Page 83 of Lost Trust

“Mostly.” I sigh. “I’m a little nervous.”

“You?”

I shoot him a look. “Yes, me.”

His grin widens. “Don’t worry; once you’re on this girl”—he gestures to the chestnut mare with his chin—“it’ll feel like second nature. You’re gonna do great.”

The woman behind him calls out, “Royce?”

He glances over his shoulder.

She’s leading a horse out of one of the stalls, reins looped loosely in one hand.

“I’ll be right there,” he calls back.

Then his attention returns to me. “What are you doing after classes?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“I’ve got PT.” He grimaces faintly. “Then I was gonna grab dinner in the dining hall. You wanna join me?”

The offer catches me off guard.

“I was going to pick Ryder up and cook dinner at home.”

Disappointment flickers across his face. It’s gone almost immediately, but not before I see it.

“I already told you,” I remind him quietly, “I don’t date cowboys anymore.”

He steps closer. Not enough to touch me, but enough that I feel his heat, and his hand rises, palm resting against the wooden stall behind my shoulder as he leans in.

His eyes hold mine. “When I ask you on a date, Rina, you’ll know it.”

My pulse kicks.

“And it won’t be eating in the dining hall with everyone else.”

I swallow.

The confidence in his voice should irritate me. Instead, it sends a shiver skimming down my spine.

The woman calls for him again, a little louder this time.

I look past Royce, around the solid line of his body. She’s waiting with her horse, watching us closely.

I look back at him.

“You probably won’t have a hard time finding someone to have dinner with.”

His mouth twitches. “No?”

I shake my head.

His eyes stay on mine for another beat. Then he pushes away from the stall and turns toward the waiting instructor, leaving me standing there with my heart beating far too hard for eight thirty in the morning.

I look down at the horse.

“Don’t,” I mutter.