Chapter 6
By the Creek
Cole
Having Layla riding beside me, out here with the horses, does something to me. Happiness. And that’s a dangerous thought. I normally don’t let myself think about emotions like that.
That catches me off guard, and I don’t like how easily it comes. I like teaching her. I like that she wants to learn, likes being taught, and listens when I explain things. Everything out here is new to her, and somehow that makes it feel new to me too.
It’s… nice.
I wouldn’t ever tell her that. What kind of man just says something like that? Especially to a woman who barely knows him. But there’s something innocent about her. Not na?ve, just open. Curious. Sweet in a way I’m not used to.
Definitely not like Abby.
Layla’s nothing like her. I can tell that already, and I’ve barely known her any time at all.
And that scares me more than it should. Different is harder to walk away from.
Abby always needed to be ahead of me, louder than me, pushing.
Layla just… shows up. Pays attention. Takes what I give and somehow makes it feel like enough.
“How far is the creek?” Layla asks, adjusting in the saddle.
“Not too far,” I answer.
“This is beautiful,” she says softly. “Thank you for showing me all of this today. And for teaching me the right way to handle a horse. Maggie taught me a few things as well.” She glances at me.
“I really appreciate your patience. I can be a slow learner when it comes to hands-on stuff and that tends to aggravate some people.”
Nobody ever thanks me for this. They just expect it.
“You’re a fast learner,” I tell her. “You did real good. You should be proud of yourself.”
She bites her lip and smiles, like that means more to her than she expected. I look away before I think of something stupid.
“Are you flirting with me, Cole Marshall?” she asks.
“Nope,” I say. “Just bein’ a gentleman.”
She throws her head back and laughs, loud and unrestrained. “Alright, cowboy.”
The ride goes quiet after that, not awkward, just calm.
The kind of quiet that sneaks up on you.
I steer us toward a little swimming hole tucked back in the trees.
She’s been complaining about the heat since breakfast, asking about a pool.
We don’t have one. But we’ve got something better.
Natures pool. Not the smell of chlorine burning your nose. I hate that.
“Does this thing go any faster?” she calls out.
I smirk. “Pull the reins, give ’em a slap, kick your knees, and tell him go.”
She repeats everything I say, exactly the way I say it and Shadow takes off.
She lets out a squeal, surprised and delighted, like she didn’t expect it to work.
That sound hits somewhere and I want to hear it again.
It’s not annoying. It’s… real. Like she’s having the best damn time of her life.
Most girls around here roll their eyes at cowboys like me but Layla she seems to want more and more.
I urge Magic forward, catching up easily, riding ahead just enough to watch her. “You better hold on now,” I call back.
“Don’t you worry about me, Scrooge!” she yells.
The woods open up, sunlight breaking through the trees, and then we’re there the creek, cool and clear, cutting through the land like it belongs nowhere else.
We slow the horses, and Layla guides Shadow up beside me.
“Wow,” she breathes. “Does this mean I can get wet?”
I glance at her, then at the water.
“I believe so,” I say.
Layla swings her leg over and hops off Shadow like she belongs there. Then she starts unbuttoning her shorts, tugging her boots off without hesitation.
“Whoa, what are you doin’?” I ask, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.
This is a bad idea, I should stop this. Why is this girl stripping down right in front of me? In front of a stranger.
She grins at me. “What do you mean? I’m getting wet.” She winks.
Before my brain can catch up, she pulls her shirt over her head, standing there in nothing but blue panties and her bra, every curve unapologetically on display.
Confident. Comfortable. Like she’s not asking for permission.
She’s not trying to be anything she’s not.
That confidence is dangerous. But, her belly is soft.
Her hips are full. Her skin looks warm and sunlit.
She looks up at me, raises her eyebrows like she’s daring me to look away.
I don’t. She has the perfect body.
Then she takes off running and launches herself into the creek.
There’s that squeal again—high, breathless, full of joy.
“Oh my God! It feels soooo good! like Heaven! And look, at this scenery. ” she yells.
She turns back toward me, water clinging to her thighs. “Come on, Scrooge! Get in! You’re not a chicken are you?” She yells.
Dammit.
I strip my shirt off, yank my jeans and boots free, and charge into the water, splashing her as I go.
“I told you to stop callin’ me that,” I growled, splashing her.
She laughs and splashes me back, hands landing on my shoulders as she tries to dunk me under. Her palms are warm. Sure. Like she’s not afraid of me at all.
