Chapter 10 #2
That makes me laugh. “All right, counselor. Let’s see if you remember.”
I give her a fork and we make quick work of the first stall, her scooping, me hauling, our shoulders bumping now and then in the narrow aisle. She hums under her breath, both of us bursting into laughter every once in a while when we catch each other looking at the other.
We roll the wheelbarrow out to the pile and dump. She wasn’t lying about not forgