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“Does he bite?” It didn’t hurt to ask.
“I’ve never known him to, but for you he might make an exception.” She must think she was being funny.
He couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth. He swallowed hard and stepped up to the saddle. He had to reach up to the saddle horn, but not too far. That was one advantage of being tall. He feared the disadvantage might be the old adage, the taller they are, the harder they fall.
“Look at Mrs. G.” Cheyenne, determined to encourage him, nodded in the direction of the cluster of horses and riders on the gravel lane. The older lady balanced in the saddle, clutching the saddle horn with both hands.
“I hear what you’re saying.” He wasn’t about to be outdone by a woman twice his age. His masculine pride proved to be stronger than his old fear. He lifted his foot and slipped it into the stirrup, gave a hop and rose into the saddle.
“Hey, you’re an old pro at this.” Cheyenne beamed up at him, respect softening her fantastic blue eyes. Her irises had little flecks of aquamarine in them and darker threads of navy blue. His heart skipped.
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