“Yeah, I am,” he says, brushing the back of his hand over my cheek. “But it’s important that you trust me. I’d never put you in harm’s way, Coco.”
I should resist temptation. Tell him I have things to do. But I can’t. I want—no, I need—to trust myself enough to takechances, to dare to open myself to him without fear of getting hurt. Life gives no guarantees, only opportunities.
I tip onto my toes and brush my lips across his cheek. “I trust you. That’s my promise.”
Please don’t make me regret it.
His mouth finds mine—sudden, hungry, and deep. The kiss wipes my thoughts clean. His hands slide over my hips, up my sides, greedy for skin through my sweater. I melt against him, fingers fisting his shirt as he backs me against the barn wall. His thumb traces the curve beneath my breast before he drags his mouth from mine, both of us gasping for air.
Beau huffs a shaky laugh, pressing his forehead to mine.
“Better get that tree before it gets too late,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked.
I nod, still trembling. “Yeah.”
But it’s already too late. There’s no protecting my heart from him. I’ve already fallen.
9
BEAU
I watchCoco from the corner of my eye as I lead Duke from his stall. She stands stock-still, her body tense. Nothing like we were tangled in that kiss. Her shoulders are rigid, jaw tight, her fear obvious even if she doesn’t give voice to it.
Whatever happened to her must’ve been bad, but she’s too stubborn to admit defeat. That’s a point in my favor. If she trusts me, then maybe I can help her trust Duke, too. Show her that not all men, or horses, are cut from the same cloth.
“Tell me again why we can’t just buy a Christmas tree?” Her eyes dart to Duke. “There’s a vendor outside of the hardware store with plenty of tall, bushy ones.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I tighten the cinch strap. “Tradition’s ridin’ out and findin’ the perfect one.”
Her brow arches. “And you think you can find the perfect one?”
“Maybe I already have.” I grin.
Her laugh fogs the air.
I chuckle. “C’mon. Let me help you up.”
She’s wary but game as I help her into the saddle. I’m proud of her for not giving into fear. I swing up behind her, leathercreaking beneath us as Duke shifts his weight. She flinches and grabs the saddle horn. My arms frame hers as I take the reins, and damn if she doesn’t feel right pressed against me.
“Easy,” I murmur near her ear. “He won’t bolt.”
“I’ve heard that before.” Her voice trembles just enough to break me a little.
The evening air’s sharp enough to bite, smelling of pine and distant smoke. The sky’s pale blue and quiet as the sun begins its slow descent. Coco’s quiet as we ride, but soon her body relaxes, finding the rhythm of Duke’s gait. He plods over the frosted trail, easy as and slow as if he knows she’s settling in.
“It was a few years ago,” she says at last. “A group of us thought it’d be fun to go riding. I’d never been. Didn’t know what I was doing. This guy I liked—way out of my league, never gave me the time of day—thought it would be funny to rile my horse. It bolted and I couldn’t stop it.”
She pauses, but I keep quiet, giving her time.
“He rounded a corner at full speed, and I flew off, hit the ground hard and slid several feet on rocks and gravel,” she continues. “Tore up my leg. Broke my arm. Was laid up for six months.”
Heat flares in my gut like wildfire. My hands tighten over the reins, angry at the dumbass who didn’t respect her.
“The guy never apologized. Said it was about time someone knocked me off my high horse.” Her laugh’s brittle. “And maybe he was right.”
“The hell he wasn’t,” I snap before I can stop myself.
She twists to look back at me. “I should have known better.”
