Chapter 14 #2
I looked at him, at the heat in his eyes, at the corner of his mouth that hinted at a smirk. And despite the embarrassment, the teasing, the whispers, I believed him. He said it like a promise, and somehow, it felt like one.
Maybe it wouldn’t be easy. Perhaps the whole ranch would have their opinions. But as his fingers laced with mine under the table, I knew one thing for sure. I wasn’t ashamed. Not even a little.
When the laughter and voices had drifted out of the room, I stood, my hands trembling just enough to betray how hard I’d worked to keep my composure.
I threw myself into cleaning up the kitchen like it was my armor.
The rhythm of work always had a way of calming me down.
By the time things were done, my cheeks hurt from forcing smiles, and my back ached from holding myself straight under all the sideways looks and whispered jokes.
So, I slipped out. No one argued when I headed for the barn, probably because everyone else was glad to have me out of sight for a while. The snow crunched beneath my boots, the morning air cold enough to sting my nose. The smell of hay and horses pulled me the rest of the way to the barn.
The horses never judged. They didn’t care who I’d slept with, or whether I was walking funny this morning, or that Lexie had called me out in front of God and everyone.
They just wanted hay, water, and maybe a good scratch on their necks.
Their quiet steadiness wrapped around me like balm.
The barn was a place that never asked questions.
I was halfway through brushing down Pepper when I felt him. It wasn’t the sound of his boots or his voice at first, but the shift in the air. The soft hum that always accompanied Lincoln’s presence, like the space around me, suddenly remembered what it meant to breathe.
Lincoln leaned against the stall door, arms folded, hat tipped just enough to shadow his eyes. Just watching me. The golden light from the open doors caught the dust in the air, turning everything soft around the edges.
The brush stuttered in my hand. “You know you’re creepy when you do that, right?”
“Creepy?” His voice was pure gravel. “That’s what I get after last night?”
Heat flared in my cheeks, and I went back to brushing like the mare’s coat was suddenly the most important thing on earth. “I’m just saying. You don’t announce yourself. You lurk.”
“I don’t lurk. I wait.”
I snorted. “Same thing.”
He pushed off the door, crossing the stall in three slow steps until he was close enough that the warmth of him pressed against my side. His shadow stretched over me, the smell of cedar and soap filling the small space. “Are you done hiding from them yet?”
“I wasn’t hiding,” I shot back, keeping my eyes on Pepper’s glossy coat.
Lincoln plucked the brush right out of my hand and set it on the rail. Then he tilted my chin up with one finger, forcing me to look at him. “Yeah, you were.”
My breath hitched. His eyes weren’t angry now, not like on the porch earlier.
They were steady, certain, like he’d already made up his mind about me, about us, and no amount of teasing from Lexie or sidelong grins from Ryder was going to shake it.
His closeness made the air feel charged, heavy with unspoken things.
“They’re always gonna talk, Kristin,” he said, softer now. “That’s what people do. But what happens between us? That’s ours. Nobody else gets a say.”
Something in my chest unraveled at those words. The tension that had been wound tight all morning started to give.
“Lincoln…” My voice wavered, but he didn’t let me look away. His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, his eyes locked on mine.
“You don’t owe them shame,” he murmured. “You don’t owe them explanations. You’re my wife. That’s all that matters.”
I swallowed hard, then nodded. “Okay.”
His mouth curved, slow and sure. “Okay.”
He kissed me then, it wasn’t raw and consuming. This was gentle, grounding, like he was stitching the frayed edges of me back together. The press of his lips was warm, patient, and full of quiet certainty.
When he pulled back, I couldn’t help smiling. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“And you like it,” he said, that smug tilt to his mouth.
I rolled my eyes, but the truth was, he wasn’t wrong.
We spent the next hour side by side, working through the stalls. He mucked while I tossed fresh bedding, and it was easy, the scrape of shovels, the rustle of hay, the warm, familiar snorts of horses shifting in their pens. Every motion settled something restless inside me.
“You know,” I said, hefting a bale toward him, “for a guy who glared a whole table into silence this morning, you clean stalls pretty quiet.”
“That’s because I’m not here to impress anybody,” he drawled, stacking the bale like it weighed nothing. “I’m here to keep you from running yourself ragged.”
I gave him a look. “I wasn’t running.”
“Working,” he finished for me, smirking. “Yeah, you said that already. Doesn’t make it true.”
I shook my head, but a laugh slipped out anyway. Somehow, in the quiet rhythm of the barn, with sunlight spilling through the gaps in the boards and his big frame moving steadily beside me, the knot of tension inside me started to ease.
By the time we finished, I was sweaty, sore, and covered in hay, but lighter. Like maybe, just maybe, I belonged here. The horses had settled, their breathing slow and even, the barn peaceful again.
Lincoln caught my hand as we left the barn, his rough fingers wrapping around mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. The light had softened outside, gold spilling across the yard.
“Breakfast circus or not,” he said, tugging me closer, “I’m not letting you walk away from me.”
I squeezed his hand back, heart thudding. “Good. Because I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”
And just like that, the noise of the morning, the teasing, the smirks, the weight of eyes on me, didn’t matter anymore. Because he was right. This thing between us was ours.