“Like crap?”“Such a mind reader.”Tr

“Like crap?”
“Such a mind reader.”
Travis gave a bark of laughter. She was something else. And the fact that she could be sharp and funny and tough when he was putting her through such punishing exercises only fueled his hunger for her.
“Well, since you’re already hurting, how about moving into a two-point position?”
“Arms out?”
“No, I’ll make it easy on you.” He grinned. “Put ’em behind your head. See how long you can hold it.” Balancing in a two-point position so that her torso was angled over her mare’s neck without the aid of stirrups required thigh muscles of steel. Placing her hands on her head increased the difficulty exponentially.
Margot’s face was tight with effort as she circled in a two-point. Travis knew the muscles in her legs, abdomen, and back must be screaming in protest. Admiration welled inside him as seconds turned into minutes and still she held her form.
“Okay, that’s enough. Bring her back to a walk.” With a “Whoa,” he applied pressure to the longe line.
Mystique obediently slowed to a relaxed walk. Margot straightened, dropping her rear into the saddle, and groaned in relief.
Travis fixed his gaze on the hoof-imprinted ground, hiding a smile. He didn’t want Margot to leap to the wrong conclusion and think he was laughing at her. Not when he was so damned proud of the way she’d stuck with those grueling drills. Not when he liked her so damned much. “Shake out your arms and legs. When you’ve rested a bit, you can pick up a canter.”
Margot took off her helmet and wiped her brow with her forearm. “How’d I do?”
“Was she fishing for compliments? But then he caught the betraying hint of vulnerability in her face. “You’re doing good. Real good. You think you’ll be up to tackling a small jump?”
A minute earlier Margot would have hesitated. Her muscles were already taxed to the max by these few minutes of trotting without stirrups and reins. How could she possibly attempt a jump? But hearing Travis’s husky voice say “You’re doing good” made her feel as if this were the first sunny day after a long, hard winter.
“Sure, why not?” she replied as casually as possible. She’d jump a four-foot oxer if only to hear him tell her she was doing all right again.
Luckily for her, Travis didn’t set up an oxer. After she’d cantered awhile he handed her the coiled longe line so she could walk Mystique around the ring while he set up a crossbar. The jump was barely two feet, a decidedly modest fence. Then he dragged over a third pole and placed it so it lay slanted against the jump’s standard. This was so when she took the jump, the longe line would skim over the pole’s angled length and not get entangled in the standard.
Satisfied that the guide rail was properly positioned, he came over and retrieved the longe line from her.
“This is what I want you to do, Margot. Pick up a nice canter. When you’re ready, I’ll shift closer to the jump so that Mystique’s in line with the fence. You okay with that?”
“I guess so.” Certain that she’d chicken out if she let herself think about jumping without stirrups or reins too much, she nudged Mystique into a canter.
Once she had the mare going at a good pace, she called out to Travis, “All right.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Travis position himself nearer the jump so that on the next lap Mystique would be cantering directly toward the large, striped wooden X of the jump.
Margot knew the instant the fence came into the mare’s line of vision. Her canter quickened and Margot felt the coiled energy beneath her. Her own legs tightened, gripping the saddle in anticipation.
Just follow Mystique, she told herself as the mare, ears pricked forward, jumped daintily over the fence. Margot wasn’t nearly as dainty. She started out okay, but on the landing she found herself listing alarmingly to the side. Instinctively she grabbed for the thick mane. Regaining her seat, she looked over at Travis. His carefully blank expression made her cheeks burn.
“Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. You were doing fine until you let your eyes drop at the last minute. The rest of your body followed,” he explained. “This time, keep your eyes up and fixed straight ahead.”
Maybe it was because she’d tensed up or because she was trying too hard, but her next attempt at the jump was even worse than the first. As Mystique went up and over, Margot was left hanging, her torso jackknifing backward instead of folding neatly over the mare’s neck. It was a good thing she hadn’t been holding the reins, or she’d have yanked her horse’s delicate mouth.
She couldn’t bring herself to look at Travis. He in turn didn’t bother to offer a critique of her last effort; they both knew it was too paltry for words. He merely waited while she regrouped.
Once she was cantering smoothly, he said, “Let’s try it again. If you need to, hold on to her mane.”
