Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
The weekend of Thunder’s next race, Willow told everyone she was heading back to New York, but instead she drove to the Diamond Creek racecourse.
The weather was still warm, hazy clouds skittered over the horizon and the pale sun warmed tanned skin.
While she had hated lying to her parents about where she was going, the further she got away from Autumn Falls, the more the knots of tension changed to flutters of excitement about spending the weekend with Dylan.
Since going to the waterfall, there had been stolen kisses outside the gym, the occasional furtive drive by his ranch, but then he’d said, as if it was no big deal, “Next race is Diamond Creek, why don’t you come along? ”
Willow had shrugged a shoulder and replied, equally nonchalant, “Yeah, maybe I will.”
It was still a game she realized. Just a different type of game.
Diamond Creek was further west and a bigger event than Wildwood had been.
When they arrived, Willow watched as fellow trainers greeted Dylan like an old friend and jockeys waved at him.
At the stables, he seemed to be on first-name terms with half the grooms, who came over to chat, clapping him on the shoulder saying it was good to see him again, asking where he’d been.
“You’re a popular guy,” Willow observed, watching with intrigue as beautiful jodhpur-clad women waved as he walked past.
Dylan didn’t seem to take much notice, kept his focus on Thunder and just said, “I’ve worked a lot of places.”
The people who knew him, however, seemed to be as interested in Willow as she was in them.
One of his friends, a very good-looking Argentinian trainer, sidled up and introduced himself at the same time as asking Dylan who this mystery lady was.
Willow cut in before Dylan could reply, “I’m just an old friend from school. ”
Her answer seemed to please his friend, who smiled devilishly and drawled, “Hopefully we’ll see you at the bar later?”
“Maybe,” she replied with a smile, politely noncommittal. When the guy strolled away, Willow realized Dylan was watching her, brows raised in questioning amusement. “Problem?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not at all.” But she knew jealousy when she saw it. Childishly, it made her have to suppress a grin.
She didn’t want to get in the way before the race, so she went and sat in the shaded grandstand.
Nerves making her even more jittery than the weekend already was.
When the gates opened, she watched Dylan, his gaze fixed on Thunder, his face tense, she saw the almost imperceptible clench of his fist in pleasure as she started to come up the inside.
“Come on,” Willow murmured, willing Thunder forward.
It was agonizing, watching her creep her way into fifth, then fourth, the pounding of hooves on the track.
Willow was on her feet, heart in her mouth, leaning almost right over the grandstand barrier as Thunder finally nosed her way into third as she crossed the line.
Owen stood up in the stirrups, hands aloft in glory.
Dylan punched the air. Then in the same second, he turned and sought Willow out in the stands, his lopsided grin making her heart skip a beat.
This was work for Dylan, so Willow made herself wait for all the furor to die down before she headed over to the barn to see Thunder. It was nearing the end of the day, the weather had got cooler, the last race was running, and people were starting to drift away.
When she approached the row of stalls, Thunder’s ears pricked up in recognition, and as Willow reached her hand forward to stroke the side of her neck, Thunder grabbed the zip on her top between her teeth and pulled it affectionately up and down.
Willow laughed, glad she had a vest on under her sweater.
Behind her, she heard Dylan’s voice say, “She likes you a lot.”
She glanced around to see him watching the two of them, hands in his pockets, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, expression unreadable. “You and the birds.”
Willow rested her head on Thunder’s nose, breathed her in. “I like you, too,” she said. Then she raised her eyes to Dylan’s and added, “Not you, though, you don’t have to worry.”
He grinned. She felt the satisfaction of making him laugh. “That’s good to know.”
The corner of her mouth tugged in a smile.
Dylan glanced down at the straw-covered path for a moment, the hair he’d tucked behind his ear falling forward, then he looked up from under black lashes and said, “You wanna get out of here?”
She held his gaze, the air seemed to shrink around them. She saw the smile in his eyes when she nodded.
They walked together back to where his van was parked under the shade of the pines in the campground nearby.
All the way, she could feel the awareness of him next to her, her arm occasionally brushing against his.
The further they got away from the track and the people heading into town, the quieter and more peaceful it got, the trees towering above them, the last rays of the sun flickering through the leaves.
Willow had never been inside his van before.
She remembered that when her brother Noah had lived in a trailer on Silver Sky Ranch for a while it was a sparse kinda place, but Dylan’s van was different.
It was all beautifully wood-paneled, with a small kitchen, drapes over the windows, and a bed that stretched from one side to the other.
Elvis was asleep in the driver’s seat and paid no attention when they came in.
Willow wished she could be so relaxed, all she could hear was her heart beating, feel the tremble of anticipation in her fingers.
But as Dylan kicked the door shut, she was suddenly too consumed by the proximity of him to think of anything else, how her skin felt like it was on fire and her eyes could barely look away from his face.
It felt like it was just the two of them left in the world.
She didn’t think about her family or her job or New York.
She just thought about Dylan’s lips as they touched hers.
His hands as he pushed her sweater up and over her head, his fingers as they trailed softly up her arm, her neck, then reached around and drew the band out of her hair, running his hand through the thick waves to loosen it, twining one curl around his finger.
When her hands slid over his back, down to the hem of his T-shirt, he paused and pulled it off, chucked it on the floor.
Her breath caught in her throat. He brushed the curls away from her face, held them back while at the same time drawing her to him.
Willow felt thrillingly, surprisingly alive.
It was no effort, no thought; no need to prove herself or glance over her shoulder in case anyone was watching.
She curved herself into him, hand on his bare chest, other hand reaching up to trace the sharpness of his jaw.
She felt the metal clasp of his belt, the worn softness of his jeans; her fingers skimmed over the smoothness of his skin, the muscles of his back.
Felt his callous worn palms cup her face.
Smelled the warm intoxication of him. The softness of the bed. The weight of her body on his.
Her hair falling like a curtain to the world, they stared at each other for a moment, the electric blue of his eyes even in the dusky half-light.
There was a pause, a hesitation. But no one was walking away this time.
His hand came up to draw her head down to him and their lips met in a clashing tangle, the fabric of her T-shirt bunched in his other hand.
She wanted to be closer, held tighter. She couldn’t think of anywhere she’d rather be.
She couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather be with.
As he slid her vest off over her head, her curls falling back in their curtain, his eyes locked on hers, and she knew suddenly how dangerous it was to feel as alive as she did in that moment.
The last real thing that Willow thought was that she must not get infatuated.