Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Zane
Over the next few days, Andi’s riding lessons consumed all of my spare time.
I didn’t hate it, though.
She’d gotten confident enough to saddle Dolly on her own—still didn’t quite get the cinch tight enough, but she tried her best. I usually waited until she walked off, then went back and double-checked it along with everything else.
She’d been so proud of doing it all herself that I didn’t have it in me to step in right then and correct her.
Couldn’t let her ride out on a loose saddle, though, no matter how good she was getting.
I’d made a mental note to walk her through it again soon in a way that wouldn’t break her newfound confidence.
There was something about the way she threw her whole heart into these lessons, and maybe I was starting to care a little too much about making sure she didn’t lose that.
I leaned forward, resting my forearms over the top rail of the small training arena we’d moved her lessons into as Andi took her time getting into the saddle. “Why don’t you do a few laps and warm her up? I’ll be right back.”
She didn’t question it, just gave me a little nod and nudged Dolly forward into a steady trot.
I watched for a moment, letting myself enjoy how far she’d come—how natural she looked in the saddle now—before slipping off toward the barn.
By the time I reappeared with Cash saddled, she’d brought Dolly to a walk, turning her in a wide circle.
She pulled up short when she saw me. “What’s with the horse, cowboy?”
She’d called me cowboy plenty of times by now, but she usually delivered it with a bite sharp enough to draw blood.
Like it was meant to be the greatest insult in the history of the world instead of just an honest reflection of what I was.
But this time? It didn’t sting. This time it almost sounded like maybe she was starting to mean it differently.
I swung into the saddle like it was nothing, met her confused eyes. “Thought we’d venture outside the fence today. Head down to the creek.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Really?”
“Really,” I said, reining Cash over to the gate and holding it open for her.
“You’ll need this, too.” I reached down to my saddle horn and grabbed the cowboy hat I’d looped there—an older one of mine, worn soft and shaped just right—and handed it over to her as she met me outside the arena.
“Sun’s unforgiving out there,” I added, letting my eyes skim her face before I could stop myself.
“Wouldn’t want you burnin’ that pretty little nose. ”
The second I said it, I half-waited for her to roll her eyes or fire back.
But she just looked down at the hat, almost shy, like she wasn’t sure what to do with the gesture at first, then slowly settled it onto her head.
Adjusted the brim to shade her eyes. Smoothed her hair underneath it.
And something about that did a number on me I wasn’t prepared for.
“How do I look?” she asked, not quite meeting my eyes as she lifted her chin and twisted left, then right to model the hat.
Like I was wrong. Like maybe you do belong here.
“Still like a princess,” I teased, letting my eyes drag over her from the hat to the dust on her jeans and boots.
“But that hat’ll start to look less like a crown eventually.
” I sent her an encouraging smile. “Inside of every princess is a cowboy, waiting to come…” and—fuck me, that sounded so much better in my head— “...out.”
Her mouth curved, and that soft laugh of hers slipped out—low and surprised, like she didn’t expect to like what I said but couldn’t help it.
I shifted in the saddle, suddenly way too aware of how close we were. “Come on,” I muttered, turning Cash toward the pasture.
We rode out together, the open fields stretching wide before us.
The grass was sun-bleached and windblown, dotted with wildflowers rippling like water beneath a wide, cloudless sky.
The breeze carried the faint scent of something wild and sweet.
I honestly couldn’t have asked for a better day.
We didn’t talk much, just the occasional comment about a deer in the distance or a hawk cutting across the sky, but I didn’t mind because it wasn’t awkward. It was…comfortable.
Eventually, the gentle trickle of water broke through the silence. We rode up to the creek bed and dismounted.
“Why don’t you pick a spot to sit? I’ll tie the horses,” I said.
She wandered over and settled beneath an old oak tree while I got Cash and Dolly secured. A few minutes later, I dropped down beside her, took off my hat, and raked a hand through my hair. Andi did the same, running her fingers through thick strands that looked even better messy.
“Well, this is nice,” I said, resting my arms over my knees. I plucked a wildflower from the patch beside me and spun it absently between my fingers.
“It’s really peaceful here,” she said.
