Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
ASTER
I was still floating from breakfast when Sawyer found me.
Kol's scent clung to my skin, orange blossoms and warmth layered over the house smell I'd already absorbed, and every time I caught a whiff of it something settled deeper in my chest. The others had scattered after the meal—Reid to his office, Nolan to the clinic, Kol to whatever chaos he was creating in the barn—and I'd wandered out to the porch, not quite ready to be alone but not sure where I belonged.
The screen door creaked behind me, and I turned to find Sawyer standing there, his pale blue eyes fixed on my face with an intensity that made my breath catch.
He was dressed for work—worn jeans, a flannel with the sleeves rolled up to reveal scarred forearms, boots that had seen better days.
His copper hair was windswept, his weathered face unreadable.
His scent reached me on the morning breeze—sun-baked grass and wind and something wild underneath, something that made my pulse quicken in ways I didn't fully understand.
"Come on." His voice was rough, barely more than two words, but there was something underneath them—an invitation, a question he wasn't quite asking. He jerked his chin toward the stable, his jaw tight, his pale eyes holding mine with an intensity that felt like a physical touch.
I should have asked where. Should have wanted more information before agreeing to follow this silent, scarred man I barely knew. Something in his eyes told me this mattered—that he was offering something he didn't offer lightly.
"Okay." My voice came out softer than I intended, a little breathless. I pushed off from the porch railing, my heart already beating faster. "Let me get my boots."
Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe, or relief—before his face settled back into its usual stoic mask. He nodded once, a short sharp motion, and stepped off the porch, heading toward the stable without looking back to see if I followed.
I followed. By the time I'd laced up my boots and grabbed a jacket, Sawyer had two horses saddled and waiting. Copper nickered softly when she saw me, and I felt a rush of affection for the gentle bay mare who'd carried me on my ride with Reid.
"You remembered." The words slipped out before I could stop them, soft and wondering, my hand coming up to stroke Copper's velvet nose. Sawyer glanced at me, one eyebrow raised slightly, his pale eyes curious beneath the fall of his copper hair.
"That I liked Copper." I clarified, feeling heat climb my cheeks at his steady attention. My hand stilled on Copper's neck, suddenly self-conscious. "You could have picked any horse."
"She's good for you." His voice was gruff, matter-of-fact, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
He was already mounted on his own horse—a sturdy gray mare with intelligent eyes—the reins gathered loosely in one scarred hand, his posture easy and natural in the saddle.
"Her name's Scout. Had her eight years now.
She's stubborn as hell, but she's never let me down. "
There was something in his voice when he talked about the horse—a warmth that softened the rough edges, a tenderness he didn't show for much else. His free hand came up to pat Scout's neck, the gesture absent and affectionate.
"Scout." I repeated the name, filing it away, watching the way his weathered face relaxed when the mare turned her head to lip at his boot. "Suits her. She looks smart."
"Too smart." His pale eyes crinkled slightly at the corners—not quite a smile, but close.
His voice had gone almost fond, roughened by something that sounded like genuine affection.
"Always knows when I'm trying to get her to do something she doesn't want to do.
Gives me this look like I'm the stupidest person she's ever met. "
I laughed before I could stop myself—a real laugh, surprised out of me by the unexpected humor—and Sawyer's head turned toward me, something shifting in his expression.
His pale eyes went wide for just a moment, his lips parting slightly, his whole body going still like he'd just witnessed something rare and precious.
"That's the first time I've heard you laugh around me." His voice was quiet, almost wondering, rough with an emotion I couldn't name. His scarred hands had tightened on the reins, his knuckles going white, like he was holding himself back from something. "It's a good sound."
Heat flooded my cheeks, spreading down my neck, and I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to respond to this silent, scarred man who noticed things like the sound of my laugh and spoke about them like they mattered.
"You coming?" His voice had gone gruff again, like he was embarrassed by his own admission. He clicked his tongue and Scout moved forward, but his pale eyes lingered on my face for a moment longer, soft and searching.
