02-Let It Ride (7 page)

Eric shrugged, eyes following Bridge’s hand as he wiped. “I’m here for the cowboys.”

Bridge shook his head, furrowing his brow, and a disapproving frown pushed the corners of his mouth downward. “Seriously, dude. A cowboy without a horse is like a PB&J without the J.”

“I’ll have you know, there are a lot of cowboys in New York who don’t have horses.”

“Yeah, like that naked guy who plays guitar in Times Square? Please.” Bridge rolled his eyes and tossed the soiled napkin on the table beside his plate. “I saw him on YouTube. He’s no cowboy. Nice legs, though.”

Eric raised his eyebrows. How many straight guys did he know who said things like that? Answer: none. “Seriously? You were checking him out?”

“I can appreciate an attractive man,” Bridge said. There was a playful note in his voice, but there was no teasing in the heated, promising look he leveled at Eric. It was another one of those bells-and-whistles stares that didn’t need words to indicate what it meant, and his pulse quickened in response.

God, he needed to stop noticing things like that. It would lead to no good for him. Either he’d let himself believe Bridge wasn’t straight only to find out he really was and he’d be made a fool. Or he’d find out Bridge was gay, and interested in him, which would be worse. He knew better than to believe someone like Bridge would want him—at least not for more than just sex. Jeremy had made that painfully clear when he’d chosen another over him, even after professing his undying love. Like Ron before him, who Eric had also foolishly believed had loved him.

Nope, he couldn’t go there again. As long as he kept his heart locked down, no one would ever be able to hurt him again, and if it were Bridge . . . the heartbreak would be devastating.

Eric broke the connection first, needing a distraction to keep his bearings. Friends he could do. Harmless, flirty fun he could do. But that would have to be their line in the sand.

He grabbed a salted potato chip off his plate and waved it in Bridge’s direction as if it were some kind of shield. “Okay, fine. Teach me to ride a horse.” He paused to basically inhale the chip. “But can we start on the coin-operated ones in front of the grocery stores? They’re close enough to the ground that even if I do manage to fall off, I won’t get hurt.”

Bridge raised his eyebrows. “And just yesterday you wanted to learn bull riding?”

“Well, I’d start on a mechanical one, right?”

Bridge scowled. “No ponies or mechanical horses.” Then he leaned forward and his voice dropped, sounding as smooth as twelve-year-old whiskey tasted. “The real deal is what I’ve got for you.”

“Are you flirting with me again?” He’d meant the question to come off light and teasing, but his rough whisper startled even him. Against his better judgment, he had to admit how much he liked the way Bridge flirted with him, how much he was starting to enjoy it, and look forward to it. It was just harmless teasing between friends, after all. No harm, no foul. Right?

He could do that.

Bridge smiled, and then his expression turned serious. “So.” He leaned back. “In all the time we’ve known you, you’ve never said much about your life in New York. Why is that?”

Well, that wasn’t at all where he’d expected the conversation to go. He’d so much rather tempt fate with their growing sexual innuendo than talk about his past. He took a long drink of his iced tea. “Not much to tell.”

Bridge snagged the last chip off Eric’s plate and dipped it into a leftover dollop of mustard on his own. “How old are you?”

Eric watched with rapt attention as Bridge opened his mouth, slid the rippled chip into his mouth, and bit down, his tongue snaking out to swipe the trace of yellow condiment that clung to his lip.

Eric had to clear his throat, and even then, his words crawled out slow and spent sounding. “The dreaded thirty.”

“So after thirty years of living, there’s nothing to tell? I don’t believe that for a second. What about family? Brothers and sisters?”

“Don’t have any.”

Bridge leaned back, eyebrows raised. “As much as I’d like to think you were sent from heaven, I don’t think you just dropped here last year, fully formed.”

“Aww.” Looking for a deflection, Eric folded his hands and rested his chin on them, giving Bridge his best dreamy eyes and fluttering his lashes. “Who knew you were such a romantic?”

