Chapter 9
HATTIE
June, the next day.
I’ve never seen a sunset this bold. The door at the end of the barn is open, and we’ve just finished taking care of the horses after a full day in the saddle.
My thighs ache from hours of riding, and my ribs are sore from the number of times I’ve laughed since the day began, but it’s not exhaustion I feel as I look out to the sky streaked with deep shades of tangerine and bright pink edges. I’m invigorated.
Heston was already downstairs waiting for me when I woke up and excitedly pulled my boots on early this morning.
This ranch is bigger than I thought it was, and we didn’t leave an inch of it undiscovered as we rode through the pastures.
I savored every moment of how comfortable he was simply checking cows and showing me around.
More than once, I caught myself glancing over at his profile as he told stories or pointed toward a distant fence line.
The line of trees near the creek at the edge of the property was a good spot to stop for a break, and it was all I could do to relax and eat the sandwich he made for me instead of crashing into him for a kiss.
I look over my shoulder where Heston hangs a bridle just outside the tack room.
There’s no denying that I’m positively smitten with that man.
Maybe it isn’t normal to feel that way after only meeting him a week ago and having spent no more than a day and a half with him, but I can’t bring myself to care.
My heart races around him.
Before he catches me staring, I lean my shoulder against the stall and turn my attention back to the breathtaking sunset. He must have already sensed my eyes on him, though. His approaching footsteps sound behind me, making every surface of my skin tingle.
“I’m thinking next time, we ride out at your place,” he suggests, stopping next to me to take in the same view of the sky that I’ve been admiring.
Next time?
Next time!
A day out on the prairie with someone will tell you everything you need to know about them. Now that I’m aware he wants to do it again, my heart is trying to leap out of my chest with the hope that he’s also feeling this thing between us as much as I am.
“I’d like that,” I say, trying to bite back a ridiculously giddy smile.
“I like you.”
My head turns, and I find that he’s already looking at me.
I brainstorm a plan for how I can grab the collar of his shirt and pull his lips down to mine in the least feral way possible.
Heston surprises me by turning to cage his arms on either side of my head before I have a chance to make my own move.
My body reacts immediately, rotating away from the open barn door to face him.
Not a single breath enters my lungs when he inches closer.
My hands gather the sides of his shirt in tight fists, and I pull, closing the distance between our bodies entirely.
That sign of desperate wanting was all he needed from me.
A moan, needy and insatiable, escapes my throat as he crashes his mouth to mine.
My back hits the wooden stall behind me.
The rough contact only excites me more, and I pull harder on his shirt.
His hips pin me back in response. I can’t help but whimper when he lowers one hand to grip the side of my face, and the heat of his kiss threatens to consume me altogether.
His mouth seems in tune with mine, smooth and confident with every swipe of his tongue. His weight against me feels impossibly strong and safe. Right.
Experiencing so many delicious sensations like this from just a kiss doesn’t seem possible. I’ve never felt anything like it, and I wish it would never end. But he eventually inches his face away from mine to come up for air.
“That was supposed to go slower. Softer,” he admits.
I laugh, still trying to catch my breath. Nothing about this man is soft. Why would his kiss be any different?
“Softer? Is that how you like it?” I tease with a quirked brow. “If that’s the case, I’m not sure I’m your girl.”
He leans forward again, this time kissing the side of my neck. “I am.”
Lord, help me.
I’m closing my eyes and swooning into another dimension as he opens his mouth against my skin like he wants to devour me. Hopefully, he doesn’t commit anything else I say from this point forward to memory. I can’t be held responsible for my words under these conditions.
“Careful,” I breathe out, sheer thrill running through my veins. “If you start calling me your girl, I’ll act accordingly.”
“Fuck.” His lips trail up toward my jaw. “Promise?”
The speed at which I nod and start planning out the rest of my summer, where I get to hear him whisper against my skin like that as much as possible, is certifiably deranged.
“Hey,” a shout rings through the barn. “Y’all wanna drive down to the river with us?”
I whip my head to the side. Heston groans at his friend’s interruption, his forehead falling to land on my shoulder. The way he has to fold his body down just to do that makes me laugh again. On the side hidden from his friend’s view, I intuitively dip my fingers beneath his untucked t-shirt.
“It’s almost dark out,” I say to Tripp.
He shrugs with a carefree smile in response. “So?”
Heston is barely holding it together as I lightly skim my fingers along the skin just above his jeans. I only make it as far along his belt line as his lower back before he straightens to stand and grips my wrist.
For the last several years, I’ve been spending every waking moment doing nothing but fighting sadness with schoolwork.
It’s an effective coping method on most days, but it leaves no room for spontaneity or the kind of reckless fun that keeps a person from feeling they wasted their twenties trying to set themselves up for a career.
I’d like to let my phone die, sit on Heston’s lap around a bonfire, and watch the moonlight reflecting off the water for a change.
“Do you want to go?” I ask him.
He studies my expression, just for a moment, before sliding his hand from my wrist to my palm. The next thing I know, my face hurts from smiling so big as he leads me to an old truck parked just outside the barn.
Music plays loudly from the cab. Tripp jumps into the passenger seat, and with Gage driving and Warren in the middle, Heston chooses to jump into the truck bed instead of packing five people into a cramped space.
Good. I’m already attached to the fresh air out here, anyway.
I brace a foot on the corner step while he lifts me. Several ice chests line the sides of the truck bed, and we move to sit between them with our backs against the cab.
“You never answered my question,” I point out, brushing the loose strands of hair from my face as they blow in the breeze.
Heston shrugs. “Doesn’t matter what I want to do. I could see in your face that you wanted to go to the river.”
My stomach does a little flip. Okay, maybe a tiny part of him is soft.
“We could have sat on the tailgate.”
“I don’t trust his driving,” Heston explains. He shakes his head as Gage picks up speed once we hit the ditch road, heading toward the trees. “And my legs are too long anyway.”
I throw my head back in a laugh, and he can’t help but let out a deep chuckle. He doesn’t do that often, I’ve learned. It makes the sound more special when I get to hear it.
Maybe it’s just the last bit of sunset painting a perfect picture in the sky as we drive away from it, or maybe it’s the way Heston reaches for my hand again . . . No matter the reason, I sigh with the thought that this is the best day I’ve had in a long while.
The wind on my face smells like early summer and hay fields that are too green to cut just yet. I close my eyes and tilt my head to fully memorize it.
My mouth turns up in a smile when I feel Heston’s breath against the side of my neck.
“How long can you stay?” he asks between kisses.
“I have to leave tomorrow.”
Instead of responding to that, he kisses me more.
It’s too much to sit there and take without squirming, so I guide his shoulders back against the cab, turn to face him, and lift a leg over his body to straddle his hips. His big hands bracket my waist, and I lean in to kiss him.
The moment our lips meet, I inhale through my nose and relax my weight on top of him. The truck swerves just enough to break our connection, and Heston tightens his grip to keep me from toppling over. Manic laughter erupts on the other side of the back window.
Without thinking, I flip off Warren and Tripp, who are looking back at us with satisfied grins. Heston’s shoulders shift with an amused huff.
“Easy,” he says, pulling my attention away from his lively friends. “Hot sauce.”
I scrunch my nose with a playful eye roll. “The worst nickname. I think I hate it.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I’m smiling and wrapping my arms around his neck.
He pulls me closer to bury his face in my neck again. “Too damn bad.”