Rider’s Block

20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter twenty

“Raining on Sunday,” Keith Urban

I spend a lot of time in infrared saunas back home. The health benefits are unparalleled, and overall, I leave each session feeling like a new person. But the trick about infrared saunas is that they’re comfortable until they get too hot, and the risks outweigh the benefits. Sitting in a sauna is one of the coziest places to be, until it becomes dangerous.

That is exactly what riding a horse with Eric is like.

At first it was awkward, sure. I kept my posture board straight, spine as tight as could be to touch him as little as possible. After about twenty minutes of effort, I realized I don’t have those kinds of back muscles and conceded my good posture, sinking back to lean against Eric practically one vertebra at a time.

And dammit if it wasn’t the most comfortable place to be. But I know if I linger here too long, it’ll get dangerous. I could get too used to this.

His arms come around my waist to hold on to Star’s reins, and I see him go through the same evolution. At first, he kept his arms up, hovering above my thighs to avoid making contact. And then slowly, minute by minute, his arms dropped an inch closer until now—where they’re resting on my legs, bracketing me in and keeping me in place.

It looks like we’re cuddling. Hell, we basically are cuddling, there’s no way around it. And as sore as I am from everything that happened yesterday, I need his support.

But the worst part is that it just feels right. We fit together perfectly, and with the aggravated sigh he’s letting out every thirty minutes I would wager to bet he’s thinking the same thing. It’s dangerously comfortable. It’s the worst kind of juxtaposition. It’s the longest, swiftest morning and we’re there before we know it.

There’s a T-zoned fence that’s obliterated for a thirty-yard stretch, just managing to hit all three points perfectly. Eric finds his voice for approximately five minutes to explain to me that they keep two bulls in each pasture to keep the fighting down, and the tornado managed to hit the intersection point. He needs to reinstall a half dozen poles and rewire what came down, and that should take the rest of today and then into tomorrow. My assigned task is to bring him the supplies as he mends everything. Easy enough.

We get straight to work, and it’s like the saddle is on fire for how fast he leaps off of it and secures Star to a nearby tree. I try not to be offended, but I feel the relief, too.

Denis is tied up on a different tree than Star, and I think he’s starting to warm up to me. The look of relief on his face with each item I remove from his pack makes me think I’m weaseling my way into his good graces. He even lets me pet his nose. I’ve always been an animal person, and if I’m being honest with myself I find horses to be kind of adorable. They’re no Chester, mind you, and I miss my little guy, but being around such huge animals with personalities to match their size has been entertaining.

Unfortunately for us (Eric) we hit a snag with bracing the “T” section that puts us back several hours. I tried to ask what happened, but Eric grunted what would have been a coherent sentence during the caveman era and marched off to do his cowboy things. Since it was getting close to dark, I started setting up the camp again, steering clear of setting up the tent this time, but getting all the other random things in place. Because the river isn’t too far away from where we’re working, I decide to try my hand at fishing.

I’ve got two fish already caught in what would be a peaceful environment if it weren’t for the clanking I hear in the distance coming from whatever Eric is doing, when Denis starts to make distressed noises. The clanking from Eric also stops.

Packing up as quickly as I can, I head back to camp to see what’s going on. Probably smart anyways, it’s starting to get dark again. No vibrant sunsets tonight, the clouds are too thick to light up like they did last night, which is a shame. But on my way back to the campgrounds I cross paths with the biggest footprints I’ve ever seen. Bear prints.

Eric must see what I’m concentrating on because he comes running over.

“I was afraid of that.”

“Bear tracks?”

“Yep, but the good news is these are pretty small.”

“Small?!”

“Likely just a little black bear. They’re more afraid of us than we are of them.”

“Bet you wish Roper hadn’t run off with my bear spray, huh?”

Eric’s responding scowl is something I’ve grown accustomed to at this point, but it’s still shocking to me how it could manage to be so attractive while also insulting. The man has many talents.

We make our way back to the camp for the night, and Eric makes quick work of the two fish I caught. He even complimented my ability to catch them. See? I am a fully functioning human being when I’m not caught off guard.

I’m expecting round two of the heated debate from last night to return, but to my absolute surprise (and slight horror) Eric suggests that with the presence of bears we should both use the tent.

It’s a small tent. He’s a big man. I didn’t do well in geometry in school, but things are not looking good.

***

Sadly, I must report that there was no casual arm draped over my stomach when I woke up this morning. No, Eric stayed a perfect gentleman on his side of the tent.

It was me. I was the issue.

I woke up in the middle of the night with my head on his shoulder, tucked in the precise pocket where there’s not too much muscle in the way, but it’s like the perfect hammock for a lady’s head. And man, was it cozy. And I could have sworn I felt the ghost of his hand wrap around my shoulder and pull me in tight. When I gasped upon discovering the location of my head, I was afraid I woke him up. He seemed kind of awake, but he didn’t say anything. He did suspiciously roll over right as I removed my head from his shoulder, but I could be overreading that. I want to be overreading that.

We didn’t acknowledge anything the next morning over the strong cowboy coffee, but if it were possible he seemed even more distant. And see, that’s the confusing part. This is the type of reaction I expected from him after his drunken confession that he liked my boots. Not now. Not after spending time as friends.

The rest of the day trudges past without much incident other than progress on the fence. I keep winning Denis over, Eric keeps clicking away at whatever it is he’s doing that causes quite the racket. The clouds from yesterday are still hanging around today, but they look a bit darker, and I try not to overread it, but standing in the aftermath of the last storm does little to ease the nerves starting to build up.

Fortunately, the rain holds off until an hour or so after Eric declares he finished the job. It’s well into the evening, and with the rain Eric decides to wait until tomorrow to ride back home. But that means another night in the tiny tent with my favorite grouch.

***

“It’s not like the last one,” Eric assures me as I look at the drops hitting the tent. We’ve been playing cards for the past two hours, and it’s been quiet, but comfortable, at least. I slayed at solitaire, he won war with surprising gumption, and now I think he’s making up a game with the deck of cards because every time I think I’m winning, a new rule pops up that prevents me from being declared the victor.

“Are you sure?”

“The clouds were different, this storm looks like it will just be rain.”

“I guess. I haven’t heard any thunder…”

“And I checked the radar before we left, there was a chance of light rain but not an all-out storm. Looks like the light rain just got a little bit heavier.”

I carefully examine the cards in my hand, trying to distract myself and just enjoy the ambience that I find myself in. I didn’t realize my knee was bouncing until I feel Eric place his steady hand on it, keeping it from moving.

“Sorry, that was probably annoying—”

“Not at all, but no need to worry. You’re safe. I don’t like to see you panicking.”

We play for a few more hours and I did confirm that he was making up a game to my detriment. He knows how competitive I am, so the wound cut deep. Comically deep, not actually deep. I’m just glad he’s being a little nicer to me. It’s a forced proximity situation, granted, and he’s not being warm and fuzzy by any standards, but he’s at least keeping me company.

We fall asleep in our respective placements and for two people who are sharing an unzipped sleeping bag, it’s impressive how much we’re able to not touch each other. Thankfully I go the night without ending up on top of him in any way—but this time I do wake up the next morning with an arm draped across me. And, unfortunately, I can confirm it was a warm and fuzzy feeling that I liked a little too much.