Chapter 4 A New Sensation
Evan watched the scene unfold, a familiar warmth spreading through him. He'd witnessed a similar transformation countless times, the transition of a wary stranger into someone captivated by the quiet magic of horses. He knew their power and size could be unnerving, but he also recognized the profound, close to mystical aura they possessed, capable of disarming even the most guarded heart. He saw the spark ignite in Alexandra's eyes. They were reflecting the same ancient energy that flowed through the animal. The tension in her shoulders eased, her carefully constructed facade melting away.
"He's so gentle," she murmured, her voice laced with awe. "It's hard to believe he was so... agitated with you just moments ago."
"He didn't mean any harm," Evan explained, a subtle shift in his tone. "A sage-hen startled him, and he reacted instinctively."
Alexandra, however, realized that her own quick movement, the sudden way she’d sat up had been the cause of the animal’s distress. "Actually," she ventured, "I think I might have surprised him when I sat up."
Evan offered a disarming smile. "You didn't do a thing. He was already on edge, seeing your car out here, and you sitting up was just a surprise he didn’t expect. Young horses can get that way."
Alexandra accepted his gentle deflection. She knew she'd been the catalyst, yet his unspoken protection, his refusal to assign blame, was a new and welcome experience. In her usual world, assigning blame was a constant, often harsh, companion.
"Here, Alexandra," Evan said, his voice taking on a new resonance as he spoke her name. "Let me help you up." He turned the stirrup outward, a silent invitation. As she reached to place her foot, he stopped her. "Other foot," he corrected softly. "That way, you'll be facing the right direction when you mount."
She adjusted, attempting to lift her other leg, but her snug jeans proved a surprising impediment. Evan noticed, his gaze lingering for a moment on the tight cloth restricting her figure, before he spoke. "My stirrups are a bit high," he offered, masking the real issue. "And he's a tall fellow. Let me give you a boost."
He knelt before her, his hands forming a stable cradle. "Grab the saddle horn… that round thing up on the front of the saddle.”
She did as he instructed.
“Good. Now, put your foot in my hands, and I'll lift you. When you’re high enough, swing your other leg over. Got it?"
Uncertain but trusting, Alexandra tightened her grip on the saddle and placed her foot. With astonishing ease, Evan lifted her, and she felt a fleeting fear of soaring over the horse's back. Yet, with a slight adjustment, she found herself settled securely in the saddle.
Evan glanced up, a quick check to ensure she was stable, then turned to lead the horse.
"Wait," she called out. "My things."
"We'll come back for them," he assured her. "No one's around to bother them."
"It's not that," she clarified, a hint of color rising in her cheeks. "I might want to change, and I have some shampoo and soap in my bag."
He turned back, his gaze directly meeting hers, his proximity creating a subtle charge in the air. "What do you need?" he asked, his voice low and direct. "I'll get it."
She gestured vaguely towards the car. "My bag is in the front seat... and well, my clothes are scattered in the back." She reconsidered. "Just the bag for now. We can get the rest later."
He retrieved her bag, handing it up to her with a warm smile. "Ready?"
Alexandra nodded, a shy smile gracing her lips. "Yes."
As they began to walk along the dusty road toward the ranch, Alexandra looked down at the horse's neck. His coat was a rich, reddish-brown, a stark contrast to the flowing black of his mane. She absently stroked it, feeling the powerful muscles beneath. The horse's ears twitched, sometimes pointing back, sometimes forward, occasionally swiveling in different directions. It was a subtle ballet that fascinated her. "What's he doing with his ears?" she asked.
Evan paused, turning back to her. "What do you mean?"
"They move back and forth," she explained. "What does that mean?"
A thoughtful smile touched Evan's lips. "It's a way of communicating," he began. "A sign of trust, too. He's checking you out, seeing if you're still there, but he's also keeping an ear on what's ahead. It’s like he’s letting you know what he's thinking." He searched for a way to make it clearer.
"Like… signal lights on a car?" Alexandra offered with a spark of understanding.
Evan chuckled. "Yeah," he agreed. "That's a pretty good way to put it."
He turned away, resuming his steady pace up the road. Beneath her, the horse moved with an easy, rolling gait that was hypnotic. She consciously felt herself relaxing, allowing her hips to sway with the rhythm. The motion was deeply soothing. I could get used to this, she thought.
The comfortable silence stretched for a moment before she broke it with a question. “What’s his name?”
Evan stopped and walked back toward her, his boots scuffing quietly in the dust. “Whose name?”
“The horse,” she clarified. “He has a name, doesn’t he?”
“Actually, no,” he admitted. “Never got around to giving him one.”
“Hmm,” she murmured, a playful smile touching her lips. “He needs one. You can’t have a horse with no name.” She felt a small thrill at her own wit.
A quick grin and a twinkle in his eyes told her he’d caught the reference. “No, I don’t suppose you can. How about you do the honors?”
The offer startled her. “You want me to name your horse?” Everything she’d ever heard about cowboys suggested their horse was their most prized possession, an extension of themselves. “Isn't that… personal? You’d let a stranger name your closest companion?”
“You’re no stranger than anyone else,” he replied, his eyes sparkling at the pun. Then his expression sobered. “He’s had names before, some good, some not so good. A while back, he had a pretty bad one. But what’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
Her mouth fell open slightly. “Shakespeare?”
The question seemed to amuse him. “Not a very good name for a working horse,” he chuckled. “Might suit one of those fancy Eastern thoroughbreds, but not this old cayuse.”
“What?” It was her turn to be confused, her mind racing to connect the dots.
“‘Bill’ might work, I suppose,” he explained, “but ‘Shakespeare’ is a little too stuffy.”
“Oh,” she breathed, understanding dawning. “You thought I wanted to name him Shakespeare?”
He just smiled and turned to lead the horse onward. As he walked, she studied him, her preconceived notions unraveling one by one. She had always mentally sorted people into boxes, and the box for men who did dirty, physical work, cowboys, janitors, mechanics, etc., was labeled “uneducated” and “unrefined.” This man shattered that assumption. He quoted Shakespeare, spoke with respect, and held her gaze when he talked. He possessed a quiet dignity that felt more genuine than the polished manners of most of the men she knew back east.
Those men, the upwardly mobile, Ivy League business types, were her usual preference. They were impeccably dressed and manicured. This man was the opposite. His clothes weren't dirty, just worn and practical. A dark stubble shadowed his jaw, a detail that would normally make her wince. On him, however, it seemed essential, amplifying a rugged masculinity that was entirely new to her.