Chapter 14
Harrison
The sky is already wrong when I wake up. Low, heavy clouds that doesn’t rush but promises storms could be coming. The kind of morning where the air feels thick in your lungs and the birds go quiet like they know better. Thunderstorms. Not a tornado warning, but enough to demand respect.
I pull on my boots and head out before the coffee’s even finished brewing, moving on instinct more than thought. Cattle don’t wait for weather to make up its mind. If a storm’s coming, you work ahead of it or you pay later.
I spend the next hour moving stock, opening gates, guiding them toward the barns with practiced ease. My hands know the work. My body does too. It’s grounding in the way only physical labor can be -- muscle and sweat and purpose.
And still, my mind won’t stay where it belongs. Nicole.
The image of her keeps intruding, uninvited. The way she stood beside me last night. The way she looked at me like she wasn’t afraid of what she saw. The way I walked away knowing damn well I didn’t want to.
I shove a stubborn steer forward and latch the gate harder than necessary.
The storm rolls closer, wind picking up just enough to rattle the tin roofing. I glance toward the horizon, calculating time the way I always do.
Then my thoughts shift, unwelcome, but immediate.
Red Ledger. I picture him in his stall, sensitive to pressure changes, the way he pins his ears when the air turns heavy. And Nicole will be there. She’ll handle him. She’s calm and capable.
But storms don’t care about competence. By the time the last of the cattle are secure, sweat clings to my back and the wind has sharpened. The first distant rumble of thunder rolls across the land like a warning shot.
I don’t hesitate. I wash up fast, grab my keys, and head for the truck. If a storm’s coming, I should be at the race track. Because she’s there … and so is a horse that doesn’t trust the sky when it turns like this.
I pull out of the drive just as the clouds thicken overhead and head for the track.
???
The wind comes in uneven bursts, kicking dust along the track and rattling the metal siding on the barns. I’m checking a latch on Red Ledger’s stall when one of the track workers jogs up, phone in hand, eyes tight.
“Hey,” he says. “Heads up. They’re saying a funnel cloud was spotted about five miles west.”
That gets my attention.
“How fast it moving?” I ask.
“Hard to say. Storm cell’s unstable. They’re telling folks to be ready to take cover.”
I don’t hesitate. The barn shifts instantly with voices raised, footsteps quickening, handlers moving with practiced urgency. I spot Nicole at the far end of the aisle, already turning Jupiter Rising back toward his stall, calm as ever but moving fast. She catches my eye. No words needed.
The wind picks up as the first drops of rain hit the roof, heavy and sharp. Thunder rolls somewhere too close for comfort. We finish securing the last of the horses.
“Follow me,” Nicole says and she moves swiftly with me following behind her. She exits the barn and opens the door to a small building I’ve never been in before.
The door slams shut behind us, shutting out the wind and rain. The space is tight with concrete walls, low ceiling, and the air thick with the smell of leather and oil. Within minutes, the noise outside intensifies. I check to make sure the door is fully closed.
Rain pounds overhead. The wind screams along the walls like it’s looking for a way in. Nicole stands a few feet from me. A huge crack of thunder rattles the shelves.
She exhales slowly. “That sounded close.”
“It was,” I say.
She nods once, trusting me without question.
Minutes go by and the wind and storm are so loud, we don’t bother to talk over the noise. At one point, the lights flicker, and instinctively, I shift closer to Nicole. We’re not touching, just closer.
Another boom shakes the walls. Nicole jumps a half-step, and before I think better of it, my hand comes out, steadying her by the arm. She freezes. So do I. My thumb rests against her skin. I should let go. I don’t.
Her gaze lifts to mine, eyes dark, searching.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else.
Her lips curve faintly. “The storm?”
“No,” I say. “Pretending I don’t want you.”
The admission slips out before I can stop it. This is the moment I should step back. Instead, I step closer. Nicole doesn’t retreat. I lift a hand, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, giving myself one last chance to stop. I don’t take it.
When I kiss her, it’s not rushed or desperate. But it’s real. Her lips part beneath mine, soft and warm, and for a few seconds, the storm disappears. Then I pull back, resting my forehead against hers, breathing hard.
“That,” I say quietly, “was a mistake.”
She smiles slow, and unafraid. “Didn’t feel like one.”
I straighten, forcing space between us even though every part of me protests.
“Doesn’t change the rule,” I add.
“No,” she says. “But it changes things.”
She’s right and so I kiss her again. This time my hands find the shape of her waist, fitting perfectly, as if the storm outside is just a prelude to the one we’re making here.
Her hands slide up my chest, tentative at first, then firmer, fingers curling in the fabric of my shirt.
I let the kiss deepen. I can’t help it. Nicole’s body is soft, yet strong, in my hands.
She gives in to me like she’s been waiting for this.
There’s a hunger beneath her calm … a heat that matches every wild, unsaid thing between us.
My hand finds the curve of her hip, fingers caress against the fabric of her riding pants. I pull her even closer to me and she doesn’t pull away. She moves into it, mouth hot and open, like she’s been waiting for this.
The thunder outside cracks so loud it’s a cannonball. We both jump, then laugh nervously, like two people caught doing something they shouldn’t. The lights flicker again, and for a second we both freeze.
“I hope the horses are alright,” she whispers, her lips a centimeter from mine.
“It sounds like the wind is beginning to ease. We’ll check soon.”
A voice from outside breaks our moment alone. “Looks like the funnel cloud passed south. We’re in the clear.”
Nicole and I don’t move right away. The danger is gone, but something else has taken its place. I release her slowly.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah.”
Her eyes stay on mine for a few seconds, even after we stop touching.
I take a deep breath as we step outside into damp air. The world feels sharper now, like everything’s been reset.
As I watch her walk toward the barn, one truth anchors itself deep in my chest. I didn’t just break one of my own rules. I proved to myself exactly why I made it. And that’s the problem. I don’t know how we’re supposed to pretend this didn’t change everything.