If only he had that same determination with his mental health.
I got out of my car and leaned against the corral railing, the wood rough on my skin, and watched, transfixed by the way his body moved to absorb the wild movements. Warmth spread through me as I thought about the way that gorgeous body had moved over me just three days ago.
The colt finally gave in, both he and Emmett breathing heavily. “About time,” Emmett murmured, running a hand down the horse’s neck with a few loving pats.
He glanced in my direction, doing a double-take when he noticed me. I could practically feel the slow glide of his gaze along my body as he rode over, but resisted the urge to fidget. He looked like every bad-boy cowboy fantasy in existence—sweat, dust, and that stubborn set to his jaw. My heart stuttered in my chest when his attention settled on my face, taking in every detail as if he hadn’t seen me in years, despite seeing me yesterday. It was intense, a way he’d never looked at me before until last week in my office.
“Thought someone was watching.” He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. The colt shifted by the fence, black coat shining in the sunlight. He smelled like hard work and man, and I was utterly mesmerized.
He shifted in the saddle, his gaze flicking to my chest. My shirt’s neckline was appropriate, but I had a feeling he could see straight down it while on top of the horse. I smirked. “My eyes are up here in case you’ve forgotten.” I should’ve left it alone, but pre-Emmett-sex Delilah wouldn’t have, so I wasn’t going to. The faster we could get back to how we were, the better for all involved.
“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath. He worked the leather rein between his thumb and fingers. If he rubbed itany harder, it’d probably disintegrate. “What are you all dressed up for?”
“I have a lunch meeting with a potential sponsor for Freedom Reins.” I held a hand over my eyes, blocking the sunlight. “Do you want to come? It’s in an hour, so you’d have time to clean up. He’s a retired colonel, a connection from Cavendish Academy. You could help me with all the military talk.”
For half a heartbeat, his eyes softened, dark and full of something that made my breath hitch. But then it was gone so fast, I wondered if I imagined it. He sat straighter in the saddle, gaze skimming the far pasture like I wasn’t even there.
“Don’t think that’s a good idea,” he admitted, voice tight. He looked like a man holding a door shut against a storm, and I was the storm.
My hope wilted. “What? Why?”
He let out a bitter laugh. “I’m not cut out for that kind of thing, Delilah. You know that.” He clicked his heels on the horse’s side and steered the horse away from me. “I’ve got shit to do here, anyway.” And they sauntered off without another word.
I scowled at his back as he went. “Dickhead,” I murmured under my breath, and went to my Jeep. And here I was, worried he’d treat me differently after we had sex. Guess when he hunted Willow down and accidentally called me sugar yesterday was just a fluke.
I flung my car door open, climbing inside. If he wasn’t going to come, then I’d just leave now for the country club where I was meeting Ethan for lunch. I could use the time to go over my notes and do a shot to settle my nerves.
Totally joking…maybe.
The country club was what I expected it to be—bougie. But it was the nicest place to have a lunch meeting in Wild Creek. Levi and Savannah said they used it all the time for importantclient lunches and dinners, so I figured if it’s good enough for the lawyers in the family, then it’d be good enough for me.
I followed the hostess to my table, running over numbers in my head in case Ethan asked. While Cavendish Academy covered most of our overhead, this sponsorship from Ethan would give us the resources to set ourselves apart from other inpatient facilities. I pulled out my portfolio and ordered a sweet tea, briefly wondering if this was too much when it came in a crystal highball glass.
About thirty minutes later, I was scanning through my proposal packet, sipping on tea, when I heard a low, male voice. “Delilah Chase?”
A stocky, late-forties man stood before me in a slate gray suit. His light brown hair was short on the sides, slightly longer on the top. It reminded me of Emmett’s hair when he first came home—that military order haircut they all had.
I stood. “Yes, hi. You must be Mr. Carmichael.” I extended my hand. “It’s so nice to meet you. I appreciate you coming out.”
His hazel eyes squinted when he smiled at me, shaking my hand. It was firm, no-nonsense. “Please, call me Ethan.”
We sat down, and after he ordered his drink, he got straight to business. Leaning forward, he clasped his hands on the table. “So, tell me why I should invest in Freedom Reins.”
“Because we’re the best inpatient facility in the state of Texas,” I replied easily. I didn’t need false confidence or forced bravado to utter those words. I knew it to be true.
He blinked. Once. Twice. Then a loud laugh shot out of him. “Is that right?”
“Yes, sir.” Taking a sheet out of my portfolio, I slid it towards him. “I currently have two hundred applicants on the waitlist, and we haven’t even opened yet. All men and women who have fought for our country and sacrificed so much for our freedom,just like you. They could go anywhere, and yet they want to come here. I think that speaks for itself.”
The corners of his mouth tilted down, his brows raising as he studied the information. I continued, explaining my credentials and experience with veterans, outlining the process they’d go through at the ranch, showing him pictures and schematics for the old barn and the stables. It was all state-of-the-art thanks to Claire and me winning that partnership with Cavendish Academy.
As I spoke, Ethan asked questions that showed he not only was listening, but that he cared. It would’ve been easy for him to throw wads of cash at us to make him look good, but I knew that wasn’t why he donated to places like Freedom Reins. And that was exactly why I wanted him backing us more than anyone else.
“You seem to really care about this, Delilah,” he pointed out, handing back a sample questionnaire the patients would take to match them with a horse and let me know their individual needs. “You’ve truly done your homework. I’m impressed.”
I tucked some hair behind my ear, nodding. “Because I do really care.” I fiddled with the stack of papers in front of me, wondering if I should elaborate. My eyes met Ethan’s, and something in them compelled me to keep talking. “My dad served and took his life when I was a baby because of his PTSD. And someone very special to me also served, and watching him struggle with the aftermath has been devastating, to say the least, but also inspiring in a way. I want to help him and other vets in his shoes process the things they’ve seen and done so that they can live peacefully and avoid the pain that my father experienced. My career has been spent focusing on veteran rehabilitation because of him and my father.”
I didn’t remember my dad, obviously, but my mom did. She said he came home a changed man. Cold and sometimes cruel. Refused to get help. Too proud to admit that he wasn’t okay.Spent his time drinking to numb it all. Then one day, he was gone. Left her a note that he was sorry and to take care of me—which she didn’t—and that was that.
