Chapter 15
Nicole
The house feels extra quiet when I finally get home. That storm felt like it tore through the air and left everything scrubbed clean. The windows are dark. The wind has softened to a low whisper in the trees.
I kick off my shoes by the door and stand there for a moment, breathing it in. Relief.
The storm passed without damage. No injuries. No horses hurt or panicked beyond what we could manage. The barns held. The fences held. Everyone made it through.
I move through the house slowly, switching on lamps, letting the soft light replace the sharp edges of the day. I pour a glass of wine and lean against the counter, staring out into the dark like I expect the sky to offer answers.
It doesn’t.
What it offers is memory. The crack of thunder. His hand steadying me before I even realized I needed it. And then the kisses. That’s the part that won’t let me rest.
Harrison didn’t lose control because of the storm. He lost it because he wanted to. For a moment, he let himself forget the rule he’s built his life around since his break-up.
I’ve seen this before. Not with him, but with horses like Red Ledger. Creatures that learned the hard way that trust costs something. Who mistake restraint for safety and control for strength.
Harrison holds himself the same way. He’s careful and watchful — always bracing for loss.
The difference is, Red Ledger doesn’t know better yet. Harrison does.
That realization settles inside my mind. I miss him already. The thought startles me not because it feels wrong, but because it feels fast.
If I wait … if I let him dictate the pace through avoidance and rules, this will stall. He’ll retreat. He’ll convince himself the kiss was a lapse in judgment instead of a truth finally spoken. I’ll be left pretending it didn’t matter. I won’t do that.
The storm stripped away his defenses long enough for him to show me what he wants. What he’s afraid of. He held back last night after the dinner. Today, he didn’t during the storm.
The question isn’t whether Harrison wants me. It’s whether trusting me will be harder than earning trust from his own horse. I can’t chase him. But I also won’t stand still and wait for him to decide whether I’m worth the risk.
I stand at the window a moment longer, watching the clouds thin into ragged shapes against the night sky. Storms pass. That’s the lesson.
I glance at my phone on the counter, taking action before I back out of the decision to message him.
Me: Storm passed clean here at my house. Hope everything held at the ranch.
I send it before I can second-guess myself. The reply doesn’t come right away. I rinse my glass, set it in the rack, and change out of my clothes, moving on instinct while my mind stays alert. By the time I’m pulling on jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, my phone buzzes. I pick it up.
Harrison: We’re handling it. North fence line went down. One of the lower barns took on water. Nothing hurt. Just a mess.
This sounds unfortunate. The “we” in his message catches my attention. He’s not alone. He has hands. And if they’re still working this late, it matters.
I sit on the edge of the bed, phone warm in my hand. This would be the point where most people say goodnight and leave it there. I don’t.
Me: You want an extra set of hands?
The reply comes faster this time.
Harrison: You don’t need to
I smile faintly. That’s not a no.
Me: I know I don’t. I’m asking anyway.
A pause stretches just long enough for me to picture him standing somewhere in the dark, phone in hand, jaw tight, rain still clinging to him.
Harrison: It’s late.
Me: Doesn’t matter
I wait. When the response comes, it’s different.
Harrison: You sure about this?
Me: Yes.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Finally—
Harrison: Alright. I’ll text you the address.
The address comes through a second later. I grab my boots and keys, already moving. This isn’t about the kissing. It’s about what happens after. Friendship, help, and building trust.
Harrison trusts competence, consistency, and loyalty. So that’s what I’ll give him. If he’s going to learn that not everyone leaves once the storm passes, it won’t be because I convinced him with words. It’ll be because I was there when he didn’t ask … and didn’t push me away.