Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Agentle trot through the flowers, Starlight Mountain in the distance, the sun glinting off the river, butterflies dancing in the air around them, would have been fine. Blissful, even.
But the further out she rode, her knee bearing up with the gentle pace, it wasn’t enough for Willow.
And when it wasn’t enough for her, she could sense it wasn’t enough for Thunder.
She could feel the horse’s rippling muscles, the pent-up energy trembling beneath the surface, almost crying out for release—mirroring Willow’s own frustrations, her own sense of being cut off from the world, trapped and penned in.
Her muscles ached for the same freedom, the same release.
Willow had seen Thunder’s speed for herself.
She remembered as a kid, galloping so fast it felt like flying, too fast to think, too fast to remember how life had changed at the ranch. It was like outrunning her own mind.
The memory of it was just too tempting. Thunder’s excitement a bad influence.
She should have known before she set off that she wasn’t the type of person to settle for half measures.
She knew it about herself—if the possibility was there to go faster, do better, try harder, then she took it, just like her brothers.
They’d been goading each other for a lifetime.
Dylan’s silhouetted gaze from over by the paddock had the same effect.
If Logan or Brodie or Noah had been on that horse right then, they sure as heck wouldn’t be trotting sedately.
With a flick of her wrist, Willow urged Thunder on, unleashing all that quivering horsepower.
Thunder didn’t need to be told twice and took off like a rocket across the meadow.
For twenty, maybe thirty, seconds it was everything Willow had hoped for and more.
Wind in her face, sun glinting on the mountain, hat long gone, hooves pounding the dry earth as they whipped through the meadow grass.
The exhilaration was indescribable, her cheeks were wet from the sheer speed they were going, and yet Thunder got faster with almost every stride.
The scenery was technicolor bright, the sound was her own laughter in her ears, the joy was the wide sweeping nothingness ahead of them.
And then, suddenly, her knee gave way. The pain made her lose concentration and double over, but Thunder kept going.
Willow pitched sideways losing all control.
She cried out. In a split second, the ground was hurtling toward her before she could even think to save herself.
The fall was a blur. She landed hard on her shoulder, the jolt ricocheting through her neck and up into her head on impact. She screamed, unable to stop herself, then lay frozen for a disorientating second in a shock of fear and pain.
Next second, she was present again, leg throbbing, shoulder burning as she tried to move. It was like a rerun of her fall on stage. She lay back staring up at the sky wondering when she would ever learn.
Then she heaved herself up and looked around for Thunder, saw her over toward the river, slowed to a trot.
Behind her, Willow could hear the gallop of hooves, and as she tried to stand, Dylan was there on a sleek silver-gray colt, jumping down almost before he’d slowed to stop, face taut with concern. “You okay?”
She nodded, panting as she tried to get her breath back. “I’m fine, you need to get Thunder. I’m really sorry.” She should never have been so stupid as to think she could ride her. The only thing Willow seemed to be good at in that moment was hindsight.
Dylan didn’t even glance over at Thunder. “I think she can take care of herself right now. What the heck happened?”
Willow shook her head, furious with herself. “I don’t know, I just lost control.”
He took the excuse for now, but she could see from his face that he didn’t believe her. “Can you stand up?”
He held out a hand to help her when she tried to push herself up to standing on her good leg, she didn’t want to have to take it, but when she tried to put her other foot down, the pain made her wince and reach out to clutch his palm tight.
His hand was rough and cool and his grip solid.
He went to steady her with his other hand, but she shook her head.
Couldn’t cope with any more closeness, already overly aware of his touch and embarrassed that she needed his help.
“I’m okay.” His hand hovered next to her waist. It reminded Willow of her mom when she’d first arrived, everyone trying to keep her steady, but with Dylan she found she was less averse to his concern.
“It’s fine, honestly, it’s just my knee…
” She was shaking now from adrenaline as the shock caught up with her.
“I’ve injured it, that’s why I’m back.” She made a face like she knew how ridiculous it was that she’d even attempted to ride.
Dylan looked at her for a second, one brow arched incredulously. “You’re injured?” he repeated.
She nodded her head, biting down on her lip, feeling like a fool.
Dylan shook his head, clearly baffled, but he didn’t say anything, just gave a sharp whistle for the gray colt to trot over.
When the horse was alongside them, he helped Willow up then climbed on behind, his arms either side of her as he took the reins.
Willow hung her head, mortified at everything that had happened.
Her body throbbed from the pain but more than that, all she seemed to feel was Dylan riding so close behind her.
She kept as upright as she could so their bodies didn’t touch, but she could smell the warm outdoor scent of him, feel his breath on her neck.
His nearness did the same to her body as it always had, lit her from the inside like a firework.
