Page 20 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

JANNA

I turned to Martha with my most charming smile. “Hey, Martha? Would it be okay if I showed this city slicker how to ride a horse?”

Martha’s face lit up like I’d just offered her front-row tickets to the Super Bowl. “Oh, honey, that would be wonderful! Joe!” she called out to her husband, who was puttering around near the barn. “Come here! You’ve got to see this!”

Joe ambled over, grinning when he saw the look of mild panic creeping across Dalton’s face. “What’s all the excitement about?”

“Janna’s going to teach Dalton how to ride Honeycrisp,” Martha announced, clapping her hands together. “Isn’t that just perfect?”

“Honeycrisp?” Dalton muttered under his breath, eyeing the massive horse with obvious skepticism. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, this should be fun,” Joe said with a laugh. “Do you really not know how to ride a horse?”

Dalton frowned, still looking at the horse. “I never had any reason to learn.”

Joe nodded. “Just stay calm. They can sense your fear.”

“Great,” Dalton muttered.

“I’ll get Mac,” Martha said.

“Mac?” Dalton asked.

“A very nice gelding for Janna to ride. Short for Mcintosh.”

“Thank you,” I said. “That would be awesome. We don’t want him galloping off without me.”

“Guys, this is not happening,” Dalton muttered.

“Come on,” I coaxed. “It can’t be any harder than running through the simulator.”

He took another look at Honeycrisp. “The simulator doesn’t have a kick that can break a man’s ribs.”

“If you’re scared, you don’t have to do it,” I said, knowing it would piss him off.

He groaned. “I’m not scared.”

Martha beamed. “It’s not every day we get to see a flyboy try to ride something without wings.”

“Exactly my concern,” Dalton grumbled. “I like being in control.”

“Where did the name Honeycrisp come from?” I asked as I rubbed the mare’s nose.

“She’s named after the apples we grow here,” Martha said. “And Mac? Well, you get the idea.”

Dalton eyed her like she might explode. “I’d feel more comfortable if it had an engine and a flight stick. Something with wings.”

“That’s how I feel about helicopters,” I said. “But unless we find you a pegasus, you’ll be riding a wingless horse today.”

“What the hell is a pegasus?”

I laughed. “A horse with wings. Try to keep up.”

He gave me a look that nearly had me jumping on him and riding him. It was all fire and fear and desire. Lust. It burned between us. Yesterday had done nothing to squelch the burn. It was like adding just enough gasoline to make it flare hotter and faster.

“I’ll get you a saddle,” Joe said.

I nodded and followed Joe to the tack room, leaving Dalton standing there looking like he was contemplating making a run for it. The saddle was heavier than I expected, but I managed to haul it over to where Honeycrisp stood patiently.

Dalton crossed his arms and took a step back. “I’m good watching from here.”

I rolled my eyes at the big tough pilot. “Come on, don’t be a baby. She’s gentle as a lamb.”

“That lamb weighs about twelve hundred pounds and has hooves the size of dinner plates.”

I rolled my eyes and put the saddle on. When it was secure, I turned to look at him. Then gestured for him to step up.

“Hard pass.”

“You fly into literal fires for a living, but you’re afraid of a sweet old mare?”

“Fire won’t buck me off.”

“Neither will Honeycrisp. Will you, girl?” I cooed, scratching behind her ears. She nickered softly in response.

Martha and Joe pulled up some chairs to watch.

“Honeycrisp hasn’t kicked anyone in five years!” Martha called.

“Five years isn’t that long, Martha,” Dalton muttered.

He sighed, bitching under his breath, but finally placed one boot in the stirrup and swung his leg over like a pro—until, of course, he tried to sit straight.

Honeycrisp stood still, every bit the good girl she was, but Dalton wobbled in the saddle, unable to get balanced properly. I patted Honeycrisp’s neck. “It’s okay. He’s a newbie. It’s not your fault.”

“If you have to tell the damn thing it’s okay, I’m thinking it might not be okay,” Dalton said.

The horse shifted, just a little, lifting one leg, then the other to get comfortable.

Dalton acted like the horse was a mechanical bull, set to full chaos. He held on, nearly falling to one side and then correcting so hard he almost fell off the other.

I choked on a laugh. “Grip with those thighs. I know how strong they are.”

Martha giggled and covered her mouth. Joe coughed into his hand, trying and failing to look like he hadn’t heard.

I didn’t mean for it to sound sexual. Anyone with eyeballs could see the man was built like a tank and those thighs could crack walnuts.

He was all muscle. And just thinking about those thighs had my body quivering.

Dalton shot me a look that promised retribution, which only made me grin harder. Whatever. After the hell he’d put me through in the simulator, he deserved all of this and more. Being shoved out of your comfort zone was difficult for everybody.

Eventually, he managed to center himself. His long legs hung a little awkwardly in the stirrups, but he looked like he had some clue about what he was doing. Progress.

