Page 10 of Sunrise & Serenity

“Not too bad,” he says.

“I told you.” My voice comes out breathier than I intended.

He meets my gaze. “Still gonna sting.”

“I know.”

When he presses the wipe against my scraped skin, I can’t help but twitch as I inhale sharply.

“Hold still.” It comes out like an order, but his hands are steady. Careful.

At least I manage to stay still while he cleans the dirt away with surprising gentleness. It feels strangely intimate after the way he’s been scowling at me all night.

Once he’s finished with the wipe, he dips his head and blows lightly on my skin. This time, goose bumps skitter over my body.

He stills, his gaze flashing up to mine for an instant before he keeps going. With quick movements, he finishes up by smoothing a little antibacterial cream over my knees and applying bandages. Then he crumples the wrappers in his hand and clears his throat. “That should do it.”

“Thank you.”

With a nod, he pushes to his feet, collects the first-aid kit, and disappears back into the bedroom. By the time I’ve gotten to my feet, he’s returned and is heading toward the front door. I trail after him. I should be looking forward to getting some space, but instead I’m almost reluctant to see him go.

“Thank you again for, you know, rescuing me. And, uh…” I extend one leg and smile a little self-consciously.

He nods again in that terse, unreadable way. “I’ll be here at six tomorrow morning to take you in.”

My weary body protests the idea. “Six?”

“Early starts are mandatory on a ranch. Don’t you know that? And six is a sleep-in most days.”

Even on Sundays? I keep the thought to myself. I doubt weekends mean much out here. And I’ve been up early plenty of times to catch the perfect light for a photo.

I take a deep breath, then force a smile. “Yes, of course. I’ll see you at six.”

For a moment, he studies me, and the hard line of his jaw relaxes slightly. Then he nods to me, blue eyes holding mine. “Good night, Sage.”

“Good night, Holden.”

Then he’s gone, the door closing behind him.

His departure seems to suck some of the air from the room. I turn and sag against the wall, pressing my hands to my face. Coming here was supposed to help me feel strong and in control of my life again. Right now, I feel the opposite.

But if I wanted to wallow in self-pity, I could have stayed at home.

With a deep breath, I force myself to straighten again. This is me moving forward. And I intend to do a spectacular job on this ranch, even if Holden thinks I’m some clueless city girl.

Or maybe I am, but I’m a fast learner too.

Keeping that firmly in mind, I plug my phone in to charge before heading to the bedroom to change out of my damp clothes and unpack.

The smaller room is just as rustic and cute as the rest of the cabin, with a double bed placed next to a wide window, a large wooden wardrobe, a set of drawers, and a small wood-burning stove tucked into the corner. Another door on the left leads to the bathroom.

I unpack quickly, then slip into soft pajama pants and an old college T-shirt before returning to the living room. Within minutes, exhaustion catches up with me, and I flop backward onto the couch.

Only now, since I’ve stopped moving, do I notice how quiet it is here. No cars, no honking, no shouting or distant sirens. Just the rustle of the trees, the chirping of frogs and crickets, and the soft patter of rain on the cabin’s tin roof.

Being completely alone like this—physically, at least—is new to me. I’ve always been surrounded by the bustle of humanity in New York. The change should be more unsettling. Instead, the quiet and solitude ease something in my chest. Maybe this is what Holden was talking about when I asked him about living out here.

Remembering our conversation—or lack thereof—has irritation simmering in my stomach again. I could have used a friendly face after days on the road. Instead, I got Grumpy McCowboy.