10. Nash
Chapter 10
Nash
T he coffee burned my throat as I leaned against the fence of the outdoor arena, its heat a stark contrast to the cooling air of the early morning. I pulled the mug away a bit too quickly, and a stream slipped out, burning my chin and splattering my jean coat in the process.
“I don’t have time to play nurse, Nash!” Dawn shouted from the back of her mare. Her voice cut through the quiet of the morning like a whip. She was already in full swing, running her horse through warm-up drills with such intensity it looked like she was preparing for the Olympics.
“Good morning to you, too,” I called back with a grin, trying to shake off the heat and annoyance of the coffee. “I wouldn’t mind playing doctor with you, princess.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t quite manage to hide the twitch of a smile that was dancing on her lips. “All right, stop playing and be useful. Grab a rake and fix the footing near the third barrel. Celine’s slipping on it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I tipped my hat in mock salute. I set my coffee down carefully and grabbed the rake propped up against the fence. As I worked, I allowed myself the guilty pleasure of glancing over at Dawn. Her movements with Celine were mesmerizing—a fluid, synchronized dance. Every gesture was so precise and natural it almost felt like they were linked by some invisible thread.
“You two make it look easy,” I said as she trotted past, admiring the effortless way they glided across the dirt.
“It’s not,” she called back, her voice sharp but without venom. “Takes years of practice and trust.”
“Trust, huh?” I leaned on the rake, catching my breath and tossing a half-smirk her way. “So if I hopped on Celine right now, she’d toss me straight into that barrel?”
She slowed Celine to a stop, tilting her head thoughtfully, as if weighing the options. “She might. Or she might decide you’re not worth the effort.”
I chuckled, dropping the rake onto the ground with a thud. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m good at charming my way out of trouble.”
Dawn’s gaze flicked to me for a moment, her expression unreadable. A challenge flickered in her eyes. “You’re not just full of it, huh? Let’s see if your charm works with her.”
I watched, almost hypnotized, as they sped away, her form melding seamlessly with Celine’s, gliding as one across the arena. She looked so confident and fierce, like nothing could break her focus—not even me, standing here with nothing but a rake and too many thoughts swirling in my head.
“You two have some kind of telepathic connection going on,” I said when she circled back. “No one’s supposed to look that natural doing something like that.”
“It’s more trust than anything,” she called, slowing Celine into a steady trot again. “And a lot of time spent falling flat on my face.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “Sounds like my kind of party,” I said as I moved to give the barrel a final check.
“You’ll get your own chance to fall flat on your face if you insist on trying your luck,” she shot back with a quick smile that held a subtle knowingness behind it.
I raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. “You wouldn’t want to embarrass me in front of Celine, would you?”
She laughed aloud—loud and real, the kind of laughter that loosened everything inside of me. “You? Embarrassed?” She shook her head, urging Celine into a canter once again. “I’m more concerned about your bones than your pride. Stay out of the saddle.”
I watched her, my eyes lingering a little longer than I expected. There was something magnetic about the way she held herself—confident, yet not without humor or warmth. I couldn’t put my finger on why it made me feel like I was drifting closer to something I couldn’t understand.
“Well, you know where to find me,” I teased, smiling back to cover up the sudden discomfort in my chest.
By lunchtime, Dawn’s drills had moved up to full speed, and I was more than ready for a break. Shoveling barrels, adjusting footing, and getting way too hot in the sun while staring at a fiery woman riding horses—that’ll drain a man’s energy. I wiped the sweat from my brow and noticed I hadn’t really been paying attention to anything but her all morning.
“How about we grab a bite?” I called to her as she slowed Celine to a steady walk. “I’m starving.”
Dawn arched a brow, looking down at me, and then with a sly grin, she slipped off her horse with easy grace. “I thought you’d never ask. Was starting to think your brain ran on wit instead of food.”
I clutched my chest in mock offense, walking over to where she stood. “I’ll have you know my wit is extremely sustaining.” I paused, dropping my act a bit. “But I suppose real food wouldn’t hurt.”
We headed to the small deli in the village, and as I pulled the truck out, I found myself feeling unusually content in the easy silence that settled between us. Her laughter from earlier was still ringing in my ears, and though I couldn’t quite explain it, that laughter somehow made everything else seem lighter.
We slid into a corner booth, and I couldn’t help but catch how her eyes crinkled at the edges when I cracked a particularly terrible dad joke. That soft, crinkled smile struck me in a way I couldn’t place, not then anyway. I made it my personal goal, right there and then, to make her laugh more often than I had any right to.
She looked out the window, deep in thought, as I fumbled through the menu without really reading it. The cool air of the restaurant, the soft hum of the fridge in the corner, the sounds of conversation drifting around us—they all felt soothing. My gaze kept drifting to her, and I found myself stealing glances of her—how the sunlight caught in her hair, how a loose strand of hair fell and brushed against her cheek as she adjusted in her seat.
The waitress came over, and I barely managed to order without blurting out something stupid about her smile.
As we ate, the conversation turned into childhood memories. Dawn told me about summers spent at rodeos, a life that felt so different yet eerily familiar to me. I shared my own stories of camping with my father, always the awkward stories that seemed to make her laugh without fail.
“I swear the moon was sitting on a toilet!” She cracked up, the pure joy in her laughter bright and almost dangerous to hear.
“You sure this wasn’t a dream?” I grinned, playing along. “Next, you’re going to tell me you thought stars were giant fireflies.”
She wiped at her eyes, still chuckling. “I didn’t think them, Nash—I saw them.”
It felt nice. Just sitting there. Sharing the weight of small things, all of it somehow pulling us closer. The sound of her voice, the shared stories, the little glances exchanged—it made everything else feel quieter in comparison.
Her laughter filled the air as I recounted a particularly disastrous attempt at roasting marshmallows that ended with me nearly setting my eyebrows on fire.
“You know,” she said, her voice softer now, as the laughter died down, “moments like this remind me of the life I once wanted.” She glanced away, gaze slipping to the window again, as if the words caught her by surprise.
Her confession caught me off-guard, heavier than I had expected from her casual tone. I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I stayed silent, letting it hang in the air.
Dawn shifted back in the booth and then grinned playfully. “So tell me, Nash,” she asked, leaning forward, her gaze mischievous again, “if you had to choose—would you rather face another marshmallow disaster or spend a night stargazing with someone who sees toilets in the sky?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Easy. I’ll take the stargazing. At least the moon doesn’t have it out for my hair.”
She laughed again, this time a little quieter, her smile lingering as she sipped her soft drink, and I couldn’t help but feel like the moment had somehow shifted. We were still teasing each other, but in the quiet spaces between the words, there was something else, unspoken and growing.
For once, I didn’t want the moment to end.