15. Wrenley
FIFTEEN
WRENLEY
T he smell hits me first: hay and leather and something earthy that immediately tells me I’m out of my element. Talon Ranch sprawls before us, all wooden fences and dusty paths, and I’m acutely aware that my sneakers are the wrong shade of white for this place.
“Miss Wrenley, look!” Ivy grabs my arm, dragging me toward the barn. The girl likes to lead. “That’s where Scribbles lives!”
Saint follows, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.
He’s been quiet since we left his house.
Quieter than usual, which is saying something.
Every time I catch his eye, he looks away, like he’s remembering this is my last day, if it can even be considered that.
What is this morning to him? Am I an unwanted interloper, or does he want me here?
I just never know with him.
Inside the barn, Rome greets us with an easy smile that’s nothing like Saint’s rare, guarded ones. He’s all golden skin and confidence, the kind of guy who probably never overthinks anything .
He scoops Ivy up, making her squeal. “Scribbles is set to go. Ready to ride?”
“Yes! But Miss Wrenley needs gear too. She’s never been on a horse.” Ivy announces this like it’s a scandal.
Rome’s eyebrows lift as he sets Ivy down. “City girl?”
“Guilty.” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“Well, we’ll fix that.” His grin widens. “Let’s get you sorted.”
Saint shifts somewhere behind me. I can feel his presence like a phantom behind me, watching as Rome guides us deeper into the barn where riding helmets and boots line the walls.
“You should be about a size seven,” Rome says, studying my feet with a practiced eye. He pulls a pair of worn leather riding boots from a shelf. “These belonged to my sister before she moved to Colorado. Should fit you just fine.”
I take the boots, surprised by their weight. They’re beautiful, the leather soft from years of use.
“Thank you,” I say, sitting on a nearby bench to slip them on.
“Miss Wrenley needs a helmet too!” Ivy declares, already trying on a black one that swallows her small head.
“Safety first,” Rome agrees, selecting a navy helmet from the wall. “Can’t have Saint losing his favorite nanny to a tumble.”
Saint makes a noise somewhere between a cough and a grunt. When I glance up, his mouth is a thin line, eyes fixed on something fascinating on the barn wall.
The boots fit perfectly, though I feel clumsy standing in them.
Rome adjusts the strap under Ivy’s chin. She stands perfectly still, clearly familiar with the routine .
“Your turn,” Rome says to me, walking over and handing me the navy helmet.
Our hands touch during the exchange, and I’m acutely aware of Saint watching us from the corner of the barn. When I turn, helmet in hand, his jawline looks carved from stone, his eyes tracking Rome’s every movement with unmistakable possessiveness over me.
“What?” Rome asks, noticing Saint’s expression.
“Nothing,” Saint says, his tone flat as pavement.
Rome shrugs and turns back to me. “Let me help you with that.”
“I’ll help her,” Saint says suddenly, stepping forward so suddenly that stalks of hay snap under his boots.
The barn quiets. Even Ivy stops fidgeting.
Saint takes the helmet from my hands.
“Turn around,” he instructs, his voice low.
I comply, my heart racing as he positions the helmet on my head. His breath stirs the fine hairs at my nape as he adjusts the straps, his movements careful and precise.
“Too tight?” he asks, his voice close to my ear.
I shake my head, not trusting my voice to get through all the goosebumps he’s caused.
“Words, Wrenley.”
“It’s fine,” I croak.
When I turn back around, Rome’s watching us with undisguised interest. Ivy looks between us, too, with a wide grin.
“Right,” Rome says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get you ladies on some horses.”
Ivy races ahead to the arena, leaving me walking between the two men. Our footsteps are the only sound until Rome asks, “Wrenley. Cool name. Where’d it come from?”
“Oh.” I laugh, surprised by the question.
“My mother was obsessed with birds. Our house was filled with feeders and identification books. She used to drag my father on these weekend bird-watching expeditions.” I smile at the familiar story.
“One morning, they spotted a Carolina wren building a nest in the maple tree outside their bedroom window. That same afternoon, my mom found out she was pregnant with me.”
I adjust the riding helmet, feeling its unfamiliar weight. “My dad wanted to name me Carolina, but Mom thought Wrenley sounded more unique. Less like a state, more like a mythical creature. You know, half human, half bird.”
Rome nods appreciatively even though I might’ve just said the most nerdy girl sentence this cowboy has ever heard.
I glance sideways and catch Saint’s face transforming. The hard lines around his mouth soften with a warmth that wasn’t there before. He stares at me longer than necessary, studying me with new interest.
“That’s…” Saint begins, then stops. “I didn’t know that about you.”
