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18
Eryn
Gray’s hand held mine, his calloused thumb rubbing circles on my skin as I followed him blindly. My heart thumped a wild rhythm against my ribcage as he led the way, his cowboy hat casting a rugged shadow over his intense blue eyes.
The air in the stables was thick with more than just the musky scent of hay and horses. There was a tension, palpable and electric, that seemed to buzz between Gray and me, like an unspoken conversation charged with all the words we'd never dared say out loud.
“Watch your step,” Gray's voice was gruff, hewn from the same rough timber as the barn around us. But his hand on my lower back was surprisingly gentle, guiding me with a touch that sent ripples of awareness down my spine.
The stress of the past weeks—the renovations, our incessant bickering, the undeniable attraction simmering just below the surface—clung to me like the dust particles dancing in the shafts of sunlight piercing the stable's dim interior.
I couldn't help but watch him as he moved around the horses, a silent dance of power and grace. Gray's hands were sure and confident as they brushed over the animals' flanks, his fingers working expertly to secure the saddles. Every once in a while, a horse would nuzzle against him, and he'd respond with a soft word or a pat, a tender side of him that he rarely showed to anyone else.
“Always had a way with them, haven't you?” I found myself saying, my tone light despite the quickening pulse in my throat.
“Animals are straightforward,” he replied without looking up, his attention focused on adjusting a stirrup. “They don't play games. They’re easy to understand.”
He straightened up then, shooting me a look that seemed to strip away the layers of our push-and-pull dynamic, revealing something raw and real beneath. For a moment, I saw the man behind the grump—a man who cared deeply about his land and these creatures, who carried the weight of legacy on his broad shoulders.
“You could take a lesson from them,” I said, but my tone was playful.
“Sure,” Gray said, a wry smile playing on his lips as he finally met my gaze. “Just like you use charm as a shield.”
My breath caught at the sound of the truth on his lips—rough around the edges, like the rest of him, but unexpectedly sweet. I swallowed, pushing back against the flutter in my chest.
“Guess we've both got our armor, don't we?” I managed to reply, hoping my casual demeanor could mask the storm he stirred within me.
“Suppose so.” His voice softened as one of the horses whinnied, breaking our eye contact. He returned to the task at hand, but the stillness hung heavy between us, laden with unvoiced thoughts and impulses.
As I stood there, watching the muscles ripple under his tight shirt, the way his jeans hugged his thighs when he bent to fasten a buckle, I realized that this man—this infuriatingly attractive, stubborn man—was chipping away at the walls I'd built around my heart, one smoldering glance at a time. And the scary part was, I wasn't sure I wanted to stop him.
“Let’s go,” he said, rising to stand and leading the horses out.
“Go where?”
“Up.” He pointed at the mountain and I instantly knew he was taking me to find peace.
And I also knew I would follow him anywhere.
* * *
Hooves thudded on the earth beneath us, a rhythmic beat that matched the quickened pulse I felt every time Gray's gaze flickered in my direction. Riding side by side up the mountain trail, it was as if we were alone in the world, save for the occasional bird call or rustle of a small creature in the brush. The sun cast its warm glow on the rolling hills, turning them into waves of gold that almost looked red.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, breaking the silence that had settled between us. I breathed in deeply, the scent of wildflowers tinged with the musky aroma of the earth filling my lungs.
“Nothing like it,” he agreed, his voice carrying a depth that resonated with the serene landscape. He pointed to the left, where the fields were still visible through the trees. “That’s where the ranch gets its name. The sun over this part of the mountains gleams a certain way. Makes the whole land look red for a few minutes every day.”
“That’s incredible.” I thought of how magical that must have been for Gray’s ancestors, the ones who built this ranch. Seeing that kind of change in the light without knowing why or how.
I glanced over at Gray, taking in the way the sunlight caught the edges of his stubble. He was rough, strong, brooding. But there was a gentleness in the way he held the reins, a silent conversation between him and his horse that spoke of years of trust and respect.
As the path wound higher, the incline demanding more from our horses, I noticed even more of a softening in Gray's demeanor. His shoulders, usually set in a rigid line of determination, eased back as if the open sky above us offered a reprieve from the burdens he carried.
“You know,” he began hesitantly, his blue eyes not meeting mine, “taking over the ranch . . . it wasn't just about keeping the business going.”
“Then what was it about?” I asked, curious to hear more.
He sighed, a sound that seemed to carry all the weight of the world. “My father . . . he inherited this place, but rebuilt it from the ground up. Every fence post, every barn—it's got his blood and sweat in it. He took something good and made it incredible. And here I am, trying to fill boots that seem to grow larger with every step I take.”
