Chapter 19 #2
I swallowed the hard lump in my throat. I didn’t want to explain the matching room, but Colt’s steady presence drew the truth right out of my chest.
“My best friend,” I choked out. “We lived at the OMA together. She wanted a pack more than anything. I was just there to hold her hand while she accepted your match, but then I scented your cards and…” I trailed off, swallowed hard, only able to whisper the rest. “And I got a pack, and she didn’t.”
I stared down at nothing in particular. “She won’t answer my texts. Demi messaged me last night saying Adeline is grieving and I shouldn’t push. But I don’t know how to fix this. I feel like I stole her life and then abandoned her.”
Colt looked out over the ridge, the harsh lines of his profile softened by the dawn. “Maybe you’re not supposed to fix it,” he rasped. “Not pushing her isn’t the same as giving up. Sometimes standing back is far harder than charging in.”
The words hit me right in the sternum, and it took me a few moments to trust my vocal cords to work properly. “That sounds like the voice of experience.”
He didn’t answer and I didn’t push as we watched the sun crest the mountains, turning the sky brilliant colors. I picked up another flower, dropped it into my overflowing basket, and realized I had enough for another week of testing. Capping my pen, I flipped my notebook shut.
Brushing damp earth off my stained dress—which was a lost cause at this point—I forced myself to my feet. “I should head back.”
Colt stood, his body blocking the morning glare. “I’ll take you.”
“I can walk,” I argued out of habit.
Colt smiled and rubbed his jaw. “Yeah, Darlin’. I know.”
That was the extent of his argument.
Walking me toward his horse, he reached down, took the basket from my hands, and tied it to his saddle before slipping my notebook into his saddle bag.
He swung up into the saddle first, settling his weight with an easy familiarity before reaching a large, calloused hand down to me.
I placed my palm in his, and in one smooth, incredibly strong motion, he hauled me up.
Instead of settling me behind him, he pulled me sideways across his lap.
My legs draped over his thick thighs, my shoulder pressed flush against his strong chest, and his arm banded securely around my waist to hold me steady.
The first half-second of contact knocked the breath right out of my lungs.
The horse shifted its massive weight beneath us, but I didn’t budge, steadied by Colt’s grip.
My dress had hiked up past my knee, leaving my bare skin exposed to the early morning chill, but I didn’t have the bandwidth to fix it.
I was too hyper-focused on the steady, rhythmic thud of his heartbeat against my shoulder.
With a soft click of Colt’s tongue, the gelding started forward at a slow, rolling walk.
He deliberately kept the pace easy so I wouldn’t bounce, turning us back toward the house.
The morning had fully broken now, spilling golden light over the sagebrush, and neither of us said a word as we soaked up the peaceful silence.
Eventually, because the quiet intimacy of his arms around my waist made my head spin, I couldn’t help but break it.
“This is the part where I’m supposed to be grateful for my knight in shining armor, isn’t it?
” I asked, looking up at his gorgeous profile.
The man was beautiful—all dark hair and grey eyes and tanned skin with thick brows and a shadow of stubble on his face that never disappeared, despite a morning shave.
Even the scar that bisected his jawline didn’t diminish how handsome he was.
Colt let out a low huff that was almost a laugh. Given that it was him, I took that as a victory.
“Knight’s a stretch, Darlin’,” he murmured, his gaze flicking down to mine.
The casual, gravelly drop of the word Darlin’ landed right in my stomach for the second time that morning. It wasn’t a slip this time. He just let it sit there between us, warm and intentional, for the rest of the long ride home.
The gelding’s hooves crunched against the gravel of the driveway, breaking the quiet spell of our ride.
As we rounded the final bend toward the ranch house, Ransom was already standing on the wide front porch, a steaming tumbler of coffee in one hand and the morning sun catching the golden strands of his hair.
He stopped mid-sip. His usual chaotic energy faltered for exactly one second before his eyebrows shot up toward his hairline.
“What the hell, man?” Ransom called out, his voice carrying across the yard, laced with playful outrage. “I thought we said no horses on dates.”
