Page 44 of Unruly

So, I’ve been out here since six a.m. doing the work of two people while Dawson runs his horses for his competition this weekend instead of helping.

I’m not complaining.

I’m complaining a little bit.

I haven’t had time to go anywhere or do anything that isn’t directly related to keeping this property running and that means I haven’t seen Halle in two days.

Two days.

She hasn’t texted, hasn’t called, which tracks. After anything real happens between us, she goes quiet and lets me stew in it while she rebuilds whatever wall I managed to knock down. I know the pattern now. I’ve been watching her run it for months.

Doesn’t make it less annoying.

I reach into my back pocket.

Her underwear is still there, warm from being in my pocket since the other night. I’ve been carrying them through every task on this ranch for two days like some kind of feral man who has completely lost the plot, and I’m not even slightly embarrassed about that.

I check my phone.

Nothing from Halle.

I put it away, get back to work, and try very hard not to think about the way she sounded when I finally let her come.

I’m midway through something Rhett was supposed to handle when I hear it.

I straighten up.

The car turns into the yard.

I watch her park near the barn, cut the engine, and step out.

I’m already walking toward her.

She sees me coming and crosses her arms over her chest.

She looks good—she always looks good. Today, she’s in cutoffs that show off her tattoos, a fitted tee, and her hair is still slightly wild. She looks like someone who doesn’t sleep great and is running on coffee and determination, and I want to put my mouth on her neck so badly I have to actively talk myself out of it.

“Morning, Darlin’,” I say.

Her jaw tightens. “Don’t start.”

“I haven’t started anything.” I stop about three feet from her—close enough to watch her clock my sweaty tank and sleeve and look away, like looking at me directly is a thing she has to ration. “You came to me. That’s new.”

“I came to say something.”

“I’m listening.”

She takes a breath. “The other night was a mistake.”

I wait.

“I was rattled and you pushed and it got out of hand and I’m not … that can’t happen again. It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

“Okay,” I say.

She blinks. “Okay?”

“Keep going. You’ve clearly been rehearsing this.”