Page 38 of Broken Cedar

“You absolutely didn’t.”

“I had a fifty-fifty chance.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he reaches for his own. For a few minutes, the only sounds are the rustle of fabric and the occasional clink of a belt buckle. The easy confidence of earlier has given way to something gentler, more tentative.

I smooth my shirt, unnecessarily brushing imaginary creases from the front while Colt rolls the blanket with the same quiet care he seems to give everything else. He cinches the leather straps around it, then checks them before securing the bundle to his saddle.

I catch myself staring at the line of his shoulders and force myself to look away. It lasts all of two seconds before my eyes drift back to him. I shake my head and bend to retrieve my boot, dusting the sole against the grass before pulling it on. When I straighten, Colt is already adjusting his gelding’s bridle.

He glances over. “You ready?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t ask if I’m okay. I don’t ask what he’s thinking. Some questions feel too fragile to survive being spoken aloud. He checks his gelding’s cinch. I check the chestnut’s, and we mount up. The horses shift beneath us, finding their balance, and then we’re riding back down the narrow trail, Colt leading, me following, the way we came.

I watch Colt ride ahead of me. His back is straight, his shoulders set against the light, his hat tipped forward against the sun. The landscape hasn’t changed. The cottonwoods still turn gold in the afternoon light. But everything feels different. The air between us charged with something that has nothing to do with want, and everything to do with consequence.

It isn’t the sex that keeps replaying in my mind, it’s waking up afterwards. Finding myself exactly where I’d fallen asleep, wrapped safely in Colt’s arms, as though there were nowhere else either of us would rather have been. We’d crossed some invisible line while we slept. Not because we’d planned to. Because, for a few unguarded hours, being together had felt so natural that neither of us thought to let go.

The trail narrows, winding between two granite outcrops where only one horse can pass at a time. Colt leads us through first. At the bottom of the slope he stops without looking back, he simply waits. The chestnut picks her way carefully down the uneven rock. Only once I’ve reached level ground does Colt nudge his gelding forward again. He never asks if I needed him to wait, never makes a point of it, he just…does.

When the trail widens, Colt drops back and rides beside me where the path allows it. Our boots brush in the stirrups. “You alright?” he asks.

I nod quickly. “Yeah. Just…thinking.”

“About?”

Everything. The hill. His mouth between my legs. About how easy it had been to fall asleep in his arms. “About everything that’s changed.” I say. Which is true, but it’s also a coward’s answer.

He nods, but doesn’t push.

The trail bends through the cottonwoods. Sunlight flickers between the leaves. Colt moves ahead of me, and glances over one shoulder. Not long enough to interrupt his riding, just long enough to make sure I’m still following. When our eyes meet he faces forward again.

We reach the creek again. Without thinking, Colt lets his gelding drift downstream as I begin the crossing. The movement is so automatic I doubt he even realizes he’s done it. Earlier I might have missed it. Now I can’t stop noticing.

When we reach the gate, he swings down before I’ve even gathered my reins. The gate is already open by the time I reach it. I ride through, and by the time I turn around he’s fastening the chain again. Eight years ago I would have accepted it as simple ranch etiquette. Now I wonder how many thousands of tiny kindnesses I’d overlooked because he’d offered them so quietly.

The barn comes into view, and Colt checks his watch. “I should help get those horses moved. North pasture’s grazed down. They need to go south before dark.”

“Okay.”

He dismounts and loops his reins around the hitching post. He turns to me, and for a second I think he’s going to say something, but all he says is, “See you at dinner.”

“See you at dinner.”

He leads his gelding toward the barn. I watch him disappear into the dimness of the barn, one hand resting loosely on the gelding’s neck. I don’t move. Not immediately.

The chestnut mare blows, impatient, and I realize I’m still sitting in the saddle, staring at the barn door long after Colt has disappeared through it. I slide from the saddle, my legs protesting after the long ride. The mare lowers her head as I loosen the cinch. Everything feels strangely familiar. Not because I’d done it earlier, but because once upon a time I’d done it every day.

I lead the mare to her stall, unsaddle her and brush her down the way Jim taught me when I was younger. As I’m hanging the saddle back on its rack, Ben wanders through the barn carrying a coil of rope over one shoulder.

He stops when he sees me. “She ride alright?” He nods toward the chestnut.

“Eventually.” I say.

He chuckles. “She’s got opinions.”

“So do I.” I tease with a small smile.