Chapter 18
The trail winds back toward the barn, the air warm and still except for the steady rhythm of hooves striking packed earth.
My body feels like it’s made of glass—fragile, vibrating with leftover fear—but every time I shift, Colter’s arm tightens almost imperceptibly around my waist, grounding me.
His palm is heavy, sure, a steady anchor pressed just below my ribs.
I try to focus on the scenery, the slant of afternoon light spilling through the trees, the soft hush of wind stirring dry grass, but all I can think about is the steady rise and fall of his chest at my back.
The brush of his thigh against mine when the horses step in sync.
The warmth of him, seeping through my shirt, searing into me like it belongs there.
He doesn’t speak. Not once. The silence should feel awkward, but it doesn’t. It feels deliberate. Intentional. As though words would break whatever fragile thing is holding me together.
Smokey follows along behind us. It’s almost absurd. The picture we make. Him in total control, guiding two horses at once, while I sit plastered to his front, my hands fisted uselessly in the horn of his saddle because I can’t stop shaking long enough to pretend I’m capable.
I hate it. And yet…God help me, I don’t.
By the time the barn’s weathered roofline comes into view, the worst of the trembling has eased, though my muscles ache from the adrenaline rush leaving my body.
My pulse, though, refuses to calm. It hammers beneath my skin with every jostle of his horse, as if reminding me exactly who I’m pressed up against.
Colter reins in smoothly near the open doors, dust swirling up around us. For the first time since he pulled me into his saddle, he moves away—but not fully. He swings down with an effortless power that makes my stomach tighten, boots hitting the dirt with a solid thud. Then he turns back to me.
For a split second, I think he’s going to offer his hand like a gentleman, maybe even murmur something reassuring. But no—Colter doesn’t do soft edges. He simply grips my waist, strong fingers wrapping around me, and lifts me clean off the saddle as if I weigh nothing at all.
The contact is brief, but it brands me all the same. His touch lingers in the imprint of his hands even after my boots meet the ground. I stumble forward a step, suddenly unmoored without the wall of his body holding me up.
Dust hangs between us in the warm light, and I look up at him, searching his face. Maybe for gratitude. Maybe for some hint of what that ride back meant for him, if anything at all.
But his expression is unreadable. His jaw’s tight, his eyes shadowed. He doesn’t give me the softness I thought I glimpsed out on the trail. Doesn’t even look at me for more than a heartbeat before he turns away.
Without a word, he gathers both sets of reins and leads the horses into the barn. His broad back disappears into the dimness, leaving me alone in the fading sunlight.
I stand there with my arms wrapped around myself, skin still buzzing from his touch, pulse drumming too hard, and one thought echoing repeatedly in my head:
What the hell just happened?
And why does it feel like he took something with him when he walked away?
By the time I drag myself upstairs, my body feels like it’s been wrung out and left in the sun. Every muscle aches from being so tightly wound, and even after a hot shower, I can’t seem to shake the sensation of Colter’s strong presence on the trail. His calm, controlled energy grounding me.
I curl into the worn chair in my room with a book balanced in my lap, though the words blur almost immediately. My eyelids are heavy, my mind foggy. But sleep doesn’t come easy after a day like today. Not with adrenaline still humming in my veins, sharp and restless.
A knock at the door breaks my fog. “Hey, you got a second?”
It’s Lee.
I nod. “Yeah…come in.”
He steps inside, closing the door softly behind him. He doesn’t swagger or joke this time. He leans against the doorway for a moment, watching me.
“I…wanted to apologize,” he says quietly. “Jackson and I shouldn’t have taken off like we did. We left you behind, and that was dumb. You’re new to riding, and I should’ve been paying more attention.”
The words hit me harder than I expected. His apology is straightforward and honest. Something I’ve rarely experience.
I manage a small shrug. “It’s fine. You didn’t know a rattlesnake was going to jump out of the bushes.”
He shakes his head. “Still. We left you out there, and it scared me half to death when I realized you were gone. I should’ve had your back.”
I lower the book in my lap, finally meeting his gaze. He looks…sincere. Concerned. Not like Colter, whose silence leaves me guessing. Lee’s worry is open, tangible, and comfortable.
“Thanks, Lee,” I murmur, voice quiet. “I appreciate it.”
He takes a step closer, lowering his voice. “Anytime. What are big brother for, right? Making sure their little sister doesn’t get herself hurt.”
A small smile tugs at my lips despite myself. “Yeah. I guess you are.”
He grins faintly, ruffling my hair gently. “Always.”
Then, without a backward glance, he slips out of the room, leaving me alone. I lean back in the chair, taking a deep breath. The calm, protective energy he brought lingers, contrasting sharply with Colter’s stormy intensity earlier.
And I realize something: I’m grateful for both. I need them both in different ways. But for now, Lee’s quiet, brotherly reassurance is exactly what I need to settle my frayed nerves.
It doesn’t take long for the word to spread about the rattlesnake incident.
By the time I make it down for dinner, the sun has slipped low behind the hills, casting long shadows across the dining room. The smell of roast and fresh bread fills the air, but I barely notice. My muscles still ache from the ride, and every step feels heavier than it should.
Sutton is the first to notice me. Her brows knit together the moment I step into the room. “Peyton, you shouldn’t be up.” Sutton bustles over with a hand hovering over my arm as if she’s about to physically make me take a seat. “Shiloh would have brought your dinner up to the room for you.”
I hold up a hand to stop her, forcing a small, tight smile. “I’m fine, Sutton. Really.”
She doesn’t buy it. She fusses anyway, rearranging my napkin, patting the back of my chair. “Lee and Jackson shouldn’t have left you on the trail alone.
Lee bites his lip shamefully, sliding into his seat beside me. “I apologized, and Colter laid into us already. We made a mistake.”
Sutton glares at him. “You’re lucky Colter decided to follow you up the trail to keep an eye on you. If he hadn’t been there…” She stops abruptly when John enters, his presence filling the room before he even speaks.
He’s carrying a plate, gruff as always, but the tension in his shoulders and the sharpness of his gaze betray the worry he’s tried so hard to bury. “You okay?” His voice is low, rough around the edges, but it’s a question, not a statement.
“I’m fine,” I repeat, though this time my voice is quieter, almost swallowed by the room’s warmth.
John gives me a long look, eyes scanning me from head to toe as if making sure every inch of me survived unscathed. Then he grunts, the closest thing he has to approval. “Good.”
Sutton huffs, muttering under her breath, but I catch the tail end: “…reckless boys…”
John grunts again, more to himself than anyone else, before finally sitting down. The rest of the meal goes on with quiet conversation, punctuated by occasional looks toward me from both Sutton and Lee.
By the time I push back my chair, the unease from earlier has faded slightly, replaced with the weight of their attention, a mixture of protective care I’m not used to. It’s strange… and almost comforting. Something I’m not sure I want to get used to.
If there is one thing I’ve learned—whenever life gives you lemons—they soon begin to rot.