15. Storm
Tucker nudges my pocket impatiently and I laugh under my breath.
“All right, all right,” I whisper, pulling out the carrot.
“You’re relentless, you know that?” I scratch beneath his mane as he crunches away.
His warmth seeping into my hand. “Just don’t tell Skye,” I say, glancing at my favorite horse across the narrow space.
She probably doesn’t know it though since I ride Tucker nearly twice as much. Someone’s got to give him his exercise.
I’m in the bigger barn this afternoon. We had to move the older, calmer horses here before the cold weather really hits. It’s quieter here, warmer, less foot traffic. With high rafters that keep most of the light out. Sound doesn’t carry the same way here, and it’s what I like about it.
Place doesn’t see much action otherwise. Except of course last summer, when Rose and a few cowboys tried to steal Wilder’s horse to enter him in the Callahan annual rodeo. And got caught.
I’d have given a week’s salary to see that scene play out.
If it had been me, I’d have been fired on the spot.
But according to Rose, that was the night she and Wilder—well, let’s just say he chased her back to that pretty blue cottage and found another way for them to take out their frustrations other than yelling at each other.
“And they say blondes have more fun,” I murmur as I rub Skye’s neck, watching the carrot disappear into her mouth. I pull on the rag in my back pocket and wipe my hands.
It’s steady here. Isolating. Easier. I can talk to Skye, Tucker, and the others and know they won’t ask questions I can’t answer.
“I lost it this morning, didn’t I?”
Skye snorts at me and she wasn’t even there.
“Yeah, if he wasn’t suspicious before, he certainly is now.” My fingers sink into her warmth. She’s a rich brown with a white blaze down her muzzle.
“This morning was nice,” I tell her like she’s my best friend—probably is.
“Too nice.” My stomach fizzes when I think about stepping out into my living room this morning, finding Silas with my kid, a made-up bed, breakfast to go, and a set of wheels determined to get my kid to school on time.
Could’ve done without the wet towel incident.
Although . . . I don’t know if I’ll ever forget the way his eyes roamed down my body like—no, that was bad.
Really bad. And so inappropriate with my kid standing right there.
“It’s not fair,” I whine out loud. It’s a cruel joke in fact, Silas being here again.
Every time he’s close, with that stupid clean cologne scent of his.
Those pretty blue eyes. That cocky smile .
. . I just want to do what I’ve been afraid to since all those years ago when we’d played on the ranch—kiss him.
Just lean over and taste him. Those full, kissable lips that stretch every time he looks at me. That dimple that does me in every time.
A quick peck is all I’d need, really.
I rest my forehead briefly against Skye’s shoulder and exhale, wishing there was a way I could shake this off.
And last night—Christ, last night hadn’t even been a date and it was the best night I’d had in a long time.
He had his eyes on me the entire night. I’d for sure thought he’d be scouting for photographers or fans, or hell, even the pretty waitress that kept walking by us.
But it’s like I was the only one in the room.
For a brief moment, sitting across from him there felt like . . . like I wasn’t in this alone.
But I am. Or I will be once that arm heals. Because he’s not sticking around. And it’s better that way. This morning, last night—aren’t things I want Max getting used to.
“That’s why it’s better he doesn’t know.” Because the answer isn’t just a familiar name. It’s a whole life I’ve closed the door on. Feelings and resentment that never got resolved. Just . . . buried.
Bootsteps sound in the entryway behind me.
I stiffen before I turn. Of course it’s him.
His large frame is silhouetted at the barn door. Broad shoulders filling the space. He steps in past the light. Backwards baseball cap, jeans, and the sling resting over a flannel shirt that looks so damn sexy on him.
“Hey,” he steps in with a sweet grin, like this morning didn’t end the way it did.
My chest tightens and I turn back to Skye. “Lookin’ for something?”
“Found her,” he murmurs and there isn’t a playful note behind it.
“I’m working.”
He nods at Skye. “She your favorite?”
“I don’t have a favorite. And her name is Skye.”
I can feel him watching me, the weight of it making the hairs on the back of my neck flare.
“You should go,” I say firmly, because whether he’s here for more questions or just to be his playful self with me again, I can’t handle either. “This is borderline stalking. You don’t just get to show up whenever you feel like it.”
