Chapter 9
It takes us about an hour to finish mucking out all the stalls. My back aches, my arms are sore, and I’m pretty sure I smell like something that’s never seen the inside of a bottle of dry shampoo.
That’s when Sam wipes his hands on his jeans and says, “Alright. Time to head to the other barn.”
I bite back a groan. Nooo. Why did I think ranch life was going to be all horses and flannel and lingering glances? This is manual labor.
But I follow anyway. Because apparently I’m a sucker for punishment and for the man leading me straight into it.
I grin when he reaches out and casually takes my hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His fingers wrap around mine, warm and sure, and something low in my chest tugs.
Outside, the sky has darkened. Thick, gray clouds roll in, and delicate flurries swirl around us like tiny warnings. The snow falls soft and silent, brushing against my cheeks, catching in my eyelashes. It’s beautiful in that quietly ominous way, like the calm before something bigger .
Sam glances up. “If it keeps coming down like this, we’ll need to hurry.”
But he doesn’t let go of my hand. And I don’t ask him to.
Phern leads the way down a hill toward another barn, her boots cutting clean tracks through the snow. This barn is older, broader, and the red paint is more faded than the first. It sits low against the hill like it’s bracing itself against the wind.
To the side, a wide pasture stretches out, enclosed by thick wooden fencing. Several horses stand scattered across it—tall, muscular, and wild-looking. Their coats are shaggy against the cold, and their eyes follow us with sharp caution. Their ears are pinned back slightly, heads high and alert.
It’s not the same calm energy I felt with Delilah. These horses carry something more volatile.
“Why aren’t they inside?” I ask, slowing my steps just a little.
“They do as they please,” Sam answers beside me, his tone even. “We leave the barn open in case they want shelter, but most of the time, they stay out.”
“They’re not cold?”
“They’re built for it,” Phern calls over her shoulder. “Strongest stock we have. Tougher than the rest of us, that’s for sure.”
My eyes drift back to the closest mare, a striking bay with a jagged white blaze down her nose. She watches me like she’s sizing me up, and I’m not sure I’d win the standoff.
“Are they dangerous?” I ask quietly.
Sam doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. They can be.”
That alone should be enough to send a shiver down my spine, but when he says it, there’s no fear in his voice. Just respect.
“They’re born to buck,” he continues. “It’s in their blood. Their job isn’t to be gentle. It’s throwing riders and earning their keep.”
My gaze stays on the mare. Powerful. Defiant. Unapologetically wild. I kind of admire her, in a way.
“So not the petting zoo type,” I murmur.
Sam chuckles softly. “Definitely not. But if they let you close? That’s a kind of trust you don’t take lightly.”
I nod, feeling the shift in energy as we approach the barn.
This isn’t just the working side of the ranch. This is the edge of something untamed.
Sam steps into the barn first, his boots crunching over the frozen threshold. Before disappearing inside, he swings the wide metal gate closed behind him, sealing off access to the pasture.
I glance at Phern, brows lifted. “Why’d he do that?”
“So they don’t get curious and try to investigate,” she replies, matter of fact as always.
I blink. “Wait. That’s a thing?”
She snorts. “Oh yeah. One snuck in behind me when I was ten. Spooked me so bad I spun around and caught a headbutt straight to the face.”
I wince. “Ouch.”
“Broke my nose,” she says with a shrug, like it’s just a minor inconvenience.
She walks toward the barn, and I follow, carefully watching where I step. The packed snow here is more uneven, dotted with hoof prints and deep grooves. Everything about this space feels more worn-in. More unpredictable.
Phern tosses a casual glance over her shoulder. “I’ve broken my arm, my leg, and my nose, all thanks to horses.”
“Seriously? ”
“Seriously. I’ve also been kicked, bit, and thrown more times than I can count.” She flashes a grin. “But hey, character building, right?”
I shake my head, incredulous. “You should come with a warning label.”
She laughs and pulls the barn door open. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Inside, it’s darker than the other barn. Quieter. Colder. The air smells stronger, sharper, more alive. I step in cautiously, not sure what to expect.
“I’m over here, Charlotte,” Sam calls out from deeper inside the barn.
His voice echoes softly off the wooden walls, and a smile curls at my lips as I follow the sound, stepping around a row of empty stalls until I spot him.
He’s leaning against a shovel, one hip cocked lazily, his sleeves rolled up just enough to show the corded muscles in his forearms. At some point, he tossed his coat and gloves to the side, saying he was getting hot.
