Chapter 7
Gavin woke to the hush of pre-dawn, the soft cotton blanket twisted around his waist. The room was wrong. Too warm and flooded with the soft scent of someone else’s life. He shot upright, hands bracing on an unfamiliar mattress, heart jackhammering in the center of his chest.
It took three beats before he remembered whose bed this was, and why he was naked in it. Asha’s. Last night. Fuck.
He let the memory crash through his skull. Rain and mud, her pulling him out of the storm, the taste of her mouth, the way he’d pressed her against the wall like he was daring her to break.
His jeans were pretty much dry from last night but still wet at the bottom.
He forced them up over his thighs, every motion jerky and loud.
The t-shirt stuck was stiff, inside out, and he spent a full minute trying to wrestle it down his body.
He peeled it off and balled it in his fist, jaw working as he dropped it back to the floor.
The rage bloomed then, sudden and hot. At himself, for letting his guard slip.
At her, for leaving him alone in her bed like an afterthought.
At the whole fucked-up dynamic of how things felt between the two of them.
The powerlessness, the way every boundary he’d built had been breached in a single, stupid night.
He calmed down, picked up the shirt again, and yanked it over his head.
He stuffed his feet into his boots, not caring that the left sock was missing.
It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out before anyone caught him here.
He eased the cabin door open, the hinges barely whispering.
Paused. Scanned the horizon for movement but saw nothing but the shapes of the barns, the distant white line of the main house, and the wash of early light at the sky’s edge.
He stepped out, boots landing silent on the porch, before closing the door behind him. He moved fast down the walk, keeping to the shadow of the overhang. When he finally hit the gravel pathway he let out the breath he’d been holding.
He hunched his shoulders as if trying to hide from someone. He walked fast, head down. Every few steps he glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to see someone witnessing his retreat. No one was up, not even the chickens.
He reached his own cabin and ducked inside, the door thumping closed behind him. He leaned against it, palms flat to the wood, letting the tension shudder out of his arms. He stood there for a long moment, eyes closed, just breathing.
When he finally moved a few minutes later, it was to the shower.
He stripped with the same harsh movements he’d put himself together, every button and zipper a small confession.
He turned the water on full blast, as hot as he could stand, and stepped in before it had time to heat and stayed until the hot water ran out.
Only then did he dry off, get dressed in clean clothes, and sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, trying not to think.
He would not let this happen again. He would not be weak.
By full sunrise, Gavin was already half-dressed and out the door. He took the long way to the mess hall, skirting the main path and keeping his head down. The clouds hung low and dirty, the air humid enough to make the sweat break early along his spine.
He ate fast, barely tasting the eggs and fried potatoes Miss Bee dropped in front of him. She eyed him once, an eyebrow cocked, but didn’t say a word. He kept his answers to the minimum when asked about the day’s jobs, “Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am”, and bolted before anyone could slow him down.
He spent the morning at the south fence, fixing a sagging run that should’ve been left for the weekend crew. Each staple hammered into the post was a substitute for saying anything at all. The gloves chafed the scar on his palm, but he didn’t bother switching to a better pair.
He worked twice as hard as usual. Every time he wiped sweat from his brow, it was a rough, angry swipe that left his skin red and raw.
When the fencing pliers slipped and bit his thumb, he slammed them down on the ground so hard the handle cracked.
He picked them up again, jaw locked, and kept going.
By mid-morning, he’d circled half the ranch and fixed nothing inside his own head.
Each time he bent to tie off a line or set a new staple, he saw her face.
The deep burgundy flush on her cheeks. The scar at her eyebrow.
Her breath in his ear. The scrape of her teeth along his jaw.
The way she’d looked at him after, like she could see all the weak, ruined places he kept hidden from the world.
He hated how much he remembered what it felt like to be inside her.
He threw himself into the next task with double the effort.
Hauled water to the north pasture, mucked out the barn stalls, even fixed the squeaky hinge on the main gate, something he wasn’t responsible for, but needed to do in order to stay busy.
He grunted through the pain in his lower back.
He told himself it was better than thinking.
It didn’t work. At every turn, he ran into a memory. The sting of rain, the heat of her skin, the sound she made when she came undone underneath him. He shook it off, tried to shake it loose, but all he managed was to knock more dirt loose from the post hole he was digging.
He checked his watch every twenty minutes, pretending he had somewhere else to be.
When lunch came and went, he stayed out on the far side of the paddocks, eating a granola bar.
He saw her only once, from a distance. She was crossing the pasture, head down, focused on getting to wherever she was headed.
She didn’t look up, didn’t break pace, just kept walking.
He should have felt relief. Instead, it twisted something inside him.
He caught sight of a ranch hand, the kid with the tattoos, leaning against the hay shed and scrolling his phone. The kid looked up, did a quick double-take, then straightened when he saw Gavin’s face.
“You good, boss?” the kid asked, tone casual but edged.
Gavin grunted, not stopping.
“Need a hand?”
He stopped then, looked the kid dead in the eye.
“No,” he said, flat, but not unkindly. The kid nodded, wisely not pushing it, and slipped off toward the main house.