Although probably meant kindly, the suggestion made Margot feel like a total hack. She was only too aware that Travis could have taken a jump twice this size reinless, stirrupless, and probably blindfolded, too. Deflated, she barely mustered a smile when he added, “Come on, Margot, you can do it. Remember, the third time’s the charm.”
The third time wasn’t so much the charm as the hex. She tumbled right off Mystique’s back and landed ingloriously at his feet.
Thank God her body remembered the countless times Ned had made her practice falling off. The instant she lost contact with the saddle, those childhood lessons returned. She curled into a protective ball—a human hedgehog—and rolled safely out of harm’s way.
If only her body could remember her old jumping lessons, too, she’d still be in the saddle, she thought, scrambling to her feet and swatting the dust off her rear.
Travis’s concern only made her feel more foolish. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she replied, shaking off his hand to stomp over to where Mystique stood waiting, the very soul of patience for the pathetic human who was making such a hash of riding her.
Grabbing the pommel and cantle, Margot said, “Can you give me a leg up, please?”
“Look, you’re tired. Maybe we should—”
He doesn’t think I can do it. Margot turned to glare at him. “I’m not going to quit. I can’t. If I do, I might as well give up any hope of competing in the Hunt Cup. Besides, you know what Dad always said. ‘If you take a stupid-ass spill, get back on and ride smart.’”
He held up a hand. “Hey, I wasn’t going to suggest you quit. But maybe we should put the stirrups and reins back on.”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll end up relying on them twice as much for balance and control. That won’t help me or Mystique when we’re jumping cross-country.”
He regarded her silently for a moment. “You’re right,” he said finally. “But before I put you back on that saddle, I need to know if you’re hurt.”
She gave a short laugh. “Yes, my pride is definitely bruised.”
“Like father, like daughter. RJ’s pride bruised real easy, too,” Travis said, his expression tightening.
Was he thinking about the woman he and Dad had fought over? Before she could summon the nerve to demand the identity of this woman so that at least she’d have a name to despise, Travis turned toward Mystique.
Patting the mare’s withers, he said, “You bought a first-class horse, Margot. All you’ve got to do is trust Mystique and she’ll take you over whatever fence you point her nose at. Trust her, Margot. It’s as simple as that.”
He lifted the saddle flap, checking the girth once more, while Margot stared at the back of his dark head, his words echoing in her mind.
Travis was right. It was a simple matter of trusting her horse. She’d half-recognized its importance when she told herself to follow Mystique. But fear and lack of confidence had sabotaged her good intentions. Because she hadn’t believed in her equine partner, she’d tightened up—and screwed up. Her problem wasn’t physical, it was mental. As Jade would put it, Margot needed a mega attitude adjustment if she wanted to jump well. Otherwise she’d risk injuring not only herself but also her mount.
After tightening the girth a notch, Travis lowered the saddle flap. “You want to give it another go?”
When she nodded, he bent forward and cupped his hand. As Margot placed her booted shin in Travis’s palm, it occurred to her that the question of trust encompassed more than just her riding. Despite the intense attraction she felt for Travis, could she ever trust him with her heart?
Get over yourself, Margot. It’s not as though he’s shown the slightest interest in winning your heart, an inner voice mocked.
Wasn’t that the sad truth? Shaking her head to clear it of any further distracting thoughts of Travis, she told herself to focus on the task at hand. Hauling herself into the saddle once more, she took a deep breath. “Right. Here we go. As Jordan says, practice makes perfect.”
“What was that?” Travis asked.
“I was just repeating a favorite saying of Jordan’s: practice makes perfect. That’s what she told me on the phone just now when she heard I was riding Mystique without stirrups and reins.”
“That was Jordan you were speaking to?”
“Yes. She called to say that she and Richard and the kids are coming to cheer us on at the Hunt Cup.” Surprised to see Travis kneading his forehead with the heel of his hand, she asked, “What? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t realize it was Jordan on the phone, that’s all.”
“Yeah. And as I clearly have a lot more practicing to do before I’m close to perfect, I’d better get at it. Frank Jarvis has probably shod two horses by now.”
Margot clucked, urging Mystique forward into a canter, while Travis stood there feeling like the biggest idiot in the world.
When, he wondered, was he ever going to get it right with Margot? Never, came the bleak answer. Not unless he was willing to put in a lot more practice, too.