I wasn’t supposed to want this. To wanthim.
That realization stirred a restlessness in me, a tension coiling just under my skin. I had spent years keeping men at arm’s length, controlling every outcome. But with Winston, control felt like it was slipping through my fingers. And I didn’t know whether I wanted to grab hold of it or push myself to let it go.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, throwing me a quick glance as he took the southbound ramp to the interstate, “are you going tomorrow?”
I frowned a little. “Going where?”
“It’s Russell Taylor’s seventy-fifth birthday bash.” My heart skipped a beat. “I thought you knew.”
“I’m not going,” I replied quickly, sounding colder and more dismissive than I’d intended. I was scared of the questions he might ask of me, about the real Taylors who he’d find himself eating and drinking with. Gossiping with. Swallowing hard, I asked, “Areyougoing?”
“I’ve RSVP’d yes, but ... without you there, I have no reason to.” He found my hand and brought it to his lips. “I can’t get you out of my head, Olivia. Being with you ... it’s different. My life is different.”
I found myself at a loss for words. I squeezed his fingers gently. “I feel the same way. We are good together, aren’t we?”
“We are great,” he replied, smiling widely. Emotions surged inside me, a heady mix of desire and fear that brought the threat of tears to my eyes.
“We’re almost there,” he said, slowing down on the I-15, keeping right until he found an off-road path leading into the desert. He took the turn and drove on rugged terrain for a while, stopping when he reached a group of three men standing near a truck and a horse trailer. One of the men held the reins of two beautiful saddled horses.
Texas was haunting me again, but the excitement of being with Winston kept the ghosts at bay for a while.
“Have you ridden a horse before, Olivia?”
16
Horseback
I grinned widely and took two fingers to the brim of my hat. “Yes, sir,” I replied playfully.
He got out of the truck, replying to greetings with relaxed hand gestures. I followed, a little uncertain of how to carry myself among people who clearly knew him and perhaps knew Claire, too. Winston didn’t seem the least bit worried about being seen here with me, and maybe that should’ve reassured me. But a flicker of doubt lingered. Claire had ways of finding things out, and the last thing I wanted was for her to interfere and ruin everything.
Taking his shades off for a moment, Winston beckoned me, his eyes catching mine with a spark of something unspoken, and I approached the horses. He took the reins from the man, who disappeared with a quick head bow, giving us some space.
“This is Blaze,” Winston said, patting one horse’s neck. It was a beautiful bay mare with a glossy coat. She shook her head gently when I drew near. I held my hand close to her nose to get acquainted. “She’s gentle, but fast if you want her to be,” he added, handing me her reins.
“Hey, pretty face,” I said, burying my face against her neck and taking in the smells of my youth. Memories flooded my mind, and they weren’t all bad. Riding across the fields with Colton. Competingat the state fair with my three-year-old stallion, Lone Star. Riding crazy fast with our six horses to lead them out of a tornado’s path when I’d been twelve.
I turned toward Winston. He was looking at me through those dark shades again, silent and indecipherable.
“Thank you for this,” I said, a little choked. “I had no idea I missed it so much.” I mounted the horse swiftly, my body remembering everything I’d thought I’d forgotten. “Let’s go,” I invited him, smiling and adjusting my new Stetson.
He was unexpectedly quick to get in the saddle, clicking his tongue to get his own horse moving. As we rode into the Mojave, the vast expanse of desert unfolded around us. Hot afternoon air lifted the smells from the ground—dust, sagebrush, and desert wildflowers. The only sounds were the rhythmic clopping of hooves and the occasional call of a distant prairie falcon.
For a while, we rode side by side in a gentle stride. “This place is incredible,” I said, taking in the scenery. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It’s one of my favorite places,” Winston replied, his voice soft, yet carrying an underlying intensity. “There’s something about the desert that feels timeless and freeing.” He patted his horse on the neck. “I guess that’s why I chose to make the desert my home.”
His voice had turned a little sad, and I didn’t want to let him dwell on whatever that meant. “You owe me a race,” I quipped. “See that dead tree out there? The one with the buzzards?” I pointed at the tree, locking eyes with him.
“You’re on,” he replied, then hollered, “Hee-yah!” His horse shot forward, hooves churning up dust, and he was gone.
He was fast, but I was no weekend rider.
“Yeehaw!” I shouted, pressing my heels into Blaze’s sides. She launched into a gallop, the raw power of her muscles surging beneath me. The wind whipped past my face, stinging my cheeks, tearing at my hair. Dust coated my lips, but I didn’t care. I lifted from the saddle, balancing over the pounding rhythm of her strides, feeling the strengthof every movement, the sheer force of speed, shouting, “Ha! Ha!” until I started closing the distance between us.
Winston had a lead, but I wasn’t about to let him keep it.
I tightened my grip on the saddle horn, giving Blaze a subtle cue with my legs. She responded instantly, stretching out, her hooves barely touching the ground before lifting again. My thighs burned from the effort of staying balanced, every muscle engaged as I pushed forward.