“You never asked,” I reply, holding his gaze.
Unintentionally, my response is weighted with all the things about me he might have learned if circumstances were different. If he weren’t sending me away. If I weren’t leaving.
Rome clears his throat. “Well, let’s see if you’ve got any natural talent with horses, Carolina Wren.”
I break eye contact with Saint, my heart beating too fast.
“Actually, would it be okay if I recorded some of this?” I ask, pulling my phone from my pocket. “Your ranch is beautiful, and I’d love to have some memories of today.”
The word “memories” slows my steps. It’s a reminder that after today, memories are all I’ll have.
Rome nods easily. “Film whatever you like. Just keep a safe distance from the horses until you’re comfortable. ”
“Thanks.” I unlock my phone, grateful for the distraction. “I promise I won’t post anything online. This is just for me.”
Saint’s head tilts slightly at this comment, but he says nothing as we approach the corral where Ivy waits, her face alight with joy.
I lift my phone, framing the shot of Ivy’s small form against the backdrop of rolling hills. Through the screen, everything looks more manageable somehow, like a perfect, contained moment I can revisit later when the ache of leaving this place, these people, becomes too much.
Saint’s eyes are still on me, watching as I frame the first shot.
“Wrenley, you coming?” Rome calls, lifting Ivy onto Scribbles’s saddle.
I lower my phone, tucking it into my back pocket.
The horses are much larger up close, powerful creatures with muscles rippling under glossy coats. A chestnut mare with a white star on her forehead watches me with liquid brown eyes that seem just as skeptical.
“That’s Penny,” Rome says, noticing my attention. “Gentlest horse in the stable after Scribbles. Perfect for a first-timer.”
My mouth goes dry. “I’m actually riding?”
“Scared?” Saint asks.
When I turn, he’s right beside me, one arm resting on the fence rail.
“Cautious,” I correct, lifting my chin. “There’s a difference.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Not much of one.”
“I’ll help you,” Rome offers, leading Penny toward the mounting block. “It’s like riding a bike, except the bike has a mind of its own and weighs a thousand pounds.”
“That’s comforting,” I mutter, but follow him anyway .
Ivy’s circling the arena on Scribbles, her small hands confidently holding the reins. “Look at me, Miss Wrenley!”
“I see you! You’re doing great!” I call back, my voice steadier than I feel.
I’m getting on a horse. I’m gonna ride a horse. I’m not gonna die.
Rome pats Penny’s neck. “Left foot in the stirrup, grab the saddle horn, and swing your right leg over.”
I hesitate, suddenly aware of how ridiculous I must look in borrowed boots and helmet, with Saint witnessing the most city-girl stereotype there ever was.
But why do I care what Saint sees? Does his opinion matter all that much?
Yes. Because he matters.
Ugh. I wish my mind knew how to stop talking.
“I’ll help,” Rome offers, extending his hand.
Before I can take it, Saint steps forward. “I’ve got her.”
His hands circle my waist, warm and steady through my sweater. I freeze, the contact sending bolts of energy racing up my spine.
“Foot in the stirrup,” Saint murmurs, his breath tickling my ear. “I won’t let you fall.”
I obey, placing my left foot in the metal stirrup. His grip tightens as I push off the ground, helping me swing my right leg over Penny’s broad back. In the span of a second, I’m suspended between earth and sky, held aloft by Saint’s strength alone.
I’m on a horse. I’m on a fucking horse.
“I’m on a horse!” I whoop. “I’m sitting on an animal!”
Ivy cheers excitedly in response, and under her exclamations, Saint’s laughter rings out. Laughter. Like he’s enjoying the feat as much as I am.
When I look over at him, his eyes are soft, his hands slow clapping for me. “Good job. Now you really are half animal, half girl.”
For the next twenty minutes, Saint walks beside Penny while I learn the basics. His hand rests on the horse’s neck, steadying her, but I’m hyperaware it’s really me he’s paying attention to.
“Heels down,” he instructs. “Grip with your thighs, not your knees.”
Every instruction feels loaded, his commands doing things to my concentration.
“Papa never helps anyone ride,” Ivy calls out as Scribbles passes us. “Not even Miss Erin, and she asked twice!”
Rome snorts from where he’s leaning against the fence. “That right?”
Saint works his jaw. “Ivy, eyes forward.”
“I am!” She circles back around. “Miss Wrenley, you’re doing really good. Papa keeps staring at you like when he tastes a new sauce and can’t figure out the secret ingredient.”
My face burns. Saint mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse.
“Kids,” Rome says with a wide grin. “They see everything.”
“Can we do the trail now?” Ivy asks. “Please? The one by the creek?”