Bridge lowered his head, but the brim of his hat wasn’t wide enough to hide the blush that spread over his cheeks. Confident and shy—why that blend intrigued Eric so much, he couldn’t say, but the more he discovered about Bridge, the more he wanted to discover. Which was damn dangerous thinking, and he needed to get off that train wreck in the making.

“Shut up and tell me your story,” Bridge groused.

Eric inhaled deeply, held it, then expelled a long breath. “Parents dumped me in foster care. Got bounced around to a lot of homes.” At Bridge’s look of concern, he added, “No, I was never abused or neglected.”
Just not wanted.
“As soon as I was old enough, I left the boroughs for Albany. Decided I wanted to help people, went to school and got my paramedic degree. Ended up covering at a rodeo in Greenwich and fell in love with the whole atmosphere. Fell hard for a cowboy who turned out to be in the closet and only using me to get his rocks off when his wife was out of town. Thought the opposite coast would make a nice change of scenery since nothing rooted me to New York, and here I am.”

Bridge stared at him for a long moment, his eyes searching, expression unreadable, lips pressed into a flat line but not hard enough to turn them white around the edges. Eric got the impression he was cataloging everything he’d just learned.

“Someday you’ll tell me the whole story.”

Eric opened his mouth to tell him that
was
the whole story, but Bridge glanced at his watch and jumped up. “Time to get back to it.”

Eric stood and gathered his empty lunch wrappers, grateful that particular conversation was over. Hopefully never to be revived.

“Don’t forget, we have a riding lesson after classes today,” Bridge said. Then he winked and turned toward the parking area and his horses, long legs eating up the ground in graceful strides.

Eric shook his head.
What the hell am I getting myself into?

“Use your knees!” Bridge fought back the urge to laugh, but it wasn’t easy. Not when Rosie started jogging and Eric stuck his legs straight out, gripped the horn so hard his knuckles turned white, and bounced around in the saddle while the reins hung loose and ineffective.

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Eric shouted from the far end of a small clearing behind the trailers. He’d refused to learn how to ride in the arena where anyone could see, even though most people were tending to their animals or had left the grounds for early dinners. “This animal is about to rattle all the teeth out of my head.”

“That
animal’s
name is Rosie, and she has the smoothest gait of all my horses. She also has the sweetest personality or you’d be on your ass in the dirt right now, flailing around in the saddle like that.”

“I’m not flailing.”

Bridge leaned back against a light pole at the edge of the clearing. “Sure looks it from here.”

“And I’m not supposed to
be
a cowboy,” Eric argued and pulled the reins back to slow Rosie to a walk. “Just love them.”

Just love them.

The words bounced around Bridge’s mind, their echo growing rather than fading, but he pushed them away and cleared his throat. “I’ll make a cowboy out of you yet. You’ll see.”

Eric snorted and reined Rosie toward Bridge at a casual mosey. “Nobody has that much patience,” he said when horse and rider came to a halt in front of Bridge.

He stared up at Eric, caught in those purple-infused blue eyes he found so entrancing, and realized that no matter what may or may not come of them as a couple, he’d do anything and everything he could for the man.

He smiled, lowered his voice, and hoped Eric picked up on the promise behind his words. “I’ve got all the patience in the world for you, stud.”

Eric tilted his head slightly but didn’t say anything.

“Here.” Bridge stepped to Rosie’s right side and adjusted Eric’s foot. “Heel down, toe back, so it aligns with your knee. Reins in your left hand; hold them just over the horn. Not too much tension; not too slack. Hold the extra rein in your right hand and rest it on your thigh.” He placed Eric’s hand where he’d instructed, then let his own rest for a second on the hard muscle there. He moved his hands to Eric’s hips, guiding them back. “Hips under your center of gravity. Gives you a deeper seat so you don’t go bouncing out of the saddle.”

Eric grinned. “You just want to feel up my ass.”

“Couldn’t help myself,” Bridge said, then winked and stepped back, smacking Rosie lightly on the rump. “Now walk.”