To distract herself she imagined her dad seeing her now, cocooned in Dylan Hawkins’ arms, and almost relished the instantly cooling stab of shame.
He rode them right up to the house, jumping down from the saddle and looking up at her as he said, “I take it you need me to help you down?”
She knew she couldn’t land on her leg and hated herself for it. “Yes, please.” It was a struggle to admit.
As she went to dismount, Dylan reached up and held on to her waist. Solid hands guiding her to the ground where she winced on impact.
“You know,” he said, as she limped her way up the veranda steps, using his arm as support, “I thought there was something wrong the other day and I didn’t say anything because you seemed so assured.” She couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or not as he reached to open the door.
“I’m really sorry, Dylan,” she replied.
Inside the house was dark and cool, the curtains drawn over the windows, the rooms bare of furniture.
He glanced around to look at her like he was surprised she would think to apologize to him. Then as he dragged a wooden chair over with his foot and gestured for her to sit down, he said, “It was a pretty bad fall, Willow. You’re lucky.”
She didn’t feel lucky. She felt foolish and guilty and ashamed. Infuriatingly she felt her eyes well with tears and swiped them away. “I’m not crying,” she insisted.
Dylan’s mouth tipped up in a half-smile. “I think there’s an old first-aid kit in the bathroom, let me check.” He went off down the hallway, clearly to give her a moment to herself.
Willow wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand then blew out a breath to calm herself down.
She realized she should test her injuries and rolled her shoulder—it was sore but it wasn’t broken, the softness of the grass had cushioned the landing.
There was a cut on the underside of her arm.
From where she was sitting, she tried to bend and straighten her knee—it wasn’t great, but luckily she’d fallen on the opposite side of the injury.
All the while she was taking in the interior of the house.
Most of the contents had been stripped out, leaving behind bare white walls with brighter squares where pictures once hung.
From what she could see into the living room, there was an old couch and a large fireplace, but nothing else.
Bare bulbs hung from the ceiling and one corner of the kitchen had yellowed from leaking rainwater.
On the table, was a camping stove with a kettle on top.
Willow drank it all in with curious fascination.
Was Dylan going to stay? Do the place up?
He appeared back in the kitchen carrying a first-aid box.
Then he went to the freezer and, searching in the different drawers, found a cold pack that he wrapped in some paper towel.
Dragging over a second chair, he sat down opposite her and handed her the ice pack, which she tentatively held to her neck. “What’s that cut on your arm like?”
She would have taken the box and done it herself, but her hands were shaking too much.
He took hold of her wrist, leaning forward and inspecting the damage. She tried to breathe, tried not to notice how close he was. “Not as bad as I thought,” he said, then set to work cleaning it up.
She watched as he dried it carefully and searched the box for a Band-Aid.
She felt so mortified at having fallen and probably upsetting Thunder, and now having to have her cut patched up like a little kid, she found herself saying, “I wouldn’t have thought Dylan Hawkins would be looking after me quite so well. ”
He glanced up as he stuck the bandage down. “I wouldn’t have thought Willow Carter would be sitting in my kitchen.”
The closeness of him, the connection of their gaze made her blush all the way from her head to the tips of her toes.
Dylan’s mouth tilted up, eyes creasing knowingly, then he let go of her arm, and scrunching up the wrapping from the Band-Aid, said, “Well I’m glad you’re alive because your dad would have killed me if anything had happened to you. Not to mention your brothers.”
Willow felt herself redden again. “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have taken you up on your offer.”
“No kidding!” He reclined back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest. He watched her for a moment, eyes scrutinizing as he said, “So why did you?”
She felt like Thunder under the weight of Dylan’s gaze, the sole focus of his attention.
It made her swallow and say sheepishly, “Because the physio prescribed fun, and riding Thunder, well, it looked like real good fun.” She tried to shirk her stupidity off with a laugh, but then sighed, thought about how frustrated she was with herself and everything that had happened, how she lay in her bed staring at the ceiling feeling like the walls were pressing in.
She pushed her hair back from her face. He was still watching her, the air suddenly pulsing between them.
She thought of back then, all those years ago, when all she’d wanted was a distraction, something that made her feel alive. She ran her tongue along her teeth.
Dylan sat back, hooked his arm over the back of the chair, legs sprawled. He narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t you used to have curly hair?”
She laughed because it wasn’t what she was expecting him to say. “I did, but I don’t like it, so I straighten it.”
He nodded, then said, “I liked it.”
Willow had to look away sharply to hide her blushing smile at what felt definitely like flirtation.
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
She looked back, saw the hint of a smile on his face, too. “Nothing.”
He leaned forward, hands clasped, and looked up at her. “You wanna have some fun?”