Page 35 of Saddle Storm

Okay, so maybe there was a happy medium between the truth and what I’d just said, but it was the best I could do. He did after all ambush me into this dinner.

“Where are we going anyway?” I change the subject as the light turns green.

“The arcade on River Road. There’s a restaurant connected. It’s been a while since I’ve gone but think it’ll work.”

Max cheers in the background while my mind works to think of the best route. Which typically isn’t hard—I know my way around town. But something about Silas knowing where to take us—someplace appropriate for my kid and a decent eatery—is impressive. Most people make me decide where we go. It’s oddly refreshing for someone not to. That, and I’m too exhausted to think.

I park in an open spot and turn off the engine, then look over at Silas, who’s staring ahead with no move to step out of the car. That’s when I remember the shoulder—and no sling. “Would you like me to get the door for you?” I ask with only a hint of sarcasm.

“Oh, I imagine the task might be slightly simpler than walking a rambunctious pony from one end of the fence to the other.” He looks over at me with a cool smirk then glances to the back seat. “Hey, kid, hand me that baseball hat back there.”

Max hands him my beige cap and Silas slips it over his head without giving it a second look. It’s faded to the point it doesn’t even have a real color anymore, been lost and found at least five times between the two ranches I’ve worked. And I can’t remember the last time I washed it. Likely in the rain.

We make our way inside through the arcade entrance. I’ve only brought Max here a handful of times. The restaurant isn’t on the expensive side, but two hours of gaming could run me a day’s pay.

“Three please, and an unlimited gaming card for the night.” Silas tells the hostess who seems oblivious to his identity—but certainly not his body as she scopes him out.

“Certainly,” she says in a breath, then punches something into a screen, running a blue card through it. Then hands the card on a lanyard to Max. “Here you go.”

“Whoa, thanks!”

“I’ll get you seated shortly.”

“Silas . . .” A burly man I’ve seen here before approaches us. “Heard you were back in town. You here for dinner?”

“We are.” They shake hands quickly before Silas introduces us. “This is Max and you probably know Storm.”

The man smiles warmly at me. “I do now. Welcome Storm. I’m Rudy, the owner. Come on back, I’ll get you a table by the water.”

Panic settles as my eyes roam over the arcade space. “Um, I’d prefer one where I can keep an eye on Max.”

“Not to worry, my staff will keep an eye on him and bring him over when the food’s ready.”

“You do that for all your patrons?” I mutter with a side-eye to Silas who gives me a sheepish look.

We’re seated on the outdoor deck, enclosed for the cold season by a clear plastic tent, with the river and mountains still visible beyond it. The sun has already set, and dusk is settling in.

My stomach tightens in a low, traitorous way when we’re seated. The lighting is romantic, the view is one of the best in town. And for the seventh time today—he’s close. So close I feel it crawl under my skin.

Silas leans in. “Bet you can’t make it through a whole meal without looking absolutely annoyed.”

I wonder if he’s purposely referencing the bets and challenges we used to make with each other on the ranch when we were kids. They weren’t always pranks on others. Sometimes they were on things we were good at and knew the other wasn’t. He’d bet I couldn’t outrun him. I’d bet he couldn’t jump the fence in one swoop.

I set my napkin on my lap. “I’d hate to waste your evening, because I’m not going to answer any of your questions about Max.” I stretch out my hands. “Should we call it a night now?”

He grins. His eyes shining in the dim light. “Look, I’m sorry I used him to get you to have dinner with me, I knew it was wrong—I was advised against it—but I knew there wasn’t a shot in hell you’d agree any other way.”

Ugh.

I shouldn’t be flattered. I shouldn’t be swayed by how ridiculously gorgeous he is, or the way his features have matured. How much his shoulders broadened. How his forearms flex when he struggles to find the right words.

I cross my arms against my chest. “Well I hope you’re up for a night of sarcasm and disdain, because that’s all you’re getting.”

“Would I have asked you out if I didn’t already know what I was getting into?”

I scowl. “This isn’t a date.”

“Hey there, what can I get you two?”