25. Storm
I watch him from the fence, arms folded loosely, weight tipped onto my hip.
Tucker moves easy beneath him. I didn’t do much after starting them off on a steady walk.
One that Silas quickly turned into a careful jog around the ring.
I can usually tell which one initiated the faster pace.
This time I can’t. It’s almost like they both fell into their rhythm.
My eyes go back to his bicep. It doesn’t look weak, but I’m all too aware of it. Scared for it.
Silas keeps his elbow close to his side, hand lighter on the rein, shoulder set, instead of loose. Protective, not hesitant.
Something familiar pulses in my stomach and I’m twelve again, Silas trailing after me on Tucker, while I rode whoever was available.
Dust in my hair, legs aching from the race.
I only made it look easy. The way his mother always did.
He never resented me for being better. Teased me plenty about it though.
He’d been good, solid, capable. But he never loved it the way his mother did, or the way his brothers breathed horses like air. Riding was something he did because . . . they were there. And it mattered to the people he loved.
Watching him now makes me realize that part of him hasn’t changed at all.
Silas grins at me like he caught me swooning. The bastard. I need to neutralize this quickly.
“You know I’m going to have to tell your brothers about your lesson today.”
His grin doesn’t fade. “Now why would you do a thing like that?”
“Got to put you on the schedule to account for my last hour today.”
“So not only are they going to have a field day about it, they’re billing me for it too? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re still holding a grudge.”
I laugh.
He dismounts like a pro and grabs hold of the reins, leading Tucker back to where I’m standing.
“How’d I do, Coach?”
“That was pathetic. Drop and give me ten.”
He steps close, somehow still smelling so damn clean. “Sure thing. We talkin’ pushups, orgasms?”
I lift my head to his, noticing the dark clouds. “Looks like I’ll need a rain check on both.”
He’s intrigued, stepping close until a drop of rain lands on my nose. “Oh.”
I lower my head to his chest, laughing. “Come on, Romeo, you worked that arm enough today. I’ve got to put the horses up, check water, and close the barn up, then pick up Max.”
Silas checks his watch. “It’s four thirty. He’s probably at the lookout.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You run into him there once and you think that’s his Saturday ritual?” He wouldn’t be wrong. It’s Max’s favorite spot in the late afternoon. But it’s suspiciously presumptuous.
“It is. You think I ran into him by accident that day?”
I frown. “Didn’t you?”
He laughs. “No. Dad sent me for a mystery walk along that hill.” He winks. “He wanted me to find him.”
Something tugs at my heart. I don’t know why Connor would do that, but it makes me smile.
Silas kisses my forehead. “You close up shop or whatever you got to do. I’ll go grab him.”
My stomach flips and I nod. Too speechless to say anything.
Twenty minutes later, the three of us are racing through the fields toward the ranch office, hopping over puddles, wet, muddy, tired, and cold—at least I’m those last two things. Silas and Max are having the time of their lives.
Someone needs to remind them it’s October stormy weather. Not a summer afternoon thunderstorm.
“Oh, dear lord.” Ginger jumps from behind her desk grabbing a set of towels from a rack and racing over to Max and me.
I thank Ginger and wrap my kid in the thick towel. “What do you do, put these in the microwave? They’re so warm.”
“I keep ’em over the radiator.”
Max raves about our mini adventure from the opposite side of the ranch to here.
“Where’s your truck?” Connor asks from the corner chair, half hiding behind a newspaper.
Connor remembers my car from when Dad drove it. Didn’t trust it then—and certainly not now. “Finally blew on me yesterday.”
He nods. “I’ll swing by and take a look tomorrow.” He doesn’t wait for me to argue before reaching for Max. “Come here, kid. Anything interesting up there today?”
I give them both a smile. Connor’s taken to Max like his own grandson. Or it could be because I’m always sticking him with Ginger and the kid’s just grown on him.
I turn back to Silas, who’s watching the two with the same curiosity—maybe a little bit more scrutiny.
“Thanks for the towels, Ginger. Oh, I had one more lesson today with Tucker, but maybe this one can be on the house?” I give her a wink.
Ginger’s eyes widen as her eyes flit between Silas and me. Then she pins me with a glare. “And you didn’t call me?”
Connor stands, chuckling as he moves toward Silas. “Good way to work out that arm, if you ask me.”
Silas grins at me. “Could think of other ways.”
My eyes widen and I’m sure my face is crimson as I turn to Max to dry him off.
Behind me, I hear Connor cough and pat Silas’s back. “I’m sure you could, son, I’m sure you could.”
“Well,” Ginger interrupts, fighting a smile. “Ya’ll head on home. And Storm, we’ll see you at Sunday dinner tomorrow? Dallas is hosting them now.” She sneaks a glance at Silas.
