She swallowed, but her voice wouldn’t cooperate, so she nodded.
Wyatt gave a single, satisfied nod in return and turned his horse back to the trail.
Ember shifted once, then settled into a walk, reins slack in Jen’s hands. Another half mile and the trees opened into a clearing. A fallen log, dusted with snow. Wyatt dismounted and looped the bay’s reins over a low branch.
“Ready for a break?” He took hold of Ember’s bridle and held her steady while Jen dismounted. Her legs protested—muscles remembering what riding cost—but her hands were warm in his gloves.
He pulled a thermos from his saddlebag, then a cloth-wrapped package, and set both on the fallen log. He threw a wool blanket over the log, then poured hot chocolate into the thermos cap and held it out to her.
She took it, trying and failing to ignore the graze of his fingers against hers. The chocolate curled steam into the cold air. She sipped, and the warmth spread, slow through her body, making her skin tingle.
He unwrapped the cloth. Two slices of apple pie. He handed her one first on a paper plate, fork already tucked underneath.
“You brought pie.”
“You need to eat after trauma.” He paused, a sheepish smile on his face. “I can’t take credit. Sarah picked it up from Benji’s diner. Louisa’s pie is non-negotiable.”
She took a bite. Cinnamon, butter, just enough tart to cut the sweetness. She closed her eyes to savor it. “This is delicious.”
He watched her for a moment, unexpected softness crossing his face before he took his own slice. When she finished, he took the empty cup from her hand without asking and packed everything away.
He straightened and met her eyes. “You doing okay?”
“Yes, I am.” Her smile came easily. “Really okay.”
Something shifted in his expression—not quite a smile. Something quieter. “Good.”
The moment elongated, and she never wanted it to end. Horses snorting. Snowflakes drifting. Nothing pressing them to move.
He swung back into the saddle. “We should head back. Snow’s coming in again.”
She followed his gaze. The light had flattened, clouds gathering at the peaks.
She mounted more easily this time. Wyatt waited until she was settled before turning the bay toward the trail. They rode side by side now, close enough that their knees brushed when the horses drifted together. Neither of them corrected it. The stables appeared through the trees—timber and glass roof lights catching the last of the daylight.
Wyatt glanced over. “Worth it?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Definitely worth it.”
He nodded and rode on.
Jen followed him home.
31
Wyatt drove backto his house, hands locked on the wheel.
Jen was silent in the passenger seat, her gaze fixed on the deepening blue of the sky as night settled. She hadn’t moved in miles.
The last of the daylight caught the darkness of her lashes, the curve of her mouth. She had no idea how she looked right now—soft and unguarded in his passenger seat, wearing borrowed clothes, her hair loose against the headrest. His chest was tight, just soaking her in.
The car’s engine purred and the road unspooled beneath the headlights. It was too quiet, providing too much space for everything he wasn’t letting himself think about.
Not yet.
He flexed his fingers on the wheel, forcing them to loosen. Not now, when the adrenaline hadn’t fully burned off. Not when she’d been running on fumes for hours.
Whatever this thing was between them—it deserved daylight. A clear head and choice. But as the tires hummed beneath them and the sky turned indigo above, a different thought took hold.
