Page 66 of Tame Our Wild

One time with her wasn’t enough.

TWENTY-EIGHT | COLSON

“You really think this is the best way to be spending our time?” Harlow’s arms are raised above her as she ties her hair into a long ponytail. “Don’t you have … like, more to teach me about riding? Or some new workouts to keep building my strength?”

A light breeze sweeps across the expanse of water before us, texturizing the surface with gentle waves that glitter yellow and white from the afternoon sun. The first remnants of spring are transforming the earth from subtle browns to fresh greens. The air has a chill when the wind brushes by, but the sun is enough to give you that comforting warmth that makes you debate whether you need a jacket or not.

It’s been a few weeks since I felt Harlow’s lips on mine, and I think about it more often than I should. The lasso still cuts through the hallway, and jokingly, during the day when she isn’t around, I pull the end near the stairs. By the end of the day, there’s a noticeable gap between the end of the hallway and the end of the rope, creating a free space from my room to hers. She always notices, because I find it back in place when I go to bed, and it pisses me off more than it should.

Harlow’s riding streak has placed her in the twenty-first position in the rankings. At this rate, there’s a strong possibility that she and I will be competing in the championship round together at the World Finals in May.

My cheek twitches as I try to suppress a grin. “Oh, darlin’, I’ll always have something to teach you about riding.”

She slips her sunglasses from resting on her head to cover her eyes, letting loose a laugh that warms my bones. “Don’t think I need much help in that area, cowboy.”

There she goes again.

Testing me.

Teasing me.

Fucking with my restraint that is nearly about to bust.

She knows exactly what she’s doing, and frustratingly, I think she gets entertainment from it.

I step into her, forced to stare at my own reflection in her sunglasses. “Prove it.”

She taps my chest with her hand. “In your dreams.”

“Yes,” I agree. “You going to put me out of my misery at night and replace my hand with that sweet pussy?”

“You’re so persistent.” She gives me her back and turns toward the canoe we dragged to the banks of the small lake with no other souls than ours.

It’s one of the things I’ve always loved about it.

The peace.

The seclusion.

“I’m damn near close to groveling, dust bunny.”

Her breathy laugh makes me grin as she climbs into the canoe and shuffles to the back, where it floats on the water. It tips back and forth, and she braces her hands on either side, trying not to flip it. I grab the oars and wait as she settles in her seat with her back to me before I pass one to her.

Placing my hands on the canoe, I push us off the shoreline. I climb in as it takes off, sending ripples outward across the surface.

Sitting down, I observe as she glides the oar through the water. I row with her, guiding us toward the center at a quicker pace. A few trout jump here and there, Harlow’s body eagerly turning rapidly each time she hears a splash on either side of her.

“This is beautiful,” she says in awe.

I swallow, silently agreeing with her, but not about the lake. The body of water engulfing us is stunning, too, but I find myself unable to compare it to the kind of beauty Harlow is.

She’s beautifully wild.

Strong in the way she’s been riding, pushing her fear of the past to the recesses of her mind, as I do.

I have had my fair share of injuries, and although none have been as brutal as Harlow’s, I’ve had a front-row seat to that kind of trauma. She might have walked away that day with a broken leg, but Paisley’s head injury was life-altering.

I came to the lake often after my sister’s accident. It’s only ten minutes from the ranch, making it an easy escape. It was suffocating being in a house that should’ve been flooded with laughter instead of rotting from the inside out from tears and verbal accusations that everything was my fault. My self-loathing was already a constant companion, and I couldn’t subject myself to staying trapped in a home where blame ricocheted off the walls, even though it was already creating a ruckus in my head. To this day, they still do.