“You ever ridden a horse before?”
Those beautiful eyes flare again, this time with more fear than surprise.
“No,” she says softly. “I—no, never.”
I lead her into the house and up the stairs to the biggest of the five guest rooms, and one of two with its own bathroom. As soon as I told Mom about Ruth and her visit, she immediately made plans to have the room aired out and made up. I didn’t have the heart to disappoint her by insisting Ruth stay with me in my cabin, and to be perfectly frank with you, I think it’s probably safer this way. I don’t know that I could make it through a night under the same roof as Ruth Bevan without making good on the million impure thoughts in my mind.
“You can stay with me if you prefer, but I didn’t want to assume…”
“This is perfect,” she says, spinning on the spot to take in the room. Harriet, Brooks’ sister and our housekeeper, prepared it earlier with clean sheets and towels and a vase of fresh flowers in the window. For a room that hasn’t been used for a while, Harriet cleaned it up nicely.
“Come on, let me show you the rest.”
I lead her downstairs to the kitchen, where Harriet and Mama are sipping sweet tea and planning the week’s meals. As expected, Mama immediately tugs Ruth into a long hug, and I’m sure she’s about to break out the family photo albums before I manage to tear us away.
“Are you eating with us, Everett? Ruth?”
“I’ll let you know, Mama,” I say. “We might be out a while.”
“Be safe, honey.”
We leave the kitchen with two bottles of water from the fridge, and our next stop is the stable block.
“Hey, Delly-girl,” I whisper, holding out my palm. My mare licks up the three offered sugar lumps and nudges my empty hand for more, snorting and whinnying when she comes up empty. Ruth watches with a mixture of fear and fascination, and I urge her closer.
“Come on, baby girl,” I say. “Put your hand right here. She won’t hurt you. Open palm, just like that.”
The most beautiful smile spreads across her face as Della accepts a rub, nudging Ruth lightly with her nose.
“I’ve never been this close to a horse before,” she says giddily. “I never realised they’re so soft. You’re so soft and sleek, aren’t you, girl?”
Something stirs in my chest, and something else stirs in my pants as Ruth bonds with my horse. My mom and my sister are right up there, but Ruth has already joined Della at the top of the list of the most important women in my life.
“Want to ride?”
“I don’t know…” Ruth glances around, nerves returning to her expression.
“It’s okay, we don’t have to. We can take an ATV out instead. Come on.” I lead her out with one hand on the small of her back. It feels so natural to fall into step beside her with that small point of contact, and she always leans into it. I try not to read too much into it, but the stirring in my pants continues.
The vehicle barn is a short walk from the stables, and I use a key from the chain on my belt to unlock the key cabinet and swipe a set of keys. We settle into the small bench seat of a two-seater, and I drivethe ATV out toward my cabin, where I know we’ll have a great view of the setting sun from the back porch.
“This is cute.” Ruth runs a hand along the raw edge of my hallway console table, looking around in wonder and taking in my home. It’s not much. It’s a fraction of the size of the main house, but it’s cosy, and it’s mine, and I’ve spent the last few years making it a haven for myself. It took a little time, but I’ve finally curated my belongings to be lessstudent digs chicand closer to something a little more mature, and a little moreme. There’s plenty of raw wood and warm, earthy colour, tons of natural light from the enormous windows on the southern aspect, and natural materials everywhere. It might not be a big, flashy house, but it’shome.
And fuck, does Ruth look good standing in it.
“You want a tour?”
Ruth nods eagerly, and I lead her through to the living room first. With one hand on the back of an overstuffed armchair, she gazes around, taking in the artwork on the walls, the jute area rug, the television in the corner. Her eyes catch on the wooden bull on the coffee table, currently standing beside a paper crane atop the small pile of sketch books I opened for the first time in a while a couple of days ago.
“Of course you have a bull,” she says with a chuckle, reaching out to run a finger along one of his horns. “ThisisTexas, after all.”
She turns to me expectantly, and I lead her back to the hallway and down to the kitchen. It faces the back of the house, with a set of bifold doors leading out onto the back porch. It’s a good size. Bright, with a little breakfast nook in one corner; a circular table surrounded by a built-in bench seat for two, and two chairs. Off to one side, there’s a spacious mudroom with a washer-dryer stack, pantry shelves stocked with dry goods, and a half-bath.
Ruth’s eyes light up when she sees the wooden countertops and large farmhouse sink on the peninsula counter that faces the porch and the creek beyond. Behind the sink, there’s enough space on the overhanging counter to sit and eat, enough space below it for a couple of bar stools.
“I love this kitchen,” she says with a dreamy smile. “I might move in.”
Something bubbles in my chest, and I laugh, trying to dislodge the giddy, almost suffocating feeling that settles over me. It’s not that I don’t want that—quite the opposite. Idowant it, and it scares me that it doesn’t scare me at all.