“Okay,” I said, climbing into Mac’s saddle. “We’ll keep it simple. Nice and slow.”

Joe had gone into the house and came back with two glasses of lemonade. He and his wife settled into their chairs in the shade.

“There’s a trail that will lead you through the orchard,” Martha said. “It’s an easy ride. And beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I turned to Dalton. “Just give a little nudge with your heels.”

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

“I didn’t say kick her. Just a little nudge. Click your tongue.”

I demonstrated and got Mac moving. Honeycrisp seemed to get the idea and followed behind me until the trail widened a bit.

I’d forgotten how much I missed riding. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting muscle memory take over.

My body remembered how to move with the horse, how to anticipate the rhythm, how to find that perfect balance between control and surrender.

It was like flying in a way, except instead of being above the earth, I was connected to it through the magnificent creature beneath me.

“You look like you were born in that saddle,” Dalton said, moving up beside me.

I glanced at him, grinning. “Feels like it sometimes. God, I missed this.”

“Where’d you learn?” he asked.

“Family farm,” I said. “Dad got stationed at Nellis for three years when I was in high school. Longest we’d ever stayed anywhere, actually. Mom was so excited to finally unpack all our boxes that she went a little crazy with the whole ‘putting down roots’ thing.”

The trail curved gently to the right. Dalton was getting the hang of it pretty quickly. I knew he would. He was just one of those guys that would be good at anything he tried.

I guided Mac around a low-hanging branch, ducking slightly. “I’d get up before dawn every day and ride out into the desert. Sometimes I’d pack a lunch and stay out there for hours.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“It was peaceful,” I corrected. “I’d never had that before. We’d always lived on base, surrounded by people and noise.”

We fell into a rhythm, the horses walking side by side.

I didn’t know if Martha and Joe rode a lot, but the horses seemed to know the trail pretty well.

I snuck glances at Dalton out of the corner of my eye.

His posture was still a little stiff, but he was relaxing.

He looked like he might actually be enjoying it.

We stopped beneath a canopy of apple blossoms. The wind kicked up, catching the petals and sending them swirling through the air like confetti. I slid out of the saddle, holding on to the reins.

Dalton dismounted more easily than he’d gotten on, once again proving he would be good at anything he did. For a moment, we just stood there taking in the beauty. Some of the trees had already lost their blossoms and little fruit was budding.

He reached out and plucked a blossom from my hair. “You’ve got something…”

“Yeah?” I asked, not moving. Not breathing.

“Right there,” he said. His fingers brushed my cheek in a touch so gentle it short-circuited my brain. Yesterday, the man had been aggressive and demanding. I loved it. But the gentle Dalton was also nice.

He kissed me. It was soft and sweet, completely different from the desperate hunger we’d shared yesterday.

This was tender, exploratory, like he was savoring the moment instead of devouring it.

His lips moved against mine, his tongue gently demanding entry.

I melted into him, my hands finding the solid warmth of his chest.

When we finally broke apart, I was breathless. His thumb traced my lower lip.

“That was different,” I said. “Good different.”

He smiled that rare, genuine smile that transformed his entire face. “Yeah. Good different.”

The horses had wandered a few feet away, content to graze on the sweet grass beneath the trees. My heart was pounding in my chest. I was buzzing with arousal but not in a way that demanded I throw him on the ground and straddle him. His kiss had undone me in the best way.

“We should head back,” I said, though I made no move to step away from him.

“Should we?” His hands found my waist, pulling me closer.

“Martha and Joe are probably wondering where we are.”

“They’re probably taking bets on whether I fall off the horse on the way back.”

I laughed. “You’re doing great. Natural born horseman.”

“Right. That’s me.”

“I could live in this moment forever,” I said honestly.

He looked at me, really looked at me, and something deep in his expression shifted. “I could, too,” he said, almost too softly to hear.

But duty, like always, was calling. Our shift was in less than two hours. We rode back slowly, enjoying the quiet. I didn’t know what was happening to me and I wasn’t entirely sure I liked it. Cheryl warned me about falling for him. And dammit, that kiss pushed me right over the edge.

Back at the barn, we removed the saddles and brushed the horses down. Honeycrisp gave Dalton a fond nudge like she was telling him he did okay for a novice.

Martha walked into the barn with two glasses of cold lemonade and a look that said everything and nothing all at once. “You two are welcome back anytime. It’s good for the horses to get some exercise.”

“Thanks, Martha,” I said, flushing.

Dalton took a long drink and gave Honeycrisp one final pat before we got back in the truck and headed out.

He didn’t say much on the ride back, but when we pulled into the airfield, he reached across the seat and brushed his fingers against mine.

“I don’t do feelings,” he said. “But that didn’t feel like nothing.”

I stared at him. “No, it didn’t.”