Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Crossing the Line
Jace
The five minutes she gave me feels like both too much and not nearly enough. I don’t waste a second of it once Riley steps back, arms folded like she’s holding herself in place while she watches us.
Hadley looks up at me like I’m about to reveal something important, something only she gets to be part of. I can’t remember the last time anyone looked at me like that without expecting me to prove something first.
“Well,” I say, resting my forearms on my knees as I crouch in front of her again, keeping my voice low and easy, “we’ve got exactly five minutes to decide something very important.”
Her eyes widen instantly. “What?”
I lean in just a little, like I’m letting her in on a secret. “Whether you’re officially hired as the ranch’s head cookie security officer.”
She gasps like I just offered her the most serious job in the world. “I can do that.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” I reply, nodding once like this is a formal agreement. “But it’s a big responsibility. You’ve got to keep an eye on Uncle Wade. He’s the main problem.”
Behind me, I hear Wade snort. “I can hear you, you know.”
“That’s because I’m not hiding it,” I shoot back, not even turning around, and Hadley laughs, the sound light and quick, like it’s been sitting there waiting for a reason to come out.
“I can watch him,” she says, completely serious again, like we’ve just sealed something official.
“Good,” I tell her. “If he gets into the cookies again, we’re all in trouble.”
“I heard that,” Wade mutters.
“Still not worried,” I answer, and this time I do glance back just long enough to catch the look he throws my way before I turn back to her.
Hadley shifts closer, like the distance that was there yesterday doesn’t exist anymore, and I let it happen, careful not to make a big deal out of it. Careful not to move too fast or too slow, just matching her where she is the way I would with any horse that’s still deciding if it trusts you.
“You ever ridden before?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
She shakes her head. “No, but I want to.”
“I figured,” I say, smiling just enough to keep it easy. “Most people do.”
She tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to figure something out. “Do you ride a lot?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “Probably more than I should.”
“Why?” she asks.
I huff out a quiet breath. That’s a harder question than she realizes. “Because I’m good at it,” I say finally, keeping it simple. “And because it makes sense when other things don’t.”
She nods like that’s the most reasonable answer she’s ever heard, and I don’t know if that says more about her or me.
“Can I try someday?” she asks.
I glance past her for just a second, catching Riley’s eyes where she stands by the barn opening, still watching, still measuring everything, and I don’t miss the tension sitting there, even now.
“Someday,” I say, bringing my focus back to Hadley. “When your mom says you’re ready.”
She considers that, then nods once, accepting it without argument, and that alone tells me more than anything else about how she’s been raised.
“Okay,” she says.
I reach out and adjust the brush in her hand, guiding her grip just a little so it sits better, and she follows the movement without pulling away, trusting me in a way that hits somewhere deeper than I expected.
“You’re doing good,” I tell her, quieter this time, not for show, not for anyone else, just because it’s true.
She beams again, and it’s not the kind of smile you fake or force, it’s the kind that comes from knowing you did something right, and for a second, I forget about everything else sitting around this moment.
The past.
The questions.
The fact that five minutes isn’t enough time to build anything that lasts.
But it’s a start.
And right now, that’s all I’ve got.
“Alright,” I say after a minute, pushing up to stand but staying close. “Part of your job is also making sure the horses are treated right. Think you can handle that?”
She nods immediately. “Yes.”
“Good,” I reply. “They’re a lot easier to work with than your uncles.”
“That’s not true,” Luke calls from somewhere behind us, his voice calm but amused.
“It’s mostly true,” I answer, and Hadley giggles again.
I glance back toward Riley one more time, not long enough to push, just enough to let her see that I meant what I said earlier. I’m not trying to step around her, just step into what’s mine without breaking what she’s built.
And when I look back at Hadley, still standing there with that brush in her hand like it matters, like she matters, something in my chest settles into place in a way I don’t question.
Whatever line this is…
I’ve already crossed it.
I don’t miss the way Riley watches us from the edge of the barn, half in shadow, half in the light, like she’s trying to decide which version of me she’s looking at and whether she trusts either one.
I keep my focus on Hadley, not because I’m ignoring her, but because this part matters more right now, and pushing anything with Riley isn’t how I’m going to earn a place in either of their lives.
