Chapter 12
Another week passes on the ranch, and slowly I begin to fall into pattern.
I wake up, eat a quick breakfast in the kitchen while guzzling down coffee, and head out to the barn for my daily chores.
It’s peaceful work, and I find I don’t hate it.
Unlike previous jobs I’ve held, which involved dealing with customers and nosy coworkers in a high-stress and tumultuous environment, the barn is quiet.
A ranch hand or one of the trainers will give me a passing nod or a quiet greeting when they see me, but for the most part, they leave me to myself.
I don’t mind. A few of the staff still stare at me with hardened gazes, but I’ve learned to ignore them.
Whatever issue they have with me being here, they can take it up with John.
“Hey.” Pace pops his head into the stall I’m currently cleaning. Another overly hot Saturday. At least in California, the hot days were tempered a bit. Out here in Texas the heat feels like we’re in the middle of Satan’s butt crack.
Not ideal.
“Hey,” I respond while continuing to shovel out horse shit. One of my least favorite things about horses is how they will shit anywhere, including in their stall.
Gross.
“Once you’re done, come on up to the house and change into some swimwear,” Pace tells me. “We’re going to be heading over the Shaw’s for a pool party.”
No thank you.
“I’m good,” I say. Pace shoots me a dubious look.
“Peyton, it is hot as balls out here,” he drawls. “And besides going shopping last week, you haven’t been off the ranch. You can’t sit up in your room all day like a hermit. You need to make friends.”
He doesn’t know me well enough.
The hermit lifestyle is what I am all about.
I jab the pitchfork into the pile with extra force and glance up at him. “I’m good right here with my new best friends.” I gesture to the horses, who remain blissfully indifferent to the conversation.
He snorts. “Come on, don’t make me drag you. These guys are great, but you need to meet people your age. Plus, the Shaws got a pool big enough to drown a herd of cattle. It’ll be fun.”
I level him with a look. “Fun is not the word I’d use for getting sunburned and pretending I know how to have casual conversations with people who are no doubt whispering behind my back and probably think I will run off with the silverware.”
Pace shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s holding back a laugh. “You’re dramatic as hell, you know that?”
“Saves time.”
He leans against the stall door. “Look, no one’s asking you to hold court. Come, eat, cool off. Hell, you don’t even have to talk to anybody. You can sit under a damn umbrella and scowl at the sky for all I care.”
I hesitate, wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist. The idea of being in a swimsuit around people I barely know makes my skin crawl, but the thought of sitting alone for another afternoon lost in bad memories doesn’t sound appealing either.
“I don’t have a swimsuit,” I say, reaching for any excuse.
Pace smirks. “Sutton bought you two last week. I saw the tags still on ’em.”
Busted.
“Great,” I mutter. “So I’m out of excuses.”
“Yep.” His grin widens as he straightens. “I’ll tell ’em you’ll be up in twenty. Don’t chicken out.”
I flip him off without looking up.
He laughs, the sound fading as he heads back toward the house, leaving me alone with my smelly companions and the sinking feeling I’m about to make a huge mistake.
The Shaw estate is nothing like I expect.
It’s sprawling—massive stretches of manicured lawns, pristine white fences, and a house which looks like it belongs on the cover of a luxury living magazine.
The pool sparkles in the distance, framed by tall oaks and stone patios.
Laughter drifts through the air. I spot Colter near the grill, sunglasses on, beer in hand, talking to Lee like they’ve known each other since birth.
Pace nudges me with his elbow as we step out. “See? Harmless.”
I make a noncommittal noise, adjusting my sunglasses and crossing my arms. “We’ll see.”
As we walk toward the pool, Pace chatting easily beside me, I can’t shake the feeling I’ve stepped into another version of the life I’ll never belong to.
One that smiles too wide, speaks too softly and hides its sharpest teeth beneath the surface.
By the time I step out onto the stone patio, Pace has already vanished—probably off to charm someone or find a cold beer, which leaves me standing awkwardly on the edge of a party I don’t want to be at.
Laughter echoes from the far end of the pool where a group of women lounge in the water, their designer sunglasses and perfect smiles making me feel like an alien in borrowed skin. The smell of grilled meat drifts through the thick summer air, mixing with the sharp scent of chlorine and cut grass.
I adjust the hem of my T-shirt and seriously consider turning around and walking back to the SUV.
“Didn’t think you’d actually show.”
The voice—smooth, familiar, and already laced with amusement—draws my attention to the far side of the grill.
Colter.
He’s ditched the hat, his dark hair pushed back, sunglasses shading his eyes. He’s in swim trunks and a faded T-shirt that clings in all the right places, and for a split second I hate how effortlessly he belongs here. How he wears the heat and the noise and the easy smiles like a second skin.
“Didn’t have much of a choice,” I mutter, keeping my tone flat as I fold my arms. “Pace is relentless.”
Colter’s lips twitch like he’s fighting back a grin. He flips a steak on the grill, the metal tongs clicking as he moves. “Yeah, well, Pace has always been the social one of our group.”
“And you’re what? The broody one?”
He gives a low laugh, something darker curling beneath the sound. “Something like that.”
The tension between us crackles, the air stretched taut in the space where words should be. It’s always like this with him, too much unsaid, too much weight in every glance. The memory of our last conversation in the barn flits through my mind, sharp and uncomfortable.
I shift my weight, uncomfortable under his gaze, even with the sunglasses hiding his eyes. “Don’t let me interrupt your fun. I’m sure there’s some poor soul you haven’t made uncomfortable yet.”
He doesn’t smile this time. Instead, he studies me, head tilted slightly. “You really think that’s what I’m doing?”
I blink, caught off guard by the softness in his voice. “Aren’t you?”
“No,” he says simply. The word is low, almost too quiet beneath the chatter and splashing water. He sets the tongs down and takes a slow step closer, enough that I catch the faint scent of cedar and smoke clinging to him. “If I wanted to make you uncomfortable, sweetheart, I’d try harder.”
My stomach flips—equal parts warning and thrill.
“Are you trying to intimidate me?” I ask, lifting my chin, refusing to look away even as every nerve ending fires.
“No,” he says again, but his mouth curves, slow and dangerous. “That’s me being polite.”
We stand like that for a moment, heat radiating between us, neither of us willing to be the first to flinch. Around us, the party hums on: music, laughter, the splash of water.
But in this bubble, it’s me and him.
Finally, I huff out a breath and break the standoff. “I’m going to get a drink.”
“Suit yourself,” he murmurs, stepping back, the cool smirk sliding back into place as if he hadn’t cracked something open between us.
I walk away without another word, pulse pounding far too hard in my ears.
And I hate that part of me wanted to stay.