Horseback
I grinned widely and took two fingers to the brim of my hat. “Yes, sir,” I replied playfully.
He got out of the truck, replying to greetings with relaxed hand gestures.
I followed, a little uncertain of how to carry myself among people who clearly knew him and perhaps knew Claire, too.
Winston didn’t seem the least bit worried about being seen here with me, and maybe that should’ve reassured me.
But a flicker of doubt lingered. Claire had ways of finding things out, and the last thing I wanted was for her to interfere and ruin everything.
Taking his shades off for a moment, Winston beckoned me, his eyes catching mine with a spark of something unspoken, and I approached the horses. He took the reins from the man, who disappeared with a quick head bow, giving us some space.
“This is Blaze,” Winston said, patting one horse’s neck. It was a beautiful bay mare with a glossy coat. She shook her head gently when I drew near. I held my hand close to her nose to get acquainted. “She’s gentle, but fast if you want her to be,” he added, handing me her reins.
“Hey, pretty face,” I said, burying my face against her neck and taking in the smells of my youth.
Memories flooded my mind, and they weren’t all bad.
Riding across the fields with Colton. Competing at the state fair with my three-year-old stallion, Lone Star.
Riding crazy fast with our six horses to lead them out of a tornado’s path when I’d been twelve.
I turned toward Winston. He was looking at me through those dark shades again, silent and indecipherable.
“Thank you for this,” I said, a little choked. “I had no idea I missed it so much.” I mounted the horse swiftly, my body remembering everything I’d thought I’d forgotten. “Let’s go,” I invited him, smiling and adjusting my new Stetson.
He was unexpectedly quick to get in the saddle, clicking his tongue to get his own horse moving.
As we rode into the Mojave, the vast expanse of desert unfolded around us.
Hot afternoon air lifted the smells from the ground—dust, sagebrush, and desert wildflowers.
The only sounds were the rhythmic clopping of hooves and the occasional call of a distant prairie falcon.
For a while, we rode side by side in a gentle stride. “This place is incredible,” I said, taking in the scenery. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It’s one of my favorite places,” Winston replied, his voice soft, yet carrying an underlying intensity. “There’s something about the desert that feels timeless and freeing.” He patted his horse on the neck. “I guess that’s why I chose to make the desert my home.”
His voice had turned a little sad, and I didn’t want to let him dwell on whatever that meant. “You owe me a race,” I quipped. “See that dead tree out there? The one with the buzzards?” I pointed at the tree, locking eyes with him.
“You’re on,” he replied, then hollered, “Hee-yah!” His horse shot forward, hooves churning up dust, and he was gone.
He was fast, but I was no weekend rider.
“Yeehaw!” I shouted, pressing my heels into Blaze’s sides.
She launched into a gallop, the raw power of her muscles surging beneath me.
The wind whipped past my face, stinging my cheeks, tearing at my hair.
Dust coated my lips, but I didn’t care. I lifted from the saddle, balancing over the pounding rhythm of her strides, feeling the strength of every movement, the sheer force of speed, shouting, “Ha! Ha!” until I started closing the distance between us.
Winston had a lead, but I wasn’t about to let him keep it.
I tightened my grip on the saddle horn, giving Blaze a subtle cue with my legs. She responded instantly, stretching out, her hooves barely touching the ground before lifting again. My thighs burned from the effort of staying balanced, every muscle engaged as I pushed forward.
The tree I’d chosen as a landmark for the end of our race loomed closer, its twisted branches stark against the sky.
I was still a few horse-lengths behind Winston.
I didn’t wonder for a second if I should let him win, if it would serve my purpose better.
The game, the strategy, none of it mattered right now.
All that mattered was the rush, the wild, unfiltered joy of the race.
Our horses were shoulder to shoulder when we reached the tree, scaring buzzards into flight amid bursts of reproachful croaks.
We pulled back on the reins, slowing our horses to a halt.
Their chests heaved, nostrils flaring as they tossed their heads, still charged with the thrill of the race.