“You’re gonna run out of titles at this rate,” Riley says from the doorway, her tone dry, but there’s less edge in it than there was earlier.
I glance at her, catching that shift, filing it away. “I’ve got a whole list,” I tell her. “I don’t hand out the important ones to just anybody.”
Hadley straightens like that settles it, and I let the moment sit easy, keep it light, keep it real.
By the time the sun drops and the ranch quiets, Hadley’s worn out in the way only kids can be, all energy gone at once. Riley takes her to the house to talk to Quinn and get her cleaned up, but she doesn’t leave.
That’s what sticks with me.
She stays.
I give her space, then head to the fence line where the land opens up, knowing she’ll come if she wants to and not before.
A minute later, I hear her boots behind me.
“You forget something?” I ask without turning right away.
“Yeah,” she says. “Apparently I did.”
There’s something different in her voice, less guarded, more… certain about asking the question instead of circling it.
“I don’t like not knowing where I stand,” she says. “With you. With this.”
“Then ask,” I tell her.
She does, finally, pushing past the easy answers to the real one. “How do you go from not knowing she exists to acting like this fits?”
“Because it does,” I say. “She fits.”
“And me?” she asks, and that one lands heavier.
I step in just enough to close the distance without taking it from her. “You’re still figuring that out,” I tell her, honest as I’ve been all day.
“And you?”
“I’m already there.”
The air tightens between us, quiet and charged, and I don’t move first.
I wait.
But the memory hits anyway, sharp and clear, like it’s been sitting just under the surface all day waiting for a moment like this.
Five years ago, same kind of quiet, same kind of pull, the way she looked at me like she was already halfway in even when she was trying to hold the line. The way I didn’t take it seriously enough.
The way she walked away when I didn’t give her a reason to stay.
I let out a slow breath, not breaking eye contact. “That night,” I say, low, steady, “I think about it more than I should.”
Her gaze flickers, just for a second.
“I didn’t get it back then,” I continue. “Didn’t get you. What you were asking for without saying it out loud.” I shift closer by a fraction, still giving her room. “But I missed you anyway. From the second you walked away.”
The words sit between us, heavier than anything we’ve said so far, and I don’t take them back, don’t soften them, just let them be what they are.
When she steps closer, it's her call, and I meet her where she is, nothing more, nothing less. My hand settles at her waist, steady, giving her the chance to stop it.
She doesn't.
"Riley," I say, low, giving her one last out.
She answers by closing the rest of the distance. She grabs my face and kisses me.
The kiss starts slowly, careful, like we both know exactly what line we're crossing and choose it anyway.
I don't rush it, don't take more than she gives, just follow her lead until the tension that's been building all day finally gives us somewhere to put it.
Hadley stayed inside with Quinn, Izzy, and Hudson, so Riley and I would have time to talk.
The barn blurs, quiet and sure, and by the time we reach the living quarters, everything outside it fades out, leaving just us and the choice we're still making with every step.
Inside, there's a pause, one last moment where either of us could pull back.
Neither of us does.
She grabs my shirt and pulls me back into her mouth before we've even cleared the doorway. The kiss turns hungry fast, her fingers twisting in the fabric until she yanks it over my head and drops it.
Her hands move over my chest, my stomach, and I feel every place she touches like she's pressing through skin entirely.
I reach for her in return, slowly and deliberately, unbutton her shirt one button at a time while she works at my belt. When the shirt falls off her shoulders I pull back just far enough to look at her. She's flushed, chest rising and falling hard, watching me with dark eyes.
"Don't make me wait," she says.
I reach behind her and unclasp her bra, let it fall, and bring my hands up to cup her, thumbs brushing over her hard nipples until she makes a sound low in her throat that tightens everything in me.
I walk her back toward the bed, mouths finding each other again, and she pulls me down with her when she goes.
I work her jeans off and take my time with what's underneath, mouth at her throat, her collarbone, lower, learning every place that makes her hips shift or her breath stutter.
By the time my hand slides between her thighs she's already warm, wet, and wanting, and the sound she makes when I find the right rhythm is the kind that stays with a person.
"Jace." Barely a whisper.
"I've got you," I say against her skin, and I mean it.