I watch as his eyes fly over the words in my book. The ones I know are highlighted and annotated. His jaw flexes, and his gaze is slow and burning as it makes its way from the book to me. “This line you highlighted? It’s funny.”
“Funny?” I ask incredulously. I know exactly what line he’s hinting at.
He comes towards me, footsteps slow and intentional. It feels like reality slows, narrowing in on the distance closing between us. When he’s before me, head dipped low and voice raw and rough and full of dark promises, time rushes back in. “Because you weren’t that shy after you came all over my hand the first time, Winnie.” He leans in, lips barely brushing my ear. “If you wanted a reminder of that night, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.”
Then he slams the book shut, hands it to me, takes his coffee, and walks out.
After my breakthroughwith Maggie the other day, I haven’t been this excited to start the day in a long, long time. And after my interaction with Wyatt this morning, I indeed did not read on the porch until sunrise. I took a very long and very cold shower before getting ready for the day. I haven’t been able to stop replaying the moment since it happened, because it’s clear now—that Wyatt wants me. Not necessarily in a romantic way. Physically, at least. Whether he realizes it or not, he’s replayedour one-night stand as much as I have. He’s not as unaffected by me as he likes to pretend he is.
It’s two hours of sitting in Maggie’s stall and feeding her more peppermints from my palm before she lets me touch her. Only peppermints, because she won’t touch anything else I’ve tried to give her. We stretch her legs and move her neck around to release some tension.
She only tries to kick me once.
Now we’re having a bit of a stare down. She hasn’t left this stall since I met her, and my mission today is to at least get her into the round pen. Something that’s a little less small, and more controlled. She needs exercise, and we need to start gaining trust with each other somewhere.
I turn from her and reach for the halter hanging in the stall. I thumb the blue fabric, and when I turn back towards Maggie her breaths are heavier, and the whites of her eyes are on full display. I take a step back and hold the halter out in front of me. “Hey,” I mutter softly. “Hey, girl. It’s okay. No riding today, I promise. Nothing fancy or intense. Just some exercise.”
I hold it out further, just barely brushing her nose. I let her sniff it. She gives it a little nip in return and nudges it with her head. I step forward once. She doesn’t back up, so I take another. When I’m close enough to grab ahold of her head, I rub gentle circles along her coat until she lets out a huffing noise. I gently guide the halter over her nose and up to her cheekbone. Slipping the crown piece over her neck and behind her ears, I run my fingers along the inside to make sure it’s not too tight. A burst of relief leaves my lips when she lets me hook the lead up, too. I let my hands fall and take a step back. “Good girl, Maggie.” I nod and gently, so very gently, tug on the halter. “Let’s go show them what you’re made of.”
We make it to the pen fairly quickly. I avoided as many horses and people as possible. She didn’t tug against the halterlike I thought she would, instead she kept pace at my side. Once we open the gate and make our way to the center of the ring, I let the lead fall. At first, I’d planned on walking with her and keeping her by my side, but I realized that’s not what she needs. The way her eyes dart around like she’s looking for an escape plan tells me she needs to be able to do her own thing. To get out whatever tension is still lining her body. To remember what it feels like to run free.
Maggie’s head whips left, and then right. The second she realizes it’s just us out here, she lets loose. She starts off slow as she circles me but quickly picks up speed. I have a feeling she’s keeping an eye on me, but for the most part she’s as carefree as she can be. Her hooves slap against the ground, faster and faster. Sharp and deliberate. Her canter quickens, striking the ground until it explodes into a full-blown gallop.
I stand there as Maggie does lap after lap around me, and I grin. Dirt picks up around us, and I welcome it with open arms.
I don’t know how long we’re out here. I don’t keep track of the time. I’m so enthralled in this horse and the way she moves that it doesn’t matter if it’s been three minutes or three hours. All I know is that I grin so wide it hurts. That thethud-thud-thudof her laps wrap around my chest like a vice, and I want it to stay there.
When she works her way to a trot, I turn my back to her. A tiny part of me knows it could be dangerous with how reactive Maggie is. But she’s worked herself nearly to exhaustion, and trust goes both ways. I won’t push her, but she’ll have to learn to approach me, too.
I’m there with my back turned for five minutes, maybe more. My confidence starts to dwindle as time goes on, doubt and fear at the realization that maybe she’s not there yet. But then… there’s the slightest nudge at my backside, and I let my head tipback. I breathe in deeply, letting my face heat with the warmth of the sun. I let loose a deep, throaty laugh that feels real.
Only when she nudges me again do I turn to her. I’m still grinning as I grab both sides of her head. I lay my forehead against hers and close my eyes. “You’re not as scary as you pretend to be, huh?” I ask. She blows out a hot breath in response.
“I think that’s enough for today.” I’m slipping a peppermint from my pocket when a shout–loud and ear shattering–cuts through the air towards us. I feel the tug before it happens, right before it happens. Maggie rears, and my fingers slip from the rope with just enough time to let go and scurry back. A violent neigh escapes her, and I watch in horror as her forelegs lash through the air and her hooves strike the space between us. With a thundering crash her front hooves hit the ground, so hard I swear the earth shudders.
I think someone might shout my name. But I don’t turn.
I sidestep, but not with any jerky movements. I put one hand in front of me. “Look at me, Maggie.”
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and she’s shaking her head so violently it’s beginning to make me dizzy. My heart clenches at the sight, because I know she’s not being intentionally violent. She’s fucking terrified. I let out a low whistle. Her head whips in my direction. “Look at me.” I say again.
Her movements halt. She becomes as still as death. I pull in a breath, forcing my heartbeat to calm and my voice to not break. I slip a peppermint from my back pocket and make a show of pushing it towards her. “You’re okay. It’s just us. See?”
She takes a step towards me, her chest slowing. I nearly keel over in relief as her entire body begins to relax. “Good.” I nod, as she calmly walks to me. “That’s good. We’ll go back—I just need you to come to me.”
Once she’s within arm’s length, I grab ahold of the halter, toss her a peppermint, and pull a few more out. Once we reach the gate and make our way through, I pass her off to another woman I’ve seen working around here a time or two. Maggie barely leaves my view before I’m whirling around.
I stomp towards the group of men on the other side of the pen. Once I reach the crowd, it parts like the Red Sea. I don’t slow when I spot the one left smack-dab in the middle.
I close the distance between us, shoving my face in his. Well… as much as I can get in his face. Low whistles ring out from the men surrounding us. I realize, as I’m doing it, I truly should not be squaring up with a grown man. He’s not only twice my size, but his biceps are the size of my head.
But I’m too pissed to see anything other than red. What little progress I had made probably just flew out the window. I don’t even acknowledge the crowd around us as I shove a finger into his chest. “What the fuck is your problem?”
The man doesn’t say anything, he just looks toward his boss. That alone makes my temper skyrocket. To my shock, Wyatt doesn’t intervene. Doesn’t even glance at me, just fixes his attention on his lackey. His head tilts, blue eyes peeking up from beneath the rim of his black cowboy hat. “Don’t look at me, man. She’s the one you pissed off.”
The hulking man scoffs and pivots back towards me. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Bryan.” His response is cold and indifferent. Like he’s not taking me seriously. He wouldn’t be the first man to do so, let alone the last.