I mounted up, trying to mimic the easy grace he'd shown and probably failing miserably.
Copper was patient beneath me, standing steady while I found my balance and adjusted my grip on the reins.
We rode out of the stable yard and into the morning, the sun just starting to warm the air, the ranch spreading out around us in shades of gold and green.
Sawyer's scent drifted to me on the breeze—sun-baked grass and wind and that wild undertone—mixing with horse and leather and the sweet smell of dew-damp grass.
We didn't talk at first. The silence stretched between us, filled only by hoofbeats and birdsong and the whisper of wind through the grass. I kept waiting for it to feel awkward, for the urge to fill the quiet with meaningless chatter to overwhelm me.
It didn't.
There was something peaceful about riding beside Sawyer, something that didn't require words. His presence was steady, solid, asking nothing from me except that I be there.
"Where are we going?" I finally asked, when we'd been riding for almost twenty minutes and the main buildings of the ranch had shrunk to specks behind us. My voice came out soft, not wanting to shatter the peace that had settled around us.
"North fence." Sawyer's voice was low, rough, carrying easily across the space between our horses.
His pale eyes scanned the horizon, cataloging the land with the ease of someone who'd walked every inch of it, his weathered face calm and focused.
"Storm knocked down a section last week. Been meaning to fix it."
"And you wanted company?" The question came out more vulnerable than I intended, my hands tightening on the reins as I waited for his answer.
Sawyer was quiet for a long moment, his jaw working like he was chewing on his response, a muscle jumping beneath his stubbled cheek.
When he finally spoke, the words came out rough as gravel, barely audible over the sound of hoofbeats.
"Wanted yours." He didn't look at me as he said it, kept his eyes fixed on the path ahead, but I could see the tension in his broad shoulders, the way his scarred hands had tightened on the reins until his knuckles went white.
I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to respond to this silent man who used words like they cost him something and had just spent two of them on me. So I just nudged Copper closer until our horses were walking side by side, close enough that my leg nearly brushed his with every step.
Sawyer's shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension bleeding out of them. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. The landscape changed gradually as we rode—manicured pastures giving way to rougher terrain, rocky outcroppings and scrubby brush replacing the gentle rolling hills.
"It's beautiful out here." My voice came out soft, almost reverent, as I took in the wild sweep of land around us. "Different from the main ranch."
"Wilder." Sawyer's voice was thoughtful, his pale eyes distant as they traced the horizon.
His copper hair caught the sunlight, turning it to flame, and there was something almost peaceful in his weathered face.
"Reid keeps the pastures near the house groomed, presentable.
Out here, he lets the land be what it wants to be. "
"Do you have a favorite part?" I found myself asking, genuinely curious. "Of the ranch?" He considered the question for longer than I expected, his pale eyes going distant, his jaw working slightly like he was deciding whether to answer.
"There's a ridge about two miles east of here.
" His voice was rough, almost hesitant, like he wasn't used to sharing things like this.
His scarred hands moved restlessly on the reins, betraying nervousness that didn't show on his face.
"You can see the whole valley from up there.
Sometimes, when things get too loud in my head, I ride out there and just..
. sit. Watch the sun move across the sky.
Listen to the wind." He paused, his jaw tightening.
"It's the only place I've ever felt peaceful. "
The admission felt like a gift—something precious and fragile that he didn't offer lightly.
"Maybe you could show me sometime." I kept my voice soft, not wanting to spook him, my heart beating faster at the thought.
"If you wanted." Sawyer turned to look at me, something flickering in his pale eyes—surprise, maybe, or hope.
His lips parted slightly, his breath catching, and for a moment he looked younger than I'd ever seen him.
"Maybe." His voice was rough, cracking slightly on the word. He cleared his throat, looked away. "Yeah. Maybe I will." We rode in comfortable silence after that, but something had shifted between us—something warm and fragile and new.
"How long have you been riding?" I asked after a while, watching the easy way he moved with Scout's gait, like he'd been born on horseback.