Gavin finished the job himself. He coiled the hose with more force than necessary, threw the old trough onto the scrap pile, and wiped his hands on his jeans.
He made his way to the unfinished cabin on the ridge, climbed the bare stairs, and stood at the edge, watching the wind chase clouds across the fields.
His muscles shook from exertion, his hands wouldn’t stop flexing.
He thought maybe the view would settle him, remind him why he’d come out here in the first place.
It didn’t. If anything, the silence made the memories louder.
He forced himself to stand there, just breathing. One count at a time.
He watched the sun fall closer to the hills, the shadows lengthen across the land, and knew it was only a matter of time before he had to face her. Face himself.
He looked down at his hands, shaking again. He wrapped them around the railing, held on tight, and wondered if maybe that was the point. To hold on, even when it hurts. Even when he knew it was feeling he didn’t want to face.
He found her in the far end of the stables.
The light was low, the overhead bulbs barely reaching where she worked.
She moved with that quiet, controlled energy he’d seen a thousand times.
Each brush against the horse’s hide measured, precise, almost surgical.
The chestnut mare stood perfectly still, eyes half-lidded, tail swishing only when Asha’s touch lingered a second too long.
Gavin stayed in the shadows by the tack room, letting the routine anchor him.
He watched her arms, the flex at her shoulders, the easy way she handled a skittish animal twice her weight.
It should have bothered him how she seemed so calm.
How she seemed to have her shit together when he was running on fumes and making up scenarios in his head.
All because he was hurt and pissed that she’d left him in bed alone. Like an afterthought.
But all he could think about was last night. Her hands on his back, the way she’d pulled him in and then let him go, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He waited for her to finish before stepping forward. His boots crunched on the bedding, the sound just loud enough to draw her attention.
She didn’t jump. Just paused, glanced over her shoulder, and then back to the mare. “You looking for something, Gavin?”
The question cut more than it should have. “Needed to check the schedule for the hay delivery,” he said, voice scraping out.
She didn’t answer right away. She kept her focus on the mare for a few seconds longer, then set the comb on the rail with a little more force than was necessary. “It’s posted by the office. You could’ve called Andy or walked over there yourself. You know where it is.”
He shrugged, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. “I was already in the area.”
Asha finally turned, face set in that perfect deadpan. “Alright.”
The pause stretched.
He wanted to say something sharp. He wanted to cut this down to nothing, take the whole memory of last night and shred it into something manageable. But his mouth wouldn’t cooperate.
She broke the silence. “If this is about what happened, you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to get weird about it.”
He tensed. “You think I’m worried?”
She smirked, the curve of her mouth soft and mean at the same time. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week and it’s been less than twelve hours since we slept together. Had no idea I would have effect on you.”
He stepped closer, watching her body for the flinch that never came. “About last night—”
She cut him off. “It was a mistake. I get it. You don’t have to say anything.”
He clenched his jaw. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Does it matter?” She kept her gaze steady, but her hands were tight fists at her sides. “We both had a shit day. We both got a little drunk on adrenaline. It happens.”
He wanted to call her a liar, but couldn’t. Instead, he looked past her, at the curve of the mare’s neck, the glint of chestnut coat in the light. “Didn’t mean anything,” he said, the words heavy as stone.
She nodded, too quickly. “Of course not.”
She reached for the brush again, but her hand missed the rail. She had to steady herself, just for a second, and he caught it.
He moved closer, so close he could smell the soap on her skin. “You always this good at pretending?”
She bristled, turning to face him full-on. “You want to hash this out, or you want to keep dancing around it?”
He exhaled sharply. “I’m not good at this.”
“Neither am I.” Her voice dropped. “I’m just better at hiding it.”
They stood there, the gulf between them measured in inches but feeling a mile wide.
He flexed his hands, desperate for something to grab onto. “I don’t want this to screw up things. I’m only here for a short time and we both have shit we need to work through.”
“I’m not trying to mess anything up. What the hell, Gavin. We’re both adults.”
He tried again. “I don’t want to be the reason you leave.”
This time, the mask broke. Just for a heartbeat, her eyes went soft. “You’re not that important,” she said, but there was no force in it.
He let the silence fill in the rest.
She stepped past him, grabbing her jacket off the hook and slinging it over her shoulder. She paused at the door, back to him, shoulders squared.
He wanted to reach out, wanted to say something that would fix this, but the words were gone. All he could do was watch her go.
As she walked out, the scent of her hair, the sound of her boots, lingered in the air.
He waited until the barn was empty before letting out the breath he’d been holding.
Being that close to her only made him want more.
He liked how she didn’t let him get away with any bullshit.
He’d had plenty of women in the past and they all served a purpose, but none of them challenged him the way Asha did.
Fuck. He had overreacted to what happened last night. But the vulnerability she brought out of him was uncomfortable. Gavin didn’t know how to respond to the feeling of wanting to be around her all the time. Of doing anything he could just to see those beautiful brown eyes focused on him.
He leaned against the rail, knuckles white, staring at the empty space where she’d been. He wasn’t sure what came next, but he knew he didn’t want her to leave.