Page 46 of Saddle Storm

“Are you two done? Can we be serious now?” I bark.

Dallas looks past me like I’m not here. “Hey, Dad, you want in on this?”

“No thanks.” He turns, scratching his beard. “Seems unfair since I’ve got a good guess how this will turn out.”

Wilder looks at Dallas. “Hear that? Thinks he knows women better than we do.”

“I’m glad this is just a big joke to you all.” I head for the door. “I’m going to go tell Storm she’s moving.”

I hear laughter behind me. Including Dad’s.

I grip the handle and turn back. “With a little more tact than that.”

Dallas holds up his hand, still laughing. “No, no. That’ll work just fine.”

I growl and step out of the Saddle Room. It’s going to be a while before I go back in there.

15

Tucker nudges my pocket impatiently and I laugh under my breath. “All right, all right,” I whisper, pulling out the carrot. “You’re relentless, you know that?” I scratch beneath his mane as he crunches away. His warmth seeping into my hand. “Just don’t tell Skye,” I say, glancing at my favorite horse across the narrow space. She probably doesn’t know it though since I ride Tucker nearly twice as much. Someone’s got to give him his exercise.

I’m in the bigger barn this afternoon. We had to move the older, calmer horses here before the cold weather really hits. It’s quieter here, warmer, less foot traffic. With high rafters that keep most of the light out. Sound doesn’t carry the same way here, and it’s what I like about it.

Place doesn’t see much action otherwise. Except of course last summer, when Rose and a few cowboys tried to steal Wilder’s horse to enter him in the Callahan annual rodeo. And got caught.

I’d have given a week’s salary to see that scene play out. If it had been me, I’d have been fired on the spot. But according to Rose, that was the night she and Wilder—well, let’s just say he chased her back to that pretty blue cottage and found another way for them to take out their frustrations other than yelling at each other.

“And they say blondes have more fun,” I murmur as I rub Skye’s neck, watching the carrot disappear into her mouth. I pull on the rag in my back pocket and wipe my hands.

It’s steady here. Isolating. Easier. I can talk to Skye, Tucker, and the others and know they won’t ask questions I can’t answer.

“I lost it this morning, didn’t I?”

Skye snorts at me and she wasn’t even there.

“Yeah, if he wasn’t suspicious before, he certainly is now.” My fingers sink into her warmth. She’s a rich brown with a white blaze down her muzzle.

“This morning was nice,” I tell her like she’s my best friend—probably is. “Too nice.” My stomach fizzes when I think about stepping out into my living room this morning, finding Silas with my kid, a made-up bed, breakfast to go, and a set of wheels determined to get my kid to school on time. Could’ve done without the wet towel incident. Although . . . I don’t know if I’ll ever forget the way his eyes roamed down my body like—no, that was bad. Really bad. And so inappropriate with my kid standing right there.

“It’s not fair,” I whine out loud. It’s a cruel joke in fact, Silas being here again. Every time he’s close, with that stupid clean cologne scent of his. Those pretty blue eyes. That cocky smile . . . I just want to do what I’ve been afraid to since all those years ago when we’d played on the ranch—kiss him. Just lean over and taste him. Those full, kissable lips that stretch every time he looks at me. That dimple that does me in every time.

A quick peck is all I’d need, really.

I rest my forehead briefly against Skye’s shoulder and exhale, wishing there was a way I could shake this off.

And last night—Christ, last night hadn’t even been a date and it was the best night I’d had in a long time. He had his eyes on me the entire night. I’d for sure thought he’d be scouting for photographers or fans, or hell, even the pretty waitress that kept walking by us. But it’s like I was the only one in the room.

For a brief moment, sitting across from him there felt like . . . like I wasn’t in this alone.

But I am. Or I will be once that arm heals. Because he’s not sticking around. And it’s better that way. This morning, last night—aren’t things I want Max getting used to.

“That’s why it’s better he doesn’t know.” Because the answer isn’t just a familiar name. It’s a whole life I’ve closed the door on. Feelings and resentment that never got resolved. Just . . . buried.

Bootsteps sound in the entryway behind me.

I stiffen before I turn. Of course it’s him.

His large frame is silhouetted at the barn door. Broad shoulders filling the space. He steps in past the light. Backwards baseball cap, jeans, and the sling resting over a flannel shirt that looks so damn sexy on him.