“Who won?” he asked, taking his hat off and wiping the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his blue shirt.
“Whoa, Blaze,” I said, patting her neck. She trotted in place nervously. She probably would’ve liked the race to be longer. I would have, too. “I couldn’t tell,” I replied, smiling at Winston. “I think we’ll need a rematch one of these days, if you’re up for it.”
He laughed—the kind of laughter that spills happiness into everything it touches. “Deal.”
We turned back, taking a different route and riding side by side, our horses moving in easy sync. The rush of the race faded into something quieter, more comfortable.
“So, did you always know you wanted to be an energy trailblazer?” I asked, giving him a teasing glance. “Oil, I guess, before solar?”
Winston chuckled. “Not exactly. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a pilot. I was obsessed with planes. My mom used to take me to the airfield just to watch them take off and land. I didn’t miss a single air show in the area.”
I nodded, storing the detail away. “And what changed?”
He exhaled, shifting in the saddle. “My grandfather. He was an engineer and an oilman, always talking about the future, about how the world needed more and more energy. He used to say we had to build something that outlasts us. Clean energy was his dream, way ahead of its time, when people thought him crazy.” His fingers grazed the reins absently.
“I guess that dream stuck. With me, at least. My father was a die-hard oil man.”
I watched him for a moment, the way his voice dipped slightly when he talked about his grandfather, the quiet pride beneath his words.
“And you?” he asked, tilting his head toward me. “What did you want to be when you were a kid?”
I smiled, keeping my answer light. “A magician.”
His brows lifted. “Really?”
“Well, technically, I just wanted to disappear.” I laughed, playing it off like a joke, but I was getting uneasy. “Seemed like a useful skill.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “And you did! Then you came back. Do you enjoy the Vegas you’ve found after being absent for a while?”
“I like that it’s always awake. There’s something about knowing you can get a steak at three in the morning that makes life feel a little less predictable.”
“That sounds suspiciously like someone who has actually done that.”
I smiled. “More than once.”
He laughed, the deep, easy sound rolling through the hot desert air.
I should have been playing a part, giving him just enough to keep him talking while revealing nothing about myself. But there was something about Winston, the way he listened, the way he didn’t push, that made it too easy to slip into something dangerously close to real.
Our conversation drifted between places we’d traveled, ridiculous foods we’d tried, even stretching to a heated debate over whether peanut butter belonged in milkshakes.
“It absolutely does,” he argued, shaking his head in mock disbelief.
I wrinkled my nose. “I’ll pass. I like my peanut butter on toast, like a normal person.”
He scoffed. “Says the woman who eats steak at three in the morning.”
I laughed, shaking my head. The rhythm of the ride, the warmth of the fading sun, the low timbre of his voice—it all blended into something easy, something I didn’t want to examine too closely.
Something I deeply enjoyed.
For the first time in as long as I could remember, I wasn’t playing a game.
We kept talking, our words weaving between the rhythm of the horses’ strides. Him, offering glimpses of his world, his past. Me, feeding him just enough to keep the conversation going, knowing most of what I said wasn’t real.
But the way I felt was starting to feel dangerously real.
Our chatter was sprinkled with shared laughter and moments of lighthearted silence. The chemistry between us was undeniable, an electric current that seemed to grow stronger with each passing minute.
After a while, we reached a secluded spot with a stunning view of the distant mountains. Winston dismounted and helped me down from Blaze, his hands lingering on my waist.
“Shall we take a moment?” he asked, his eyes locking on to mine.
“Sure,” I replied, my heart racing, afraid of being close to him just as much as I craved it.
We sat on a large, flat rock, the sun warming our faces. Winston pulled out some chilled water from his saddlebags, chunks of ice still floating inside the bottles. He sat next to me, our bodies almost touching and our eyes lost in the distance.
“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone,” Winston said, his voice low and intimate. He took off his hat and shades, and put them by his side. His eyes were warm and kind. Perhaps it was that kindness that drew me to him.