A long stretch of quiet followed, but it wasn’t the comfortable silence we’d rode here in. This one felt…expectant. Like it needed to be filled. And I knew what I wanted to say to fill it, knew the question I’d been skirting around for over a week now: Who the hell are you really, Andi Ford?
Because for all the time we’d spent together lately, I still didn’t know.
Not really. She was sunshine one minute, shadow the next.
Said just enough to make you feel like she was opening up, but never enough to really let you in.
And yet here I was, sitting next to her by the creek like I didn’t have a dozen reasons to keep my distance.
Like I didn’t already feel the ground shifting beneath me.
I turned the wildflower between my fingers and let the silence stretch a little longer. She glanced over at me, and something in her face softened.
Yeah. I was in trouble.
“So,” I said finally, keeping my voice even, “you ever gonna tell me who you really are?”
She blinked, head turning toward me fast like she hadn’t expected the question—or maybe how blunt it sounded coming out.
“I mean, I know your name,” I went on, softening some. “Know you’re from the city, that you’ve got a lead foot when you’re fleeing for your life, and that you’ve got the basics of saddling a horse down, give or take a loose cinch.”
I smiled a little at that, but she didn’t.
“But you’ve been here for how long now? And I still don’t know you.” I nudged her knee with the back of my hand.
She looked away, jaw tightening just enough to let me know I’d hit something.
“Why does it matter so much to you?” she asked after a beat, voice quiet but not exactly gentle. “Why do you get to know everything when I barely know you?”
“I never said I needed to know everything,” I countered. “But something would be nice. Anything real.”
She picked at a blade of grass, not looking at me.
“What does it change?” she asked, shrugging. “I’m not staying, and you know that.”
That did something to my chest. A little twist I wasn’t ready for.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding slowly. “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t started giving a damn anyway.”
The words came out too easy. Too honest. And maybe they were supposed to be a line.
Maybe they started that way. Something she’d believe.
Something I could use to finally get the answers I was after.
But watching the way she looked at me now—eyes wide and unguarded, like she hadn’t expected me to admit it out loud—I wasn’t so sure anymore what I meant by it.
I leaned back on one arm, giving her space but not backing off.
“You came here out of nowhere, you got under my skin faster than I wanted you to, and now you’re just here. Every day. And if you’re leaving soon…” I exhaled hard through my nose. “I guess I’d like to know what I’ll be missing.”
I shouldn’t have said that last part. It sounded too close to a confession. And after what she’d said before—about guys and pretty words—I probably sounded just like the kind of man she’d warned me about.
She blinked, like she was processing, then tilted her head and gave me that half-smirk I was starting to recognize as her defense mechanism. “You say that to all the girls you bring out here?”
The words were light, teasing on the surface, but there was a challenge under them. Almost like she was daring me to confirm what she already suspected: That this was just another act. I huffed a laugh, but it didn’t have much humor in it.
“Haven’t brought anyone out here in a long time.” Which was true. Too true. And maybe that was the problem. I looked out at the water for a beat, needing the space. I was supposed to be getting her to talk, not peeling myself open like this. But damn if she didn’t make it feel like a fair trade.
“You always deflect like that?” I asked. “Make a joke so you don’t have to answer?”
She shrugged, not denying it. “You always pretend not to care when you do?”
That hit a little too close. “Touché,” I said, dragging a hand over my jaw. “Guess we’re both pretty good at hiding.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine and, for once, she didn’t look away. Didn’t smile. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t dodge. Just looked. Really looked. And that? That scared me more than anything else ever could’ve. Because I wasn’t sure which one of us she was about to expose first: herself…or me.
“What are you hiding, Zane?”
Okay, so we’re exposing me first.
I looked away, letting the question settle in my chest like a stone tossed into the creek. I could lie. I could deflect just like she had. But that didn’t feel fair, not anymore.
“I don’t hate you,” I offered, quietly.
She snorted. “Liar.”
That pulled a reluctant smile from me. “Okay…I did hate you,” I admitted, glancing over. “At first.”
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak.
“You just,” I paused and tossed the now mangled wildflower to the grass, “reminded me of things I’d been trying real hard to forget.”
Her interested expression softened, but I wasn’t done.
“The last girl I brought out here was my ex-fiancée.”