15. Wrenley #2
“That’s a bit advanced for beginners,” Saint starts.
“I can handle it,” I interrupt, surprising myself. The truth is, I’m starting to enjoy this. The rhythm of Penny’s walk, the sun on my face … the way Saint hasn’t left my side.
Our eyes meet. Snag. He frowns and looks away first.
“Fine,” he says quietly. “But we go slow.”
Rome pushes off from the fence. “Why don’t you grab Dante?” he tells Saint. “I’ll watch Ivy and Carolina Wren.”
“Don’t call her that. ”
Rome halts mid-step. “What now?”
“The bird thing. Don't.”
“You mean the bird she's named after?” Rome glances between Saint and me, grinning now.
Saint frowns. “Just use her name.”
“I am using her name. Technically.”
“Rome,” Saint warns.
“Wrenley, you care if I call you Carolina Wren?”
Before I can answer, Saint cuts in, “She doesn’t need a nickname from you.”
Rome cocks a brow. “From me specifically?”
He looks between us again, and I can see the moment it clicks. My heart does this stupid little flip because Saint is being territorial over me, even if it's just a nickname. Even if it doesn't change anything between us.
“Well I'll be damned, Saint. Didn't realize you were taking applications for nickname privileges.”
I press my lips together to keep from grinning like an idiot. This possessive side of Saint shouldn’t make me feel giddy, but here we are. Too bad it’s just his protective instincts and not actual feelings.
It could be wishful thinking, but I swear Saint’s expression darkens as he has to walk away from me and stroll toward the stables.
While he’s gone, I grip the reins like a lifeline and refuse to move, much to Ivy’s entertainment.
Rome offers to lead Penny around, but I shoo him away, telling him to focus on Ivy instead.
I’m happy with Penny staying still and munching on the grass growing around the fence posts.
In fact, I take the time to set up my phone, nestling it near the front of the saddle to capture a close-up of Penny.
While I’m futzing with my phone, another horse’s snort catches my attention, and I raise my head to note Saint’s return and?—
Oh my god.
He’s wearing a cowboy hat. His button-down shirt is loose around the collar, showcasing a V of tanned muscle and inked skin. Saint holds the reins one-handed as the horse trots toward us.
I nearly fall off Penny.
“What?” he asks, drawing Dante to a stop beside me with such smooth sexiness, my mouth goes dry.
“Nothing.” My voice comes out strangled. “Just. The hat.”
“Sun’s bright on the trail.” He adjusts the brim, the gesture so casually masculine I have to look away. “Rome keeps spares in the tack room.”
The worn brown Stetson transforms him completely. Gone is the controlled chef in his pristine kitchen. This version of Saint looks dangerous. Capable. Like he could pin me against a barn wall and?—
“Miss Wrenley, you’re all red!” Ivy observes cheerfully. “Did you get sunburned already?”
“Must have,” I say.
Saint’s eyes crinkle under the shade of his hat, and I swear he knows exactly what I was thinking. The corner of his mouth lifts in the barest hint of a smirk.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
He guides Dante closer, close enough that our knees brush. “Remember what I said. Heels down.” His gaze drops to my legs. “Grip with your thighs.”
Jesus Christ.
“Are we going or what?” Ivy calls, already halfway to the trail entrance.
Saint doesn’t move. Neither do I. We’re trapped in this charged moment, the horses shifting beneath us, and all I can think about is how good he looks in that hat.
How his hands look holding the reins. How I want to knock that Stetson off his head and run my fingers through his hair and hear him murmur all the dirty things he wants to do to me.
“Wrenley.”
My name on his lips is a warning. Or maybe a plea.
“We should go,” I breathe.
“We should.”
Neither of us moves.
“Well, I guess Ivy’s taking the lead,” Rome drawls, grabbing Scribbles’s reins and walking alongside, notably a good distance away from us.
Saint clicks his tongue, and Dante starts moving. To my pleasurable surprise, Penny does, too, and keeps pace alongside Dante.
The trail narrows once we enter the trees, forcing Saint to ride closer. Our legs brush occasionally, each contact sending sparks through my borrowed boots.
“You’re a natural,” he says quietly, so Ivy and Rome won’t hear.
“Liar.”
“I don’t lie.” His voice drops lower. “You’re doing beautifully.”
The compliment steals my breath. This is the most he’s spoken to me all morning, and I’m pathetically desperate for more.
“Why did you—” I start, then stop.
“Why did I what?”
“Help me. Instead of letting Rome do it.”
He’s quiet for so long I think he won’t answer.
“I didn’t like his hands on you.”
The admission has me rolling my lips together so I don’t blurt out something stupid like, the only hands I want on my body are yours . I have to swallow a few times before rediscovering my vocal cords.
“Saint.”
“I shouldn’t say that to you. I know.” His knuckles are white on the reins. “Because of Monday. And Erin.” He cuts himself off, glancing at Ivy.
“Then why?”
“Because I’m a fucking idiot,” he says simply.
“Papa, look! A butterfly!”
Ivy’s voice drifts back, followed by Rome’s patient response about staying centered in the saddle.
The trail curves ahead, and Saint’s knee presses against mine as the horses navigate the turn. He doesn’t pull away.
“Your phone’s recording,” he observes, nodding to where I’ve propped it against the saddle horn.
“Is that okay? I just wanted...” I trail off, embarrassed.
“Wanted what?”
“To remember this.” The sound of my voice is more faded than I’d like. “For when I’m gone.”
His jaw works. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Talk about leaving. Not today.”
“You’re the one who?—”
“I know what I said.” His tone is unsettled. “Doesn’t mean I want to think about it.”
Penny stumbles slightly on a root, and Saint’s hand instantly shoots out, steadying me with a grip on my elbow. The touch burns through my sweater.
“Sorry,” I breathe, though I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for.
“Stop apologizing.” He doesn’t let go. “And stop looking at me like that. ”
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to do something stupid.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “What kind of stupid?”
His eyes darken. The hand on my elbow slides up to my shoulder, and for one suspended moment, I think he might actually pull me off Penny and onto his horse. The thought makes me dizzy.
“Miss Wrenley! Papa! You’re going too slow!” Ivy’s complaint breaks the spell.
Saint releases me like I’ve burned him. “Coming.”
We catch up to find Rome and Ivy stopped by a small creek. Ivy’s practically electric with excitement.
“Can we let the horses drink? Please?”
“Sure thing,” Rome says, but he’s watching us with knowing eyes. “Why don’t you two dismount for a minute? Stretch your legs. I’ll keep an eye on Ivy.”
I should protest that I don’t know how to get down, but Saint’s already off Dante, reaching up for me. His hands span my waist, and I let myself slide down, my body dragging against his the entire way.
We stand frozen, his hands still on me, my palms flat against his chest. Under the hat’s brim, his eyes are molten.
“This is a bad idea,” he mutters.
“The worst,” I agree.
“Papa, why are you hugging Miss Wrenley?” Ivy’s voice carries clear across the water.
We spring apart, and I nearly trip over a rock. Saint steadies me again, cursing under his breath.
“Just helping her down,” he calls back.
Rome coughs something that sounds suspiciously like, “Bullshit.”
If I thought my face was red before, it’s probably a nice puce color now as I put distance between us, pretending to be fascinated by the creek. The water babbles over smooth stones, and I focus on that instead of the way my body aches to be touched by Saint without the annoyance of clothes.
Needing something to do with my hands, I pluck my phone from Penny’s saddle. Through the screen, I frame a shot of Ivy on Scribbles and Rome holding the reins as the horse drinks. The afternoon light filters through the leaves, creating a dappled pattern across the water.
“She adores you.”
I jump. Saint’s moved beside me, close enough that I catch the scent of leather and that cologne that’s been driving me crazy ever since I met him.
“I adore her too,” I admit.
“That’s the problem.”
The words are so quiet, I almost miss them.
“Saint…”
“I hired someone else because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” The confession comes out scalded, like it’s been burned out of him. “Thought distance would fix it.”
My heart stops. “Did it?”
He turns to look at me, and the open hunger in his eyes makes my knees weak. “What do you think?”
“Papa! My legs are tired!” Ivy’s voice breaks through the moment. “Can we go back now?”
Saint blinks. Then he steps away, taking the warmth with him.
“Oui, mon trésor . We can head back.”
During the return journey, Saint and I listen to Ivy chattering about horses while deliberately avoiding talking to each other, but she’s clearly wearing down, her voice getting drowsier. By the time we reach the barn, she’s slumped in the saddle .
“Someone had too much excitement,” Rome observes, helping her down.
“I’m not tired,” Ivy protests, then yawns so wide we can see her molars.
Saint dismounts and reaches for her, but she’s already winding her arms around my legs.
“Can Miss Wrenley put me to bed tonight?” she mumbles against my pants.
The question gives us all pause. We all know what tonight means. What tomorrow brings.
“I—” I start.
“Please?” Ivy looks up with those eyes that are so like her father’s. “You can read me the unicorn book.”
Saint’s face is inscrutable. “If Miss Wrenley wants to.”
“Of course I want to,” I say softly.
Rome coughs. “I’ll take care of the horses. You guys get the little one home.”
Saint nods, scooping up Ivy, who immediately burrows into his shoulder. I follow them to the SUV, my legs unsteady from more than the riding.
The drive home is quiet except for Ivy’s soft snores. I sneak glances at Saint, catching him doing the same. His hands grip the steering wheel a lot like they did coming here, the tendons of his forearms standing out.
“That thing you said,” I whisper. “About not being able to stop thinking about me.”
“Not now.” His voice is strained. “Please. Not with her in the car.”
I bite my lip, then turn to watch the landscape blur past. My body still feels electrified from every touch, every loaded look. The space between us in the car feels vast and microscopic at the same time.
When we pull into his driveway, the sun is starting to set. Saint carries Ivy inside while I trail behind, unsure of my place in this domestic scene.
“Bath first,” he says, starting up the stairs. “She smells like horse.”
“I can do it,” I offer. “If you want to start dinner.”
“Wrenley.” He pauses on the landing. Ivy is dead weight in his arms. “After she’s asleep, we need to talk.”
The promise—or threat—of that conversation makes my stomach flip.
“Okay,” I breathe.
He disappears into Ivy’s room, and I lean against the wall, trying to steady my racing heart. Tonight. After weeks of tension, of almosts and not-quites, something’s finally going to break.
I just don’t know if it’ll be us coming together or falling apart.