I like when she touches me.
That thought lands hard.
She floats onto her back, arms wide, eyes closed, the sun catching on her skin. “This was a good idea, I’m having fun,” she says. “And this water feels so damn good. An amazing way to cool off.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoyin’ it,” I tell her, and I mean more than just the water.
We wade around, laughing, talking. I tell her pieces of my childhood I don’t usually offer anyone, about the ranch, about Maggie and Luke growing up wild and barefoot.
About learning responsibility too young.
I forget to be guarded. For a minute, I forget everything else.
She’s like talking to a best friend. Someone I’ve known for years but I don’t know her.
What I do know is that she listens. Really listens.
Then she walks out of the water. And fuck.
Water trails down her body, catching on every curve.
Thick thighs. A perfect ass that makes my chest tighten.
She sits on a rock at the edge of the creek, feet still in the water, leaning back and letting the sun hit her like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
I shouldn’t be looking at her like she’s mine. That thought scares the hell out of me.
“This has been one of the best days,” she sighs.
It hits me square in the chest.
She looks at me then, slow, deliberate. Her eyes drag over my bare chest, my arms. She bites her lip.
My body reacts before my brain does. She eyes at me like she wants me.
Like she’s daring me to cross a line I swore I wouldn’t even look at.
Like she wants back in the water with me, close enough that I could take what she’s offering and the fact that my body answers before my brain pisses me off.
How long has she been single? Why do I care? I shouldn’t. I don’t do this. I don’t notice women the way I’m noticing her.
The sun drags slowly over her curves, lighting up every soft inch like it’s intentional, like she knows exactly what she’s doing sitting there in nothing but a bra and panties by the creek.
No hiding. No shrinking. She wears her body like a challenge, like she’s already decided she doesn’t owe anyone comfort, least of all me.
I tell myself I’m in control. That letting her get close is harmless. But the way she’s looking at me now, steady, unflinching, like she sees the worst parts and doesn’t flinch, makes something dark and reckless twist in my chest.
I want to step back. I want to be smarter than this. Instead, I stay right where I am, knowing damn well I’m already losing ground.
Jesus, Layla.
“You’re really good with the horses,” she says quietly. “You talk to them the way someone talks when they were loved really well.”
No one has ever said that to me. She sees more than she should. That one punches straight through me. My mother was an amazing woman.
“My mom,” I say before I can stop myself. “She was… everything. Amazing mother. Taught me everything I know about horses. About life.”
Her expression softens. “What happened to her?”
“She had a heart attack in her sleep,” I say, sitting beside her. “A few years ago.”
She reaches for me, fingers wrapping around my arm, squeezing my hand like she’s grounding me. “I’m really sorry, Cole.”
She looks at me when she says it. Holds my gaze.
What is happening right now? I don’t like this girl.
I don’t like that she’s here, and I don’t like that she keeps bringing up my mother like it doesn’t matter.
I don’t talk to strangers. I don’t talk about this and yet the words are already out, spilling from my mouth before I can stop them, like my guard slipped for half a second and she was standing right there when it did.
The world goes quiet. Her hand stays in mine.
My thumb lifts to her face without permission, brushing her cheek, tugging gently at her bottom lip.
And then I kiss her. Hard. Deep. No hesitation. Her mouth opens for me immediately, like she’s been waiting. My hand tangles in her hair. Her fingers curl into my shoulders. It’s hot and messy and overwhelming, everything I’ve been trying not to feel since the day she showed up.
This is how it started last time. This is how you lose someone. And it scares the hell out of me.
I pull back suddenly, breath uneven.
“Whoa,” she whispers, eyes blown wide.
“Yeah.” I stand. “I’m sorry. That was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Saying it doesn’t make it true. But I need it to be.
“A mistake?” Her voice cracks just a little.
I don’t answer.
I shove myself into my jeans and boots, movements rushed, angry at myself for letting this happen. I swing up onto Magic without looking back.
“Cole—don’t leave me here, come on,” she calls.
I kick Magic forward.
“Cole!” she yells again.
“You’ll figure it out.” I yell.
She knows the way back.
And I can’t do this. Not with her. Not with someone who pushes my buttons like it’s a sport and then looks surprised when I bite back.
She’s leaving. That’s the only part of this I trust. People like her always do, sweep in, stir things up, act like they didn’t mean to change anything.
I’ve been hurt before. I know how this goes.
I don’t get attached. Whatever she thinks this is, she’s wrong.