Eric slanted a dubious look down at him, while Rosie responded immediately, with a swish of her long flaxen tail.

“Now squeeze with your knees, drop your hips, and ask her to jog.”

Eric followed his instructions, tapping Rosie into an easy jog with his heels, and sat back in the saddle like a seasoned cowboy. “There. Now you just need a hat and proper boots, and you’ll look like the real deal.”

“This is much more comfortable,” Eric agreed, and Bridge didn’t miss the note of excitement in his voice. A little swell of pride rose up in his chest.

“Ready to try loping?”

“Is that like galloping?”

“Close. The gallop is a four-beat gait all about speed and short distance; loping is a slower, three-beat gait that can be maintained longer because it’s more controlled. English riders call it a canter.”

“Wow, I had no idea there was so much more to it than get on and ride.”

Bridge crossed his arms. “You’d better be teasing me right now.”

“Okay.” Eric raised a hand in surrender, laughing. “Next gear, oh wise one.”

Bridge snorted and shook his head. “Lean forward in the saddle slightly and apply light pressure to her sides with your lower legs. Click your tongue too, if want, but horses are highly sensitive and respond better to physical commands. Especially working and rodeo horses because there’s so much noise and activity going on, they might not hear you.”

Rosie shifted into a smooth lope, and Eric started to bounce forward. “Roll your hips back into the seat. Grip with your knees. Good!”

“I like this much better than trotting!” Eric shouted over his shoulder after he’d settled into the saddle.

“It’s jogging!” Bridge laughed. “When you’re ready to stop, remember to lean back slightly and pull the reins just until you feel tension. Rosie doesn’t need any more direction than that.”

Eric loped back toward Bridge and brought the chestnut mare to a halt, mere feet from him. The smile Eric bestowed on him felt like the very sun itself leaned down from the sky and kissed him. Damn, he had it bad.

“Just like an old hand.”

Eric swung his right leg over Rosie’s back to dismount, swaying the second his feet hit the ground. He grabbed hold of the saddle pommel and cantle to keep himself upright.

Bridge laughed.
Greenhorns.
“Well, almost an old hand. Don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of that before too long.”

He stepped behind Eric, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around the man’s trim waist and nuzzle the side of his neck, run a tongue along the corded muscle there, lick and taste and—

Eric turned and looked up at him, smile still in full-blinding mode. “Thank you. I really didn’t think I’d enjoy that as much as I did.”

Bridge nodded, lowering his voice as if he were sharing a secret. “Then we’ll do it again. Go for a ride together.”

“I’d like that,” Eric said, his voice pitched down to match.

Eric held his gaze, and the light in those deep eyes darkened, drawing Bridge in. The gentle breeze shifted and that arousing scent he’d come to identify with Eric mixed with leather and horse and spring bloom, teasing his senses, feeding his arousal. In the distance, he could hear the steady gurgle of the river, and closer, he could almost hear his own heartbeat.

He licked his lips, and Eric’s gaze dropped to follow the swipe of his tongue.
Holy good God
. . .
“Listen, I—”

The sound of a throat clearing nearby brought an abrupt halt to the confession he’d been on the verge of making. Bridge stepped back, disappointment and relief warring in his chest, and looked over Rosie’s withers to see Kent standing a few feet away at the edge of the clearing.

“Looking good in the saddle there, Eric,” Kent said.

“Thanks. I honestly never thought I’d find myself actually riding.” Eric slid a quick glance at Bridge. “A horse.”

Bridge groaned and shook his head, then laughed at Kent’s confused expression, only to laugh harder when Kent widened his eyes, having got it. A blush crept over his cheeks. “O-kay,” he said, embarrassment threading through his voice. “Eric, the boss lady is looking for you. Something about not having an on-call ambulance available for tomorrow.”

“Shit.” Eric turned to Bridge, a question in his eyes.

“I’ll take care of Rosie. Do what you need to.”