13. Sage
SAGE
Iwake from the dream with a moan on my lips and a throb deep in my core. Blinking up at the dark ceiling, I try to catch my breath.
Holy shit. What was that?
Hazy images fill my mind: sweat-damp skin, hungry lips, and a man’s burning touch.
Not just any man. Holden.
Not good. Not good at all. I don’t know when I last had a sex dream, but it was a long time ago.
I’m not sure I ever had one about Graham.
I turn onto my side and close my eyes, doing my best to put the dream out of my head so I can go back to sleep.
But my body is overheated, my skin sensitized.
And after tossing and turning for what seems like an hour, I throw off my blankets and climb out of bed.
The air is cool against my skin, but I don’t bother throwing a sweater over my pajamas before heading for the front door.
A faint squeak of hinges announces to the night that I’m venturing out onto the porch.
Moonlight paints the clearing in shades of blue and silver.
For a moment, I simply stand there, breathing in the clear night air.
It’s colder out here, and my skin breaks out in goose bumps. But I don’t move to go inside.
The trees across from my cabin rustle gently in the breeze, and a sharp, mewling cry slices through the stillness from the shadowed branches. It sounds like a cat, but not quite. The noise is too drawn-out, too echoing.
With bare feet, I pad down the steps and across the soft grass, searching for the source. At the edge of the gravel road, I stop and peer up into the darkness.
“It’s a long-eared owl.”
I barely manage to trap the shriek in my throat at the deep voice coming from somewhere behind me. Luckily, even as I whip around, my brain catches up with my body. Hand to chest, as if I can push my leaping heart back down, I pivot toward Holden’s cabin.
It’s cast in darkness, but now that I’m looking, he’s there, sitting in a chair on his shadowed porch, long legs stretched out, feet resting on the railing, ankles crossed. “I didn’t see you,” I say, still breathless.
“Obviously.”
His expression is hidden, but his loose gray pajama pants are visible from here. So is his bare chest.
I may have seen him shirtless that first day when I took his photo, but I was too busy staring down the barrel of his irritation to enjoy the view.
Now, protected by darkness, I can appreciate it.
Broad shoulders, the hard ripple of abdominal muscles, and the shadowy V disappearing under the waistband of his pants.
Good god.
Without his jeans, shirt, or cowboy hat, he looks almost like a different man. One I can all too easily imagine straddling as he sits there, trailing my hands over his skin or running my fingers through his messy hair.
Forcing saliva into my suddenly dry mouth, I turn back to the trees. “A long-eared owl, huh? Do they actually have ears?”
Not the cleverest of questions, but that’s all my scrambled brain can come up with.
“All birds have ears,” he responds dryly.
Should have known he wouldn’t let that one slide. “Obviously,” I parrot his earlier comment. “Long ears. Do they have long ears?”
He huffs out a low laugh. “Sorry to disappoint. But they’re just tufts of feathers that look like ears.”
“That is disappointing. But at least I know what makes that sound now. I thought it might be a cat stuck in a tree.”
“The only cats you’re likely to find out here are bobcats and mountain lions.”
Shivering, I scan the treeline, my gaze catching on every moving shadow. But I force myself not to retreat to my cabin, which is probably what he expects. Instead, I give in to the impulse to move closer, wandering toward him.
By the time I reach the bottom of his porch steps, I can make out his face. Wariness mingles with curiosity in his expression, and there’s a hint of something else. Something I can’t quite put my finger on, yet it makes my breathing shallow.
“Do you often sit out here in the middle of the night?”
“Most nights. Not always this late.”
I wonder what’s keeping him up tonight. Probably not the same thing that has me out here.
He exhales slowly, scrubbing a hand over his hair. “I’m not a great sleeper in general.”
I gnaw on my lip. He’s never been particularly open, yet here he is, volunteering personal information. It encourages me to probe a little deeper.
“The rodeo lifestyle probably doesn’t lend itself to quiet nights.”
Those broad shoulders flex. “Not so much. Apparently, my brain still hasn’t adjusted to being back here.”
I lean my back against the stair railing. “I thought I’d struggle without the sound of car horns and sirens, but I’ve slept pretty well since I’ve been here.”
He nods once. “So what happened tonight? Bad dream?”
My cheeks heat, though with any luck, it’s too dark for him to tell. “Just a busy mind, I guess.”
Silence falls, but neither of us makes a move to leave. “Do you miss it? The rodeo, I mean.” The words pop out before I can stop them.
His feet drop from the porch railing, and he tips forward, elbows on his knees. “The circuit’s been my home for over a decade. It’s hard to walk away from.”
His words tug at my chest. “I get that. It’s not easy to shed your identity and start again.”
Head tilted up, he scrutinizes me. “What identity did you leave behind?”
The darkness makes it too easy to keep talking. “A fake one, I think.” I wrinkle my nose. “At least, that’s what I’m starting to figure out.”
“What makes you think it was fake?”
I let out a breath. “Maybe because it feels like I’ve spent years chasing other people’s approval and making life decisions to please them, rather than myself.”
He studies me, and the way his gaze traces over me is almost like a touch. “Give me an example.”
A surprised laugh spills out of me. “Why?”
He shrugs easily. “Maybe I want to learn more about you.”
My humor dies and I swallow. Something about the simple admission catches me off guard. It feels more intimate than all the teasing that’s come before it. “I’ll tell you if you’ll tell me something too.”
“Tell you what?”
I cast my attention upward as I consider what I want to know about him. There’s a lot. “I’ll decide when it’s time.”
He nods slowly. “Okay, you first.”
I wrap my fingers around the wooden slats behind me. “My parents are both successful lawyers. They expected me to follow in their footsteps, but I wanted to be a photographer since I was a kid.”
“Looks to me like you made one decision to please yourself, then.”