I hesitated, then smiled. “I used to sneak out at night to stargaze. It was my way of escaping, even if just for a little while.” In that moment, I thought of Colton.
A flicker of memory, a life that could have been but never was.
I wondered, for the first time in a long time, if he ever thought of me.
The ache wasn’t sharp, not anymore. It was softer, worn smooth over time.
A quiet pull of nostalgia, a reminder of why I had left him. A subtle warning.
“That’s beautiful,” Winston said, his voice softening. “I’ve always believed that the stars hold our secrets. Of course, there’s no science behind that, but I just like to think they do.”
The moment felt perfect, like a scene from a movie. Winston leaned closer, his gaze dropping to my lips. I felt a surge of emotion, a mix of desire and fear. For a split second, I dared ask myself, What if?
But I already knew the answer.
“Olivia,” he whispered, his voice husky. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
My heart pounded as he leaned in to kiss me, but I placed a hand on his chest, stopping him gently. It was what I had to do, and yet it felt wrong, my heart rebelling against it with fast, breathtaking beats.
“Winston, we can’t, not anymore,” I said, my voice trembling. “You’re married. I’m more of a friend . . . or I should be.” My throat thickened. “We have so much in common, and I love our time together, but . . . there’s someone waiting for you back home.”
He looked at me with a mix of surprise and hurt in his eyes. “I understand,” he said slowly, pulling back. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”
I wiped at a tear with my fingertips. “It’s not that,” I replied, struggling to keep my emotions in check. “I just . . . I can’t do this. It’s not right.”
We sat in silence for a while, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken words. The chemistry between us remained, but now it felt like a dangerous undercurrent, something that could pull me under if I wasn’t careful.
After a while, we mounted our horses and headed back, the silence feeling heavier, weighed down by a sense of loss I couldn’t seem to shake. The tension eased gradually, and by the time we reached his truck, he was able to look at me again and smile, only a touch of sadness in his eyes.
The drive home seemed longer, joy absent from it, and the excitement gone. When he turned onto my street, I looked for Jack and didn’t see him. At least there was that. But he was probably following us from a distance on his wretched black Harley.
In my driveway, Winston cut the engine and turned to me. A slow-burning fire smoldered in his eyes. “Olivia, I—”
“Oh, damn it to bloody hell,” I whispered, and kissed him.
The moment our lips met, a surge of heat washed over me, intensifying with every heartbeat.
His initial surprise melted away as he responded, his lips moving against mine with a hunger that matched my own.
My hands found their way to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
Winston’s hands slid around my waist, his grip firm even in the tight space between us. The heat of him pressed against me, his body warm and unyielding. His lips met mine again, warm, tasting of sun and wind and just a trace of salt from the sweat on his skin.
The scent of him filled my senses, earthy and masculine, a mix of leather, warm skin, and the faintest whisper of sage carried on the dry desert air. The kiss deepened, his breath mingling with mine, his lips moving against me with slow, unrelenting purpose.
The world around us disappeared, lost to the rhythm of our mouths, the warmth of his hands, the heady, undeniable pull between us.
There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, only the heat building between us.
It took every bit of willpower I had to pull away.
“I’m sorry, Winston . . . I really am,” I whispered, my voice breathless and filled with a longing I wasn’t faking.
“Please forgive me.” Then, before he could say anything to change my mind, I got out of the truck and ran inside, slamming the door behind me.
In the cold, tomb-like silence of my temporary home, I let myself slide against the door and buried my face in my hands. I knew what I had to do next. What I’d done before with other marks.
“No!” I cried, sobbing hard. “I can’t do this. Not this time.”
Defense Attorney Blake: Detective Stanek, why do you believe the burden of proof was not met in this case?
Aaron Stanek: Because, after reviewing all the evidence, no substantial motive was established.
Defense Attorney Blake: So, you don’t believe the defendant had any reason to commit the murder?
Aaron Stanek: That’s correct. The investigation did not reveal any motive on the defendant’s part. Other people had motive and access—
District Attorney Mitchell: Objection! Lack of foundation.