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We ride in silence for a while, the sun peeking through the leaves above us, radiant rays of light dotting the path ahead. I let my mind wander to Wyatt, as it seems to do more and more these days.What if I stayed here?
I’m not sure what that would look like. I mean, it’s not like I’d be sacrificing any friendships. Two weeks into my stay here and I haven’t received a single text from anyone, aside from my dad checking in after my first day. Which is another thing I’m trying not to think about. He’s supposed to be resting, but I thought he’d at least give me a call at some point.
It’s not like any of that matters. I don’t even know if Wyatt feels the same way about me, but I indulge in the fantasy nonetheless.
I picture waking up next to him every morning and convincing him to stay in bed just a little longer. I have a feeling I’ll win most of the time. We’ll have coffee out on the porch when the weather is nice, and then Wyatt will get to work on the ranch. I might teach riding lessons for kids, or heck, even have a few kids myself.
I’m surprised at the pang of longing I feel in the pit of my stomach. I want it. I want it all. The lazy mornings, riding lessons, and giggling, happy kids who bring us so much joy.
Tin stops abruptly, causing me to jerk forward. I gasp, grabbing the reins in a death grip, which only startles the horse more. She backs away, hopping slightly and jarring me uncomfortably in the saddle.
“Whoa, easy now.” Wyatt’s soothing yet commanding voice sounds from behind me. I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or the horse, but I’ll take whatever I can get. “Just a fallen branch in the path.”
Oh. Duh.I look down, and sure enough, a medium-sized branch is laying across the trail. Most horses probably would have just stepped over it, but I remember Wyatt told me Tin is older and doesn’t have as much get-up-and-go as she used to. Basically, she just needs reassurance that she’s okay and can do this.Same, girl, same.
“Right,” I manage to say, taking a deep breath.
“Are you doing okay? We’re at a good point if you want to turn back. The crossing is about a hundred yards up ahead, but if you’re not comfortable–”
“I can do it.” Before he can second guess me, I tap my feet against Tin’s sides, urging her forward. She snorts at the branch in her path, then gingerly steps over it.
I hardly have time to be proud of myself for pushing through before I’m aware of trickling water nearby. I knew there would be water. Wyatt has told me a dozen times about the small crossing up ahead. I know it’s only a tiny creek, and it hasn’t been raining, and it’s so shallow I could easily walk across… but tell that to the panic lancing straight through my heart and lungs.
“Breathe, baby,” Wyatt says from beside me. His horse has slowed to a trot, matching Tin’s pace. “I’m right here. What am I always telling you?”
I look over at my sweet, endlessly patient cowboy, my heart raw and vulnerable. “That you won’t let anything bad happen to me,” I whisper.
“That’s right. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I don’t hesitate to answer.
“That’s damn good to hear, sweetheart. Want me to pull ahead and cross first?”
I nod, letting him take the lead. Not a moment too soon, either. The trickling water grows louder, and soon I see the stream up ahead. My hands start trembling, sweat coating my palms and making it hard to hang on to the reins.
“Still okay back there?” Wyatt calls out.
“Doing my best,” I choke out, making Wyatt chuckle. The sound soothes me ever so much, melting the tension in my muscles.
He stops in front of the stream, and I hold my breath, watching as his horse takes one, two, three steps across the water, which is only a foot and half deep at most. When he gets to the clearing on the other side, Wyatt dismounts, tying his horse to a nearby tree.
“Three steps, that’s all,” he encourages. “Ten seconds in the water, then back on dry land.”
I nod my head, but his words hardly register over the buzzing in my ears. I sit, frozen on top of Tin, staring at the water. I know it’s clear, shallow, and inconsequential, but in my mind, all I see is the choppy water of the river I spent hours in as a kid, clinging to a tree root and praying someone would find me before hypothermia set in.
“Look at me, Kennedy,” Wyatt says, his rich, calming tenor guiding my eyes to lock on his. “You are incredible. You can do this. All you have to do is trust me.”
“I do,” I mouth, though no sound comes out. Wyatt hears me anyway, his heart in tune with mine.
Never breaking eye contact, I tap Tin's side, subtly urging her forward. She sighs as if annoyed at having to get her hooves wet. I'd laugh if I weren't on the verge of a panic attack.
One step forward. Water splashes, spiking my heart rate, but I force my mind to stay in the present.
Two steps. We’re in the middle of the stream, water sluicing around us. My head spins, the noise of the outside world ceases, and I blink back memories of plunging into the unforgiving waters.
Three steps. Back on solid ground.
My eyes shoot open, and I stare at Wyatt, who is beaming up at me. I try dismounting, but find I’m trembling so bad I can hardly move. My cowboy helps me off the horse, gathering me into his arms and rocking me back and forth.
