10. Ozzy
Ozzy
“ H ey there, pretty lady!” Theo’s voice cuts through the humid air like sunshine laced with whiskey.
She reins in her horse like she was born doing it—graceful, confident, commanding.
She looks like someone who eats dust storms for breakfast and laughs in the face of broken bones.
If I were into girls, I’d let her throw me over the back of that beautiful beast and ride me straight out of this place like the sapphic cowgirl romance I didn’t know I needed.
Alas… I am, unfortunately, damned to want men with forearms.
My gaze—traitorous bitch that it is—drifts and lands on a specific set of forearms. Fucking Jackson.
Christ Almighty.
He’s shirtless too.
Why does he do this? Why does he have the nerve to be shirtless and sweaty and not expect me to commit crimes in my brain?
He’s leaning against the broken section of the fence with a hammer in one hand and a six-inch nail in the other. Carter says something, and Jackson half-smirks as he rolls his neck and stretches his arms overhead, like some golden-era cowboy calendar pin-up.
I blink. I desperately try to look away. I fail. Miserably. You’re such a pervert.
His chest is all hard planes and dark hair, the kind that probably feels like heaven if you drag your fingers through it.
His stomach is tight—the kind of tight which says he doesn’t even try that hard, just exists in this casually ripped state of being.
And then there’s that line— the line. The trail of dark hair that disappears under the waistband of his jeans and beckons me like a damn siren.
I swear I feel heat crawl up my throat, almost like shame and longing got into a bar fight in my chest.
…and yet, I’m still looking.
“You alright there, Oz?”
Theo’s voice pulls me from the very sinful thoughts my therapist would absolutely love to unpack for the low, low cost of all my dignity. I blink and smile like I wasn’t just mentally undressing one of my bosses.
“H-Hey, Theo.” I wave and try to force my brain back into its cage while turning off the audiobook I had playing in my ear. I’m choosing to blame my current state on the book. “How’s it going?”
“Better now that your pretty self came outside.” She grins, sliding off her horse with enviable ease. “You usually haunt the porch more than this. What are you doin’ inside? Hiding from me?”
She winks and I shrug, doing my best to look nonchalant while leaning against the fence—with my back firmly to the walking thirst trap behind me. “Mostly waiting on Morris to wake up. And, uh… avoiding heat stroke.”
A lie. Well, a half-lie.
The truth is, ever since the night of my flashback, I’ve been keeping my distance. The flashback, the woods, Jackson’s hands holding mine like they were the only solid thing on earth. I haven’t been able to look him in the eye since.
Not because I don’t want to. Because I do—and that’s the problem. There’s too much gravity in him, and I’ve spent too long pretending I don’t have a heart just to have him drag it out of hiding.
“You okay?” Theo asks. There’s a note of concern in her voice I don’t know how to answer.
“I’m fine.” It’s too quick, too defensive.
Theo gives me a look like she’s not buying it but lets it go. “I asked if you wanted to check out the horses with me?”
I glance at the horse she rode in on—a tall, muscled creature with a glossy coat the color of good bourbon and eyes that look like they’ve seen things. My chest tightens.
“I’ve never ridden a horse before,” I admit, my voice softer than I mean it to be.
Theo’s grin widens. “Then you’re comin’ with me. C’mon, girl. Can’t live on a ranch and never ride. That’s sacrilege.”
I hesitate, eyes still on the horse. He’s beautiful, but he’s massive and so powerful. Was he wild once? Was he a brum?—
My hands twitch at my sides, remembering chains. Restraint. Losing control.
“You don’t have to,” Theo adds suddenly, reading me like a damn open book. “But I think you might like it. Horses ain’t people. They don’t lie. They don’t pretend. They feel you—every bit of energy you give off. And if you let ‘em, they’ll carry your hurt for miles without ever asking why.”
I look at her and back to the horse before feeling that telltale prickle on the back of my neck. The weight of someone watching me.
I don’t even have to turn. I know it’s him; still, I shift ever so slightly to glance his way.
Jackson Rowe, leaning against the fence post with one gloved hand gripping the rail, watching me like I’m some kind of puzzle he’s dying to solve.
Like I’m the first fire he’s been afraid of touching but still gets close to anyway.
That look?
It does something unholy to me.
I clear my throat, breaking the moment.
“Alright,” I say to Theo. “Let’s see if I can survive sitting on a creature that could trample me.”
She laughs and assures me, “You’ll be fine, city girl.” As Theo starts leading me toward the stables, I glance back. Jackson’s still watching me.
And for once, I don’t look away.
“Theo,” I say slowly, hesitantly, like the name might break in my throat if I don’t say it right. She’s walking the cream-colored horse over to stand beside me, reins in one hand and a confident gleam in her eye. “I—I really don’t know. What if I scare him?”
Theo looks at me like I just told her the sky might fall.
“First off,” she starts, gesturing dramatically, “Betty is a lady. And second, anyone who can calm down that cracked-out demon goat Leroy ain’t gonna have no trouble with Betty.
You might get sass from Thing One and Thing Two over there, but Betty’s as gentle as they come.
You just gotta let her get to know you first. Don’t rush her. ”
It's like she’s talking about me and doesn’t even know it.
She hands me a bucket filled with bananas and carrots. “Betty prefers bananas, Lionel over there is a whore for apples, and those two spoiled bitches behind them will scream at you if you forget the watermelon.”
I let out a real laugh—quick, sharp, surprised. The kind of laugh I haven’t heard from myself in a while.
Peeling the banana, I step forward cautiously.
Betty snorts and tosses her big cream-colored head like she’s showing off for me.
“She’s excited,” Theo grins. “Go on, Oz, I’m tellin’ you, I’ve got a sixth sense about this shit.
You and Betty? Soulmates.” I offer her the banana.
Betty licks it right out of my hand with her huge, velvety tongue.
“I did it,” I whisper, like I just unlocked a new level of existence.
“Give her a pat,” Theo urges, and I do, gently stroking her head. Betty lowers her chin and bumps her nose against my cheek. I can’t stop the grin that takes over my face.
“Junior!” Carter yells across the pasture.
Theo lets out a long-suffering groan. “Lord help me,” she mutters. “That dumbass wants his nose broken again callin’ me that. You gonna be alright?”
“Yep,” I nod, already absorbed in watching Betty chew. “We’re bonding.”
“There’s a brush over there,” she calls as she rides off, “if you wanna give her a rub. I’ll check on you in a bit.”
I grab the brush and return to Betty’s side. “Okay, don’t judge me,” I plead as I swipe the bristles through her mane, “I’m new to this.”
“That’s for her body.”
I nearly scream and yeet the brush like a weapon. Jackson’s voice is too close, too gruff, and too unfairly attractive for my nerves.
“Jesus, you scared the hell out of me,” I snap as I turn and find him in work boots, jeans stained with dirt and sweat, shirt sadly back on—but it clings to him in all the right ways.
“Sorry,” he mutters with zero actual remorse as he bends to pick up a metal comb. “This one’s for her mane and tail.”
He moves beside me like he’s afraid to spook me, not the horse. Like I’m the wild animal in need of patience.
“When you comb her mane,” he says gently, “treat it like your own hair. Start from the bottom. Be careful with the knots.”
“I don’t remember anyone ever showing me how to treat my own hair,” I mutter before I can stop myself. Jackson glances at me but doesn’t comment. Smart man.
He switches the brush in my hand. “For her coat, short strokes. Follow the growth pattern.”
“Like this?” I ask while trying a couple times.
“That’s good,” Jackson comes closer. “Can I touch your hand?” he asks, and my heart is instantly in my throat.
“Y-yes,” I whisper as his hand reaches to cover mine.
I freeze.
His palm is rough, fingers wide and warm, covering mine like he’s absorbing all the cold within me. Just like that night in the woods.
The pressure he guides me with is firm but steady—assured and gentle.
I should be paying attention to Betty, but instead I’m hyper aware of him: his warm body, his masculine smell, and his powerful hand on top of mine.
I steal a glance at his tan face; the crinkles at the corners of his blue eyes deepen as he smirks.
He pulls away too soon. “Look at you, Tink,” he praises with a crooked smirk, “a fucking natural.”
Goddammit. Stop smiling at me like that. Stop making me want things.
“Yeah, well,” I clear my throat, trying not to combust, “add ‘horse brusher’ to my resume right next to ‘goat whisperer’ and ‘storm chaser.’”
He chuckles and sits on a nearby stool. “Don’t forget car abuser. Gretchen was a damn crime scene. She’s all done, by the way.”
I shoot him a glare but smile anyway. “Yeah… thanks for fixing her. And… for the other night. With the woods and…” I trail off.
He doesn’t press. Just shrugs like it’s nothing. “Don’t mention it.”
I blink. “You’re not going to ask what happened?” I question, walking over to a stall door to lean against it, needing the support.
“Nope.” He beats his gloves against his jeans. “Not my business.”
For some reason, this makes me want to cry. I lean back against the stall gate, needing something solid behind me.