In silence, they led the horses into the barn. The animal bodies were lathered with sweat, and the fine layer of dust that covered their muscles was beginning to dry and crinkle in the shadowed coolness. She reached behind her head and unclipped her barrette, allowing her hair to fall loosely over her shoulders. It was as if everything had changed as they walked through a near-dark silence, like day into night. Her senses sharpened, like those of a nocturnal creature. She knew he was looking at her, and she felt awkwardly exposed. She glanced quickly at him. His eyes gazed at her with peaceful, deliberate regard. She maintained her lead into the barn with Mighty Boy, then Jean-Pierre stopped at his own horse's stall, and she hastened her task at hand, in an attempt to be done and out of the stall before he had a chance to come to hers. But as she worked with Mighty Boy's halter, she felt his presence at the entrance of the stall. He pulled the double door shut behind him as he entered, closing them in together in nearly complete darkness.
Her insides tightened as he slowly approached, the very act of breathing becoming more difficult the closer he came. She blinked to adjust her vision, and busied herself with releasing the girth of Mighty Boy's saddle, but she was clearly having problems; she had not thought to simply put down the flower for a moment while she worked with the snaps. And, as always, there was her hand, which forever burdened even the simplest tasks.
He came to her rescue, and she froze at the touch of his large strong hands on hers. And before she had to even consider retracting her flawed hand, he moved her aside and set about unfastening the girth and removing the saddle, leaving her to just stand there and watch, holding the flower.
Time stopped. Even Mighty Boy was still. His stare was on her again, but she willed her gaze to remain fixed on the hay-strewn floor. If she looked up into his eyes, there was no telling what would happen. Yet she made no effort to alter what was happening. Instead she shut her eyes, and tried not to think about how much time was passing between them without words. What were his thoughts? Were they the same as her own? What were hers? She could not focus on any of these blind musings. Unaware of her own action she had raised her head, as though all of him would become clearer if she trained her closed lids in his direction. She opened her eyes. Nothing in her mind could prepare her for what she faced. The emerald intensity of his eyes pierced through her, instantly warming her neck, her nipples, her loins.
"Come," he said, motioning to her with one hand, the other flat against the horse's side. "Feel this."
She allowed him to lift her right hand and pull her closer. He made her feel the animal's hot, damp flank, flattening his own hard hand over hers. She focused on his dusty manicured nails, his long fingers, weathered knuckles, and tanned skin. This was the hand she had fantasized about, touching her as it was now, and more.
"The strength of this animal, it can all be felt through his heartbeat. So strong," he whispered. She felt his breath on her forehead, and inhaled to try to bring it inside of her.
Mighty Boy stood steady as she experienced the bold breathing and strong heartbeat drumming beneath her hand. "Yes," she managed, barely, willing her hand to stop trembling beneath his.
He slowly lifted her hand from the horse and turned her so that they were facing each other. The flower fell from her free hand. He removed the glove from the hand he was holding, then he reached for her other hand.
"No," she said, a little panicked. "Not that one."