Chapter 44
Before us, the land stretches wide and golden in the pre-dusk light, the grass bending in slow waves beneath a breeze that smells of sun-warmed earth and distant rain. The ranch is just beyond the rise and a cluster of old cottonwoods.
Easton slows first, his hand light on the reins as he eases Ranger to a halt. The leather of my saddle creaks as Daisy follows suit beneath me, her ears flicking forward, attentive and calm. Both things I currently am not.
The silence is thick, not awkward, but weighted with everything we haven’t figured out yet.
Out here, it’s easy.
Out here, there are no overprotective brothers watching from the porch or a father with an assessing gaze that misses nothing. Out here, there is only wind, sky, and us. Neither of us knows how to do this.
Easton dismounts first, his boots hitting the ground with a dull thud.
I dismount, swinging my leg over and sliding down from the saddle.
Easton is in front of me before my boots even tough earth.
His gaze is fixed on mine with quiet intensity as we stand dangerously close.
Close enough that I can see the faint scar running through his beard by his chin.
His fingers brush against mine, and my hand turns instinctively, fitting into his, my pulse jumping when his fingers tighten around me. His thumb traces across my knuckles slowly. It’s such a small gesture, but it makes my breath catch.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
I nod, even though okay doesn’t begin to cover it. Okay doesn’t explain the way my entire body feels like it’s been rewired, like something dormant inside me has woken up and refuses to go back to sleep.
My hands slide up his chest, gripping the front of his shirt.
He responds immediately, his hands finding my waist, pulling me firmly against him.
I rise onto my toes as he dips his head, and our lips meet.
It’s not hesitant or careful. It’s hungry.
His mouth moves against mine with a kind of restrained urgency that makes my knees weak.
I tighten my hold on his shirt to steady myself, feeling the solid heat emanating from him beneath the worn cotton.
His hand slides from my waist to the nape of my neck, tangling briefly in my hair as he tilts my head, deepening the kiss and stealing my breath in the best possible way. My heart pounds so hard, I’m certain he can notice it through the layers between us.
I kiss him back with equal hunger, meeting his need, even as his lips soften and slow. The kiss turns less urgent and more consuming. His thumb traces the curve of my jaw, and a shiver ripples through me.
I could stay here.
I could stay here forever.
But reality awaits us, just over the rise.
He pulls back enough to rest his forehead against mine. We’re both breathing harder than we should be from a kiss, it not being enough for either of us.
His mouth curves slightly. “C’mon, wildfire,” he urges, his voice roughened in a way that makes my stomach dip. “We have to head in. We can’t set up camp this close.”
“You’re the one who stopped.” I huff a soft laugh, though it comes out more like a reluctant sigh.
“You didn’t complain.” His grin widens as he arches a brow, and for a second, he looks younger.
I press one last quick kiss to his lips, then step away before I can change my mind.
Climbing back into the saddle feels harder than it should. Daisy shifts beneath me, sensing my distraction, and I smooth a hand along her neck to steady both of us. Easton follows suit, and we ride side-by-side toward the ranch.
The closer we get, the more my stomach tightens.
It’s ridiculous. I’ve faced worse than a handful of curious looks, but this feels different.
Vulnerable. I don’t know what we are yet, and that uncertainty presses on me with every hoofbeat that brings us closer to home.
Easton glances at me as we crest the hill.
We’re in this together.
Deacon is the first to notice our arrival. He strides away from the barn as we approach, relief etched across his face so plainly, my chest aches. “Thank God,” he calls out, running a hand through his hair. “With that storm, I’ve been worried sick.”
Guilt pricks at me, even though I know we were safe. Safer than I’ve felt in a long time, if I’m honest. “I’m fine,” I say quickly, sliding down from Daisy. The words slip out, smooth and simple. “Easton took good care of me.”
Real good care of me.
The shack flashes in my mind, uninvited.
The deluge of rain against the tin roof, how he commanded my body, and the way the world shrank to just the two of us.
The memories curl low in my stomach, and heat floods my cheeks before I can stop it.
I quickly busy myself with Daisy’s reins before anyone can notice.
Deacon claps Easton’s shoulder, murmuring something about the tack room. Easton nods and follows him without hesitation, falling into work mode easily. And just like that, the charged bubble around us dissipates.
Knox is leaning silently against the fence, his arms crossed and grin entirely too knowing, “Well,” he finally drawls. “You look… rested.”
I shoot him a glare that would send lesser men running. Knox just grins wider. “Don’t start.”
“Who’s starting?” he asks innocently. “So… You and Easton, huh?”
I swear, Knox has some weird sixth sense about secrets.
“You’re insufferable.” I shove at his shoulder.
“And you didn’t answer.”
I lift my chin defiantly and snark, “Has Jess gotten you to propose yet?” I only hope to change the topic of conversation, but my question wipes the smirk clean off his face.
Knox scowls. “You could’ve told me she was crazy.”
I bark out a laugh, already heading toward the barn with Daisy’s lead rope in hand. “Oh, this is good. Please, do elaborate.”
He falls into step beside me, running a hand over his face. “I’m serious, Teag. Three dates. Three. And she calls me all the time. Like, constantly. I don’t answer once, and she leaves a voicemail asking if I’m”—he air quotes—“emotionally withdrawing.”
I nearly choke, trying to hold in my laughter.
“She’s already named our future children. All country singers,” he continues, horrified. “The list? Dolly, Waylan, Morgan, Lainey, Reba, Brooks & Dunn. Brooks! And! Dunn!”
“That’s your issue?” I snicker, nudging the barn door open. “The names? Not that she’s probably already mapped out your entire lives together, down to your retirement home?”
“I am not naming my kid after Brooks Dunn Wilson.” Knox shakes his head and exhales a heated sigh. “We haven’t even made it to second base yet, and she’s filled a minivan like it’s the Grand Ole Opry.”
Before I can respond, Easton’s voice carries through the barn. “The fact you’re a grown man, still referring to it as second base, might be part of the issue there.”
I snicker outright.
Deacon chuckles from somewhere behind a stack of hay bales near the tack room. “Pretty sure he’s right.”
Knox throws his hands up. “Would you all shut up?” He shoots me a betrayed look when I can’t stop giggling.
Easton steps past us, then, brushing close enough that his arm grazes mine. It’s subtle but intentional. His eyes meet mine for a brief second, and he mouths, “See you soon, wildfire.” My heart stutters, and he disappears out into the yard before I can reply.
I focus on Daisy instead, leading her into her stall. The familiar rhythm of unsaddling steadies me. I rest my forehead briefly against her warm neck and let out a slow breath.
Knox’s voice drifts in from the aisle, still muttering about his hypothetical son, Brooks.
I straighten and finish brushing Daisy before closing her stall and stepping into the aisle.
If this turns into something real—something lasting—it won’t just be mine.
It will belong to the ranch in some way.
To my family. To the rhythm of days that start before sunrise and end bone-tired.
But if it falls apart, there will be no escaping it.
Through the open barn doors, I can see Easton walking up to the bunkhouse.
I want him. That part is simple.
I want the way he looks at me, like I’m something fierce and worth holding on to. I want the steadiness in his hands, the heat in his mouth, and the quiet promises tucked into stolen glances that no one else notices.
When he opens the door, Easton glances over his shoulder. Our eyes meet, and he shoots me a soft smile.
I want him.
Even if it isn’t simple.