. This is flirting with death.”

      “Relax. Move with him instead of against him. You’re fighting movement you can’t control.”

      Not information designed to make her feel better. She sucked in a breath and tried to relax. As her muscles unclenched, she realized the movement wasn’t as lurching as she’d first thought. She was staying in the saddle and didn’t feel that she was in danger of slipping off. While she kept a tight grip on the saddle with her right hand, she once again picked up the reins with her left.

      “Good,” Shane said, his mouth twitching suspiciously. “Just like that.”

      “Are you mocking me?”

      “Only a little.”

      Thirty minutes later, Annabelle had figured out the walking thing and had even been slapped around during a very bone-crunching trot. She’d managed to let go of the saddle and hang on to the reins like a real rider.

      “Not bad,” Shane said as she drew Mason to a stop.

      “Thanks,” she said, bending over and patting the horse’s neck.

      “I was talking to him.”

      She wrinkled her nose. “Very funny. So how do I get down?”

      She’d used wooden steps to get up to horse level, but wasn’t sure she was comfortable dropping onto them. If Mason wasn’t in exactly the right position, she could easily fall off the stairs and snap a bone or something.

      “Swing your leg over and drop to the ground,” Shane said, moving in to hold on to the horse’s bridle. “I’ll keep him still.”

      She looked all the way down to the ground, then shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

      “You can’t stay up there forever,” he pointed out. “You’ll be fine.”

      “Do you know how short I am? It’s farther for me than most people.”

      “By a couple of inches.”

      Inches could be significant. As a man, he should know that. Still, his point about not staying up in the saddle for the rest of her life was a good one. So she followed his instructions on how to position her hands and then swung her right leg over Mason’s wide and very high back. Holding on to the saddle, she reached down and down and finally felt the solid earth with her toe. She released and sank back. Only to find herself unable to stand.

      Annabelle’s arms went up and out as she staggered, her legs too wobbly to support her. It was as if the muscles had suddenly become al dente pasta.

      Just before she hit the ground, strong arms came around her and saved her.

      She found herself pressed up against Shane, staring into dark eyes that were bright with humor. This close, he looked even better. She liked the firmness of his jaw and the shape of his mouth. She was aware of his hands—one on her waist and one resting at the small of her back. Her body nestled against his and there was heat everywhere.

      “Your muscles take a minute to recover after riding,” he murmured. “I probably should have warned you.”

      She felt the first serious zing of attraction ricochet through her. It left her weaker than being on horseback riding ever could and alerted her to fifty kinds of danger.

      Apparently Shane should have warned her about a lot more than riding.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “I FOUND IT,” THE little girl said proudly, holding up the latest edition in the Lonely Bunny series. This one—Lonely Bunny Goes to the Beach—showed the now-famous rabbit in a sun hat, on a towel with the ocean in the background.

      “You’re