“Sunday dinner?”
“Well, of course,” Connor insists. “Didn’t think we’d let you pass on it when you’re just a short ride away, did you?”
I bite my bottom lip.
Dallas walks in with Ellie. Eyes scanning us all until they land on Max. “Found him!” he points.
“Max, there you are,” Ellie cheers. “We’re decorating for Halloween tonight, we’re carving pumpkins, putting up lights, and my dad’s letting me hang cut-out bats all over the house. Wanna come over and help?”
Max considers it for all of a second. “You got snacks?”
“Course we got snacks,” Dallas confirms. “But we gotta check with your mom first.”
“Oh, that’s awfully sweet, but I don’t know. I need to get this kid in a bath and changed.” I scan his muddy clothes. “And I have no way of picking him up later.”
“Picking him up?” Dallas jerks. “We’re watching scary movies and camping out in the living room.”
My jaw nearly drops. “A sleepover?” Max doesn’t do sleepovers. I’ve never trusted anyone enough to allow it.
Dallas holds up his hands. “It’s no big deal, just a minor hostage situation.”
I huff a laugh. “A hostage situation?”
“That’s right. You come to dinner tomorrow night and pick him up safe and sound.” He grins shamelessly.
“Maybe an extra cavity or two.” Ginger winks at Max.
“I’m in,” Max cheers.
I hesitate.
“Don’t let these guys bully you into anything, Storm,” Silas mutters, wrapping an arm around my shoulders protectively.
Connor puts a hand on Silas’s good shoulder, his voice low. “No pressure, but didn’t you say something about an arm you wanted to work out?”
“Dad,” Silas winces.
I exhale a laugh which surprises me and apparently Silas too as he watches me.
Dallas sucks in a breath. “Kids, get in the truck.”
I make a move toward my kid, but Dallas shoos me away with a hushed voice. “Don’t worry, we’ll get him washed up and in some clean clothes, what do you take me for, Dalton?”
I relent with a breath. “Thanks, Dallas.”
Dallas points at Mr. Thorne. “Dad, stop being weird.”
The man points to his youngest son. “He started it.”
We barely get the door shut behind us before I’m laughing and gasping at the same time. Ginger gave us a cart for the ride back to my cottage, but it barely kept us dry with the rain coming down so hard.
I pause at the door, suddenly conscious of the mess I’m making of the indoor rug and floorboards. Muddy boots, water dripping from my hair, clothes plastered to my skin.
The cottage is quiet, welcoming. Almost like it’s been waiting for us. I turn, still catching my breath, and he’s already looking at me like he’s wanted me like this all day. Alone. A look that lands beneath my belly and stays there.
Silas steps into my space, hands coming to my waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Goosebumps run through me as he pulls me in, the kiss lands hard, urgent, and I moan into his mouth. He’s warm somehow, despite being wet. Like his body just radiates heat whenever I need it.
And I need it.
I shiver as I gasp for air, fingers fumbling to find the hem of his shirt.
Smiling, he lifts his arms and I push the damn thing up his body, then pause when my eyes land on his bare chest. Good God, he’s gorgeous. Impeccable. Abs of freaking steel and a chest too—
Silas’s chuckle is muffled as he tears off the rest of his shirt.
I cover my mouth with a laugh. “I’m sorry.”
His smile is infectious. “It’s all right. I didn’t suffocate.” He tosses his shirt down and is back in mission-mode as his hands and mouth find their way back to me.
We stumble, trip, and knock into furniture. Kisses breaking long enough to breathe, nip my jaw, whispering my name like I’m all he’s ever wanted.
By the time we reach the bathroom, there’s a trail of damp clothes behind us. Every piece but our underwear.
He crowds me against the counter, lifting me over it. Standing close enough that I can feel every breath he takes, his forehead resting against mine. I’m shaking—not from the cold anymore—from how overdue, surreal . . . and inevitable this feels.
His hands slide over my sides, slower now, like he’s savoring it, like he knows we finally have time.
“You’re so damn gorgeous, Bee,” he breathes. His hands snake around me, unclasping my bra then sliding down my arms. He lingers, eyes dragging over me.
Mine land on the white bandage wrapped around his bicep and I run my fingers over it gently.
He unties the knot and leaves the rest for me.
I take my time unwrapping the bandage, careful where my fingers brush his skin—like he hasn’t put this arm through hell today as it is.
The gauze comes away slowly, revealing the incision beneath.
It’s clean and neat, a faintly raised thin pink line curved along his bicep, still tender-looking but healing.
I think about how this makes him feel. The daily bandaging, what this might mean for his future. The one thing he loves most in this world.
The reason he left so easily.