He’s not the only one. There’s a smear of dirt across his cheek and snow still dusting his shoulders.
Somehow, he looks like every cowboy fantasy I never knew I had.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says, watching me approach.
“Oh?” I ask, my smile widening.
“Charlotte’s a lovely name,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching. “But it’s too long.”
“Is it now?”
“Yeah.” His eyes flick down my body and back up again, slower this time. “I was thinking Charlie suits you better.”
I tilt my head, pretending to consider it. “Charlie,” I repeat, letting the sound roll off my tongue. “I like it.”
“Good,” he says, but his tone shifts. It’s less teasing now. Lower. More serious. “Because there’s something I’d like to ask you, Charlie.”
My heart gives a little stutter. “What’s that?”
He steps away from the shovel, closing the space between us. His eyes don’t leave mine.
“Can I kiss you?”
My breath catches. Not from nerves, but from anticipation. From the way he asks, like it’s sacred. Like he knows the difference between wanting and earning.
I smile, soft and certain. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Sam’s smile deepens. And then he steps in.
One hand lifts to my cheek, rough palm brushing against my skin, warm even in the cold barn. His thumb grazes just beneath my eye, and I swear the air shifts between us. My breath stutters. My heart trips over itself.
Then his mouth finds mine.
It’s not rushed. Not desperate. It’s the kind of kiss that builds slowly, layers of heat unfolding one after another, like he’s learning me with every brush of his lips.
He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and I melt against him without thinking. My hands find the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric, anchoring myself as the world narrows down to just this. Just him.
His other hand settles at my waist, fingers flexing like he’s trying not to pull me all the way in like he wants to, but he’s still giving me the chance to stop him.
Spoiler: I won’t.
I lean up on my toes, pressing harder into him, and he groans softly into my mouth.
The sound goes straight to my chest and coils low in my belly.
My fingers slide up his chest, slow and curious, until they reach the bare skin exposed by his undone buttons.
I really wish I didn’t have the gloves on, but he doesn’t seem to mind .
When we finally part, breathless and flushed, he smiles down at me.
“I could get used to that,” he murmurs.
My lips curve. “Better be careful saying things like that, Sam Stone.”
He chuckles. “What? Afraid I’m serious?”
I don’t answer. Because maybe I hope he is.
From somewhere deeper in the barn, Phern calls out, “Snow’s picking up out there!”
I sigh against Sam’s chest, still catching my breath. “Guess that means we should stop making out and get to work.”
He grins. “Can’t remember the last time I made out with someone.”
I pull back just enough to raise an eyebrow. “Okay, Dad. How old are you again?”
“Forty-one,” he says easily, with a shrug that somehow makes him hotter.
I laugh. “Well, that explains the slow burn. You’re trying to protect your back.”
He smirks. “Nah, sweetheart. That just means I come with a lot of experience. And it’s your back you should be worried about.”
I’m still laughing as I grab his shovel and head toward the next stall, trying and failing not to picture what kind of experience he means.
“Careful, cowboy. That confidence is showing.”
He falls in step beside me, picking up a rake like he hasn’t just wrecked my brain with one kiss and a handful of words.
“Well?” he asks after a beat.
I glance over. “Well, what?”
“How old are you? ”
“Definitely not that old,” I say with a mock sniff of superiority. “Just turned twenty-eight.”
He groans like he’s physically in pain. “The same age as my sister.”
“Afraid so.” I scoop a pile of manure into the wheelbarrow, entirely too pleased with myself. “Feeling the midlife crisis yet?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Not until just now.”
I flash him a grin. “Don’t worry. You wear it well.”
He mutters something under his breath, but he’s smiling again. And despite the cold, the snow, and the smell, we keep moving, side by side, step by step. Something about it feels easy. Natural. Like I was meant to be here with him.
“Okay, here’s one.” I glance over at him as I lift the rake. “Favorite animal. Other than horses.”
Sam wipes a hand across his brow and leans on his shovel, pretending to think, but there’s a glint of mischief in his eye. “Hmm. Cats.”
I blink. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he says with a little shrug. “We’ve got a ton of them in the barns to keep the mice in check. Had one as a pet once. A real mean bastard named Potter. Used to sleep on my chest when I’d get home.” His voice softens. “Died while I was on my first tour.”
“Oh,” I murmur, caught off guard by the sudden twist of grief in his tone. “I’m sorry.”
He nods, brushing it off like it’s a story he’s told a hundred times. “It happens. What about you?”