“I did. It might have been my first.” I let out a breath.
“But they made it clear how disappointed they were in me. I guess you never grow out of wanting your parents to tell you they’re proud of you.
I think”—I survey the inky sky overhead, then sigh—“I think that’s why I ended up making some questionable decisions. ”
His lips thin. “What decisions?”
I shake my head with a slight smile. “I answered your question. Now you have to answer mine.”
“What do you want to know?”
I run through my many questions again, then pick one. “I heard you were injured, and that’s why you’re back here.”
“Small towns.” His tone is mild, but there’s a thread of tension there too.
“So it’s true?”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t offer anything else, so I babble on. “It’s funny, if Taryn hadn’t told me you used to compete in rodeo, I would’ve thought this is where you’d always been. It’s hard to picture you anywhere else.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Why’s that?”
I blow out a breath. “I mean, I’m sure you were an excellent bull rider.
You seem like the type of person who’s good at whatever you put your mind to.
But I don’t know, I always imagine the rodeo as bright lights and noise and adrenaline, and, uh, buckle bunnies.
That just doesn’t feel like you, especially when you fit in so well here, surrounded by nature. ”
“You’ve never been to an actual rodeo, have you?”
“No. But I’ve watched The Longest Ride. Does that count?”
“No, it doesn’t count.” His tone is dry. “There’s more to rodeo than bright lights, adrenaline, and buckle bunnies. The rush is addictive, obviously, but the training, the traveling, the people you meet. It’s absorbing. It becomes your life.”
“Until it’s not anymore,” I say quietly.
He shifts in his chair, muscles flexing, as if I’ve pushed my luck and he’s about to get up and leave. Instead, he rests his elbows on the armrests and says, “My turn, then?”
“I guess so. Though I feel like I wasted my turn, since you just confirmed what I was already told.”
A tiny smirk touches his mouth. “Should have chosen a different question.”
I scrunch my nose at him, unsure whether to be pleased we’re talking or nervous that this is the game we’ve ended up playing. “Fine. Your turn.”
“What questionable decisions have you made?”
And here I was, hoping he’d forgotten. I bite my lip, considering which details to reveal. “Dating someone I shouldn’t have dated. Trusting someone I shouldn’t have trusted.”
“Same person or different?”
I let out a small laugh. “The same, and that was a bonus answer. So here’s my question: What do you miss the most about the rodeo?”
His gaze drops for a beat, fingers lacing together before he locks eyes with me.
“Those few seconds before the gate opens. The instant between one heartbeat and the next, when everything goes silent and it’s like the whole damn world’s holding its breath.
It’s the most clear-headed I’ve ever felt.
Everything else falls away—doubt, fear, guilt.
All of it. For those few seconds, the world makes sense. Then the bell rings.”
I’m listening so intently that a breath escapes me when he finishes. “What happens then?”
He sits back in his chair. “Uh-uh, City. You have my answer. Who was he, and why shouldn’t you have dated him?”
“That’s a double question.” My voice comes out a little weak.
“Okay. What was wrong with the guy you shouldn’t have dated?”
“I’m starting to think this was a mistake.” I fiddle with the hem of my top. “I guess you could say he was my mentor.”
Holden’s big body stills, but I put up my hand.
“It was after I graduated, and there weren’t any rules against it.
But I should have known better than to get involved with someone connected to my work.
I took him at his word when he said he saw something special in me—in my photography.
It felt like he believed in me more than anyone ever had.
I wanted it to be true so badly that I ignored all the warning signs. ”
“What did he do?” There’s a hard edge to his voice I’ve only heard once before—when that man jostled me at the auction.
I cross my arms over my stomach. “It’s more like what I allowed him to do.”
He’s on his feet and in front of me faster than I thought someone his size could move. Heat from his bare chest practically rolls off him. “Don’t say that.” His voice is low and rough. “You trusted him, and if he took advantage of that, it’s on him, not you.”
My arms fall to my sides, my heart drumming against my sternum, as I stare up at him.
How do I explain that when Graham singled me out in college, I was beyond flattered?
Or that when he actively pursued me, I let myself be swept away?
I gave up my own plans with barely a protest because I believed he knew better than I did.
Every exhibition, every series, every opportunity became another chance to prove to him—to everyone—that he’d been right about me.
I wet my lips. “It was on both of us, then. I shouldn’t have given up on myself so easily, and he should never have expected me to.”
Holden’s gaze searches mine, his eyes almost black in the darkness, as if he’s trying to read between the lines. I don’t look away. And in the silence, energy charges the air between us.
Those dark eyes drift down to my mouth, and a muscle in his jaw flexes as his body goes taut. Once again, I’m flooded with images from my half-remembered dream: his lips on my skin, his muscles beneath my fingertips, his body against mine.
My breath catches, nipples beading against the thin material of my top, and a low sound rumbles in his chest.
Don’t do something stupid. Don’t do something stupid. Don’t do something stupid.
After Graham, the last thing I need is to distract myself with a man, even if it’s only for a short time.
Especially a man like Holden.
Especially a man whose family owns the ranch where I’m working.
We both move at the same time. He pulls back as I step to the side. Cool air rushes in to fill the space that heated up far too quickly.
My gaze darts over his face, and I clear my throat. “I should probably go back to bed. Now that I know a cat isn’t being murdered.”
His nod is slow, his attention still fixed on mine.
With a shaky breath, I turn and beat a hasty retreat to my cabin. But as I’m climbing the steps, he calls out to me. “Did your parents ever tell you?”
I pause with one hand on the banister and look back. “Tell me what?”
“That they were proud of you.”
A quiet ache spreads beneath my ribs. I shake my head, then give him a small smile. “There’s still time, though.”
Then I keep going, his gaze burning between my shoulder blades until I close the door behind me.