When we made it to Boise, we settled the horses and checked into the hotel, and once again, she asked to be alone. I made some stupid comment about how I needed to find out what happened to the Huntsman, and when she rolled her eyes and gave me a slight smile—giving me hope she was still there—she promised we would pick it up again, and that she wouldn’t leave me hanging like that. I opened my arms for a hug, and relief flooded me when she stepped in, her cheek resting against my chest. Her warmth spread over me, her chest shaking with each breath. I hated seeing her this way, and once again, I just stood there, wishing I knew exactly what was going on through her mind. We said goodnight, and I didn’t move until I heard her door click shut.
She came in fifth the next night.
And more silence crowded the truck as we drove home.
I pulled into the ranch late, the lights of the Nova Luna Stables still illuminated above the door as if Abi was expecting us. I parked the truck far up, the back of the trailer near the door for easy access. Quinn jumped from the cab and made her way to the back. I jogged to beat her, grabbing hold of the lock.
“Go inside and stretch your legs. I got the horses.” I nodded towards the house. “Cash will want to see you anyway.”
“Wyatt—” She shrugged. “I can do this.”
“I know you can, but I’m here foryou,and you’ve had an extremely long few days. Go inside and then head home. I’ll take care of your boys. Okay?”
If I couldn’t find the way to talk to her, I could at least do this.
She kept my gaze for several moments before she exhaled as her shoulders dropped.
“Okay,” she sighed. “Thank you.”
I watched as she disappeared into the main house, and I stepped into the trailer, unhooking Hook and Charming before leading them into the stables and to their stalls. I brushed them, gave them fresh hay and water, treated them both to a peppermint, and went through the motions of night check. The entire time, Quinn was on my mind.
The stable grew quiet, nothing but the light huffs and puffs of a few horses, and by the time I was done, her truck and trailer were gone—and my single bag, with my new hat sitting on top of it, was sitting outside the stable.
Locking up, I bent and picked up my bag, plopping my hat on my head on top of my baseball cap, and solemnly made my way to the bunk house.
It was cold and dark, and missing something.Someone.
“Jesus Christ, man,” I mumbled to myself, tossing my bag off to the side. “It’s been seven days.”
But in reality, it had been a lot longer than that.
And I wasn’t about to spend one more night without her.
An hour later, I knocked on her front door with the toe of my boot. Quinn opened the door to her condo, her hair wet and braided, already comfortable in her pajamas. I gave her a cheeky grin and held up the pizza box from June’s Pizzeria in town and a bottle of Moscato wine. Quinn leaned against the door and placed her hand on her hip.
“What are you doing, Hartwell?”
Even though I could see how tired she was, the small smile she gave when she caught sight of me made me weak in the knees. I mimicked her grin.
“You left me hanging. I gotta find out what happens to the Huntsman.”
“Spoiler alert…,” she began. “He di—”
“Nope. La la la,” I sang loudly, using the fist that gripped the wine bottle to cover up one of my ears. “You can’t spoil it.”
“Do you know what time it is?” she asked, the sweet smile I loved so much growing on her lips.
I looked at my watch. “Just past midnight.”
“And you brought pizza and wine?”
“Hey…” I took a step, basically forcing her to the side to let me in. “We ate nothing but gas station snacks all day yesterday and only ate breakfast this morning. Plus, I’m not sure if you ever had pizza from June’s.” I stepped into the living room.
I had gotten her address from Cash, and already I was impressed with what she had done with the place. It had that homey feel that any place but mine had to it. An open concept blended the living room and kitchen, the separation marked by a gray sofa with throws and pillows facing a small TV next to the fireplace. Photos of her horses hung on the walls, and scattered with them were photos of landscapes or paintings, none of her family or her. The dim light made it look cozy, a place where I could picture her relaxing, and the scent of coconut wafted through the air. The smell of Quinn.
I set the pizza box down on the coffee table and followed Quinn as she moved to the kitchen, grabbing two plates and two glasses.
“I only have two of everything, so you’re washing your own plate,” she noted, plopping on the couch and looking up at me.