Something in his expression shifts—not hurt. Not anger. Just . . . honesty. “And you don’t get to pretend I don’t notice when you’re barely holding it together,” he says evenly. The words land harder than any accusation.
“Excuse me?”
“Wilder’s giving you the day off tomorrow, I want you to take it.”
I grind the back of my teeth. “Shoulda known you had something to do with that. Well, I turned it down. You can’t just demand days off on my behalf. I’ve got real work to do. Students, horses, colleagues, and bosses countin’ on me.”
“Storm—”
“I’ve got a day off next Sunday, I can make it.”
His jaw tightens and he shakes his head.
“I don’t know who you think you are, followin’ me around, playing hero and then demanding to know my—”
His eyes are steady on mine. “Your what? Your secret?” He takes a step closer. “Well, you can keep it, Bee. It’s not staying one forever, because like it or not, I’m going to find out.”
“What the hell is it to you?”
“Because whoever the deadbeat is clearly isn’t supporting you.”
“And what are you going to do? Dig him out of the grave and make him pay child support?” My eyes flash at my own lie. I don’t know why I went there. Maybe I needed him to drop it once and for all. Or maybe Jasper might as well be dead to me.
He backs up. “Is that what happened? Is he . . . gone?”
My eyes water because it’s like I’m digging my own grave, if what he’s saying is true and the truth will come out.
“Storm, I’m sorry.”
“No, please don’t apologize,” I breathe. “He was never involved anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Did you love him?”
I shake my head, unable to speak anymore.
“You know I’d never judge you.”
Wanna bet?
“It happened at . . .” I swallow. “My first rodeo. I was young and stupid. Max didn’t know him and he never will. There. That’s the story.”
He swallows, stepping closer, slow, careful, like he’s approaching something skittish. “I didn’t come to ask again.”
“Then why are you here?”
He hesitates. Just a beat. “Because I want to help. Because where you and Max are—” He pauses, reading my face, which I know has all kinds of walls pulled up but I can’t help it.
“What?” I snap, impatiently.
“Never mind,” he mutters, and it’s barely audible.
I frown in confusion.
“Another time,” he assures with a firm nod before backing away.
That shouldn’t make my chest ache—him giving up. But it does. “Of course,” I scoff. “Another time. Hell, maybe the next time you’re in town for a broken limb.”
“Storm.”
I step back, the weight of everything pressing down at once. The residual resentment toward Silas. Toward Jasper. Medical bills piling up. The fear of falling apart when I’m all Max has to look up to.
The fleeting moment of happiness last night with Silas.
What we could have been. That’s what breaks me the most. How easy and fun it was. I’ve been on dates before. Sometimes, Max would come along—be it that I didn’t have a sitter. Or a reason to let guys think twice before asking for date number two.
A test of sorts, I guess. Something Carrie Thorne taught me fifteen years ago. If a horse doesn’t take to you from the start, it never will. Just how they’re wired. Not to mention, Max and I are a package deal.
And that’s how Silas treated us. Without blinking an eye.
I step into him abruptly, hands fisting in his flannel, pulling him down into a kiss that’s more collision than invitation. It’s desperate and angry and all too quickly, it’s over, because I pull back with a sharp inhale.
His eyes are wide with surprise.
With another breath, I open my mouth, but words never make it out. Silas’s hand slides around my throat and pulls me in as his mouth claims mine again. Deeper this time, slower. A sound breaks between us, low and needy, and I can’t tell if it’s his or mine when our tongues meet.
He backs me up between stalls, left hand lifting my arm above my head. He pulls back with a soft breath. “Help me out here.”
Before I could think twice, I bring my other arm up and he grips both wrists with one hand. A smile playing on his lips before he devours my mouth again. His slinged hand pressing my stomach gently as if feeling for the bubbles fizzing inside me.
His lips are warm, perfect. The same but better than I imagined. I moan with a need for more. But he pulls back, leaving me breathless and trembling.
He’s breathing hard too, resting his forehead against mine.
“So fucking long, Storm,” he whispers. “I’ve been waiting too damn long to kiss you like that.
” He releases my wrists, hand trailing down my arm making me shiver.
He smirks and snakes his fingers around my neck and into my hair.
“But let the record show.” He presses his warm lips to mine again, soft and brief. “You kissed me first.”