A laugh bubbled up out of my chest, surprising me with how easily it slipped past the heavy emotional hangover of the morning. “It’s fine, Beaumont. I don’t mind the giant beast.”
The screen door squeaked open. August stepped out onto the porch behind his packmate, his broad shoulders practically filling the doorframe. He took a slow, deliberate pull from his own mug, his expression deadpan. “She talkin’ about me?”
Ransom choked on his coffee while I snickered again.
But it was the subtle shift beneath my shoulder that caught my attention.
I glanced up at Colt. His jaw was relaxed, the corners of his silver-grey eyes crinkled, and pulling at his mouth was the unmistakable curve of a real smile.
A ghost grin, surfacing just long enough to wreck my pulse before he smoothed it away.
“Just wrangling strays,” Colt grunted, stopping the gelding near the bottom of the porch steps.
“I’m not a stray,” I fired back, leaning back just a fraction into his solid chest. “I’m precious cargo. I obviously needed at least one of my muscled, brooding cowboys to protect me and my flower basket from the treacherous wilderness.”
The banter hung between us for a light-hearted second before the temperature on the porch changed. Ransom’s teasing smirk melted into something infinitely softer. August’s dark eyes warmed, pinning me with quiet approval. Beneath me, Colt went still.
I had just joked about them being mine and needing their protection. I had handed them the exact dynamic they were wired for, and every single one of us knew it.
Colt swung down from the saddle, leaving me missing his furnace-like heat for the span of a heartbeat before he reached back up.
His large hands spanned my waist, lifting me down as effortlessly as if I weighed nothing at all.
When my boots hit the dirt, he didn’t let go.
His thumbs pressed gently into my sides, lingering as his gaze locked onto mine under the shadow of his hat.
“You’re right,” he rumbled honestly. “You’re not a stray, Julia.”
It wasn’t a concession. It was a claim.
Before my pride could talk me out of it, I rose onto my toes. My hands gripped his corded forearms as I leaned in and pressed my lips to his sun-warmed cheek. He tasted like salt and wind, his scent a thick fusion of tobacco and that hidden, dark chocolate.
I felt his sharp intake of air, the muscles in his arms turning to stone beneath my touch.
I stepped back, my body humming, and watched as he took a breath to steady himself, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed.
Reaching out, he gathered my things and handed them over, his fingers brushing mine in the process.
Tipping the brim of his hat toward me—a silent acknowledgment that felt more intimate than spoken words ever could—he turned and led the bay toward the barn.
I watched him go until the big brown building swallowed him whole, then gathered my basket and notebook and headed for the porch steps.
“Come on, Sparkles.” Ransom held the screen door open with an exaggerated bow. “Stetson just brewed a fresh pot of coffee and there’s a mug with your name on it.”
I groaned, my mouth already salivating from the thought of sweet coffee while my body practically shivered at the idea of warming up from the inside out.
August chuckled at my obvious reaction, ruffling my hair as I passed, earning himself a swat.
As predicted, Stetson was in the kitchen.
He stood at the counter with his back to me, pouring coffee into a mug. He turned when he heard my boots, and his gaze dropped to the basket of ghost flowers, then to my damp, dirt-streaked sundress. He tilted his head, and I knew he scented Colt on me.
“Morning,” he said. His mouth smiled, but his eyes didn’t. “You were out early.”
Something about the way he said it landed wrong. His words were flat, almost cautious, like he was searching for something he wasn’t asking.
“Flower run.” I held up the basket, then tilted my head. “I left a note on the counter.”
“I found it.” He nodded once, and I wondered if he hadn’t found it soon enough. If he’d worried that I wasn’t home before he’d seen it lying on the counter.
He finished fixing the coffee, slid it across the island, and walked past me toward the office without another word. The cedar of his scent trailed behind him, sharper than usual. Almost bitter.
I stared at the empty hallway, a frown tugging at my mouth. I’d left the note specifically so they wouldn’t worry, but the interaction left me feeling as though I’d done something wrong…