Chapter 4
Chapter Four
C al
The barn is quiet except for the soft shuffle of hooves and the occasional huff of breath from the mustang in the stall. I crouch, steadying the horse’s leg with one hand while the other fumbles with the bandage. The gash isn’t deep, but the animal is skittish, flinching at every movement. I mutter under my breath, a low string of curses that don’t do a damn thing to calm either of us.
“Need a hand?” Layla’s voice cuts through the dim, and I flinch, nearly dropping the roll of bandages.
I glance over my shoulder to find her standing in the doorway, bathed in the soft golden glow of the overhead light. She’s barefoot, her hair loose around her shoulders, and she’s wearing another one of my old flannels. It’s way too big on her, the sleeves rolled up, the hem brushing her thighs. My gut twists at the sight.
“No,” I reply quickly, too sharp, too fast. “Go back inside, you’ll catch a cold.”
She steps closer, undeterred. “You look like you’re about to lose a fight with that poor horse.”
The mustang tosses its head, jerking against my hold. I let out a frustrated breath. “He’s spooked. Needs someone who knows what they’re doing.”
Layla crouches beside me, her movements slow and deliberate. “Let me try.”
I want to tell her to leave, to stay out of it, but the horse has already stopped fidgeting. Layla’s hand brushes its side, her touch soft and sure, and I watch in stunned silence as the mustang stills under her gentle murmurs.
“There’s a good boy,” she whispers, her voice low and soothing. “You’re okay. Just a little scratch.”
My chest tightens. It’s not just the way she handles the horse—it’s the way she fits here, in my barn, in my world. Like she belongs, even if I’ve spent every damn day since she arrived convincing myself she doesn’t.
She glances at me, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Are you going to pass me that bandage, or are we waiting for this to heal itself?”
I grunt, handing it over without a word. Our hands brush, and the jolt of contact shoots straight through me. I pull back quickly, focusing on the task at hand, but my pulse is pounding too loud in my ears to ignore her presence.
Together, we work in silence, wrapping the bandage snugly around the mustang’s leg. Layla’s close enough that I catch the faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla, her warmth brushing against me every time she shifts. It’s torture. Sweet, agonizing torture.
Hell, it’s been so long since I fell for anyone, I hardly remember what it feels like. But it’s starting to feel like I’m falling for her.
When we’re done, she stands, wiping her hands on my flannel. “See? Not so hard.”
I rise slowly, my knee protesting the movement. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She shrugs, leaning against the stall door. “I wanted to.”
Her eyes meet mine, and the air between us shifts, heavy with something unspoken. I can feel it—the pull, the tension. It’s been there since the day she showed up, but tonight, it’s different. Sharper. More urgent.
“You’re good with him,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. “The horse.”
She smiles softly, her gaze steady. “I like animals. They’re easier to read than people.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, looking away. “Guess that’s true.”
Silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable. I should walk away, put some distance between us before this goes too far, but my feet won’t move. Instead, I find myself talking, the words spilling out before I can stop them.
“My sister used to be good with horses,” I say, my voice low. “She was the one who taught me how to handle them. Carson’s mom.”
Layla straightens, her smile fading. “Oh yeah? It seems like you don’t talk about her much.”
I shrug, keeping my gaze on the ground. “Not much to say. She was... struggling for a long time. The pain meds made her a different person. It got bad.”
“I’m sorry,” she says softly. Something about this woman makes me want to open up, reveal the things I’ve kept locked inside my heart for too long. And her calm and comforting presence makes me think she wouldn’t judge me if I did. She’s dangerous for a guy like me, plain and simple.
“She was lucky to survive the crash,” I continue, the words feeling like stones in my throat. “Carson was still in diapers when it happened–truth be told I took over then–long before she even overdosed. Used to drop him off at daycare every morning and pick him up at night, make him dinner while she laid on the couch nursing her pain. Life just…broke her. It’s been just him and I for five years now. He doesn’t even remember her, so there’s lots of pictures around the house. Doin’ what I can to keep her memory alive.”
Her hand brushes my arm then, light and tentative, and it’s all I can do not to flinch. “You’ve done an incredible job with him, Cal. Carson’s an amazing little boy.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I’ve got much to do with that. He’s just a good kid. Always has been.”
“You’re selling yourself short.”
Her voice is firm, and when I finally look at her, there’s something in her eyes that makes my chest ache. It’s not pity—it’s understanding. Respect. Like she sees me, really sees me, in a way no one else ever has.
The moment stretches, the silence between us humming with unspoken words. I should say something, break the tension, but my throat feels tight, my heart hammering against my ribs. I’m not used to this—being vulnerable, letting someone in. It’s foreign and terrifying, and yet, with her, it feels... right.
“You’re good for him,” I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “Carson. He needs someone like you.”
She blinks, surprised. “Someone like me?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “Someone who knows how to make him laugh. A woman who cares about him.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak, and for a moment, I think maybe I’ve said too much. But then she steps closer, her gaze locked on mine, and the air around us feels charged, electric.
“Cal,” she murmurs, her voice soft but steady.
I swallow hard, every instinct screaming at me to back away, to shut this down before it’s too late. But I can’t. Not when she’s standing there, looking at me like that. Like she’s waiting for me to make the first move.
I take a step forward, closing the distance between us. My hand brushes her cheek, my thumb grazing her jawline, and she doesn’t pull away. Her breath hitches, her eyes searching mine, and in that moment, I know I’m done for.
“Layla,” I whisper, my voice rough with need.
And then, before I can think better of it, I’m kissing her. Slow and deep, like I’m trying to memorize the taste of her, the feel of her. She responds instantly, her hands tangling in my shirt, pulling me closer.
It’s everything I’ve been holding back, all the frustration and longing and unspoken desire spilling over in one perfect, chaotic moment. I lose myself in her, in the way she presses against me, her warmth, her softness. She’s fire and light and everything I didn’t know I was missing.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless, our foreheads resting together. She’s smiling, her cheeks flushed, and for the first time in a long time, I feel... whole.
“Cal,” she whispers, her voice shaky but sure. “What just happened?”
I chuckle, low and rough, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Hell if I know.”
Her laugh is soft, but it’s enough to ease the tension, to remind me that maybe, just maybe, this could work.
But then the weight of reality crashes back down, and I step back, the distance between us suddenly feeling like a chasm.
“I should get to repairin’ that fence this guy tried to jump through,” I mutter, my voice gruff. “The storm last night really had him worked up.”
“Cal—”
“I’ll see you back at the house later,” I say, cutting her off. I don’t look back as I leave the barn, my heart pounding and my thoughts a mess.
Because I know, deep down, that no matter how much I want her, she deserves better than a broken cowboy with more baggage than he knows what to do with. But something tells me she might just be stubborn enough to prove me wrong.