Chapter 30
Jen tried not to notice Wyatt as he drove but couldn’t quite manage it.
The steady line of his hands on the wheel. His quiet focus. The way he didn’t fidget, or fill the silence. It made the space between them feel smaller.
Closer.
She looked away, fixing on the road instead, as the tires crunched over snow. Wyatt pulled up beside the stables and cut the engine.
Snow creaked underfoot as she climbed out of the car. The cold was sharp enough to bite her lungs, but she was warm in her new clothes. She didn’t want to think about how well he’d guessed her size—what that implied about how closely he’d paid attention.
A stable hand looked up from a stall. Wyatt lifted a hand in greeting, exchanged a few words she didn’t catch, then fell into step beside her as they followed a cleared path toward the stable doors.
Inside the barn, warmth wrapped around her. She drew in a breath—leather and the soft musk of horses. Dust motes drifted through slanted light. The razor edge of the cold dulled, and her breathing eased.
“This way.” He indicated the two stalls farthest from the stable door. A stocky bay and a smaller chestnut horse turned their heads at his approach. He stopped at the second stall and rested a hand between the mare’s ears.
“This is Ember,” he said. “She’s level-headed. Won’t rush you.”
Jen stepped closer, reached out to stroke the mare’s neck. Warm muscle under a soft coat. Ember turned her head slightly, dark eyes calm.
“You’ll take Ember, I’ll be on Bon Jovi over there.”
“Bon Jovi?”
His head dipped, and he scrubbed the back of his neck. A boyish grin lit his face. “Loved them as a kid.”
“Which song?”
“Livin’ on a Prayer.” He didn’t look remotely embarrassed. “Still holds up.”
“Oh, my God.” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “The man who took down terrorists with his bare hands is a Bon Jovi fan.”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
The bay whinnied as if offering his own opinion.
“Sure.” She grinned back.
Wyatt saddled up the horses with care. He cinched the girth strap on Ember, then bridled her and led her outside to the mounting block. The bay followed on a lead.
From a hook beside the stable door, he lifted two hard hats. He settled one on his own head, then turned to her.
“Regulations,” he said, placing it gently on her head. His fingers found the chin strap, threading the buckle, adjusting the fit. The same careful hands that had fitted her harness on the side of the rig, but softer now. No urgency. No countdown.
“Too tight?”
“No.”
He tugged once, testing. His knuckles grazed her jaw, forcing her to concentrate on staying upright. “Good.” He collected Ember’s reins, one hand steady at her shoulder. “You remember how?”
“I think so.”
He didn’t comment. Just stayed close enough if she needed him.
Jen stepped onto the block and swung her leg over. The saddle creaked beneath her weight, the memory of lessons for her sixteenth birthday slotting into place—heels down, reins gathered.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
“Yeah.” She shot him a small smile. “I am.”
He moved in close to check the cinch, fingers working the strap. His knuckles brushed her thigh—brief, impersonal, but she forced herself to keep breathing.
One last tug, then he stepped back.
Only then did he mount his own horse. One smooth motion, settling into the saddle as if he’d been born there. The bay shifted beneath him, eager, but Wyatt held him steady with just his knees and a light hand on the reins.
He glanced back at her. “Ember will take good care of you.”
“I’m good.”
He turned Bon Jovi toward the trees. The trail opened ahead of them—a white corridor between snow-heavy branches.
The world was muffled, sound dampened to nothing but the jingle of the bit and the rhythmic crunch of hooves through powder.
Their breath fogged in clouds that hung briefly before dissolving.
Wyatt rode ahead, just far enough to break trail. When the snow deepened, he slowed without looking back.
Jen followed, Ember moving with easy confidence beneath her, picking her way through the snow without hesitation. The sway of the horse’s gait was soothing. Cold air burned her lungs clean. With each step, something tight inside her loosened.
Tomorrow, she’d have to talk. Give another statement. Remember things she wasn’t ready for.
But right now? She didn’t have to hold any of it alone.
Because he was here.
Wyatt glanced back regularly, checking she was still there before facing forward again. Each time her attention snagged, her body quietly keeping count.
They rode in silence for half an hour. Maybe longer.
Time felt elastic out here, stretched thin by the quiet.
The trail widened. Wyatt rode ahead again—then slowed until Ember’s stride matched Bon Jovi’s without comment.
They rode parallel for a while, close enough that their stirrups almost touched when the horses drifted together.
The way he sat in the saddle—loose and easy, as if the horse was part of him.
No tension or forcing. Just quiet competence.
The cold crept in slowly, numbing her fingers first. She flexed them inside her gloves, not wanting to ask for anything.
Wyatt noticed anyway.
He reined in beside her without a word. Snow compacted softly under the horses’ hooves as they stopped.
“Hold still,” he said, already reaching.
He took her hands gently, thumbs pressing once at her palms. Then he peeled her gloves off and tucked them into his jacket pocket as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
From his saddlebag he pulled his own—thicker, worn smooth at the seams—and slid them over her hands.
His touch was precise, and when he finished, his fingers lingered at her wrist for half a second longer than necessary, adjusting the strap.
The thought came uninvited.
She wanted this to be the everyday.
To wake up warm, to ride into the quiet.
To reach for him and not flinch.
She wanted this man, and it scared her.
Because maybe this could work.
She could have this.
With him.
“Better?”
She swallowed, but her voice wouldn’t cooperate, so she nodded.
Wyatt gave a single, satisfied nod in return and turned his horse back to the trail.
Ember shifted once, then settled into a walk, reins slack in Jen’s hands. Another half mile and the trees opened into a clearing. A fallen log, dusted with snow. Wyatt dismounted and looped the bay’s reins over a low branch.
“Ready for a break?” He took hold of Ember’s bridle and held her steady while Jen dismounted. Her legs protested—muscles remembering what riding cost—but her hands were warm in his gloves.
He pulled a thermos from his saddlebag, then a cloth-wrapped package, and set both on the fallen log. He threw a wool blanket over the log, then poured hot chocolate into the thermos cap and held it out to her.
She took it, trying and failing to ignore the graze of his fingers against hers. The chocolate curled steam into the cold air. She sipped, and the warmth spread, slow through her body, making her skin tingle.
He unwrapped the cloth. Two slices of apple pie. He handed her one first on a paper plate, fork already tucked underneath.
“You brought pie.”
“You need to eat after trauma.” He paused, a sheepish smile on his face. “I can’t take credit. Sarah picked it up from Benji’s diner. Louisa’s pie is non-negotiable.”
She took a bite. Cinnamon, butter, just enough tart to cut the sweetness. She closed her eyes to savor it. “This is delicious.”
He watched her for a moment, unexpected softness crossing his face before he took his own slice. When she finished, he took the empty cup from her hand without asking and packed everything away.
He straightened and met her eyes. “You doing okay?”
“Yes, I am.” Her smile came easily. “Really okay.”
Something shifted in his expression—not quite a smile. Something quieter. “Good.”
The moment elongated, and she never wanted it to end. Horses snorting. Snowflakes drifting. Nothing pressing them to move.
He swung back into the saddle. “We should head back. Snow’s coming in again.”
She followed his gaze. The light had flattened, clouds gathering at the peaks.
She mounted more easily this time. Wyatt waited until she was settled before turning the bay toward the trail.
They rode side by side now, close enough that their knees brushed when the horses drifted together.
Neither of them corrected it. The stables appeared through the trees—timber and glass roof lights catching the last of the daylight.
Wyatt glanced over. “Worth it?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Definitely worth it.”
He nodded and rode on.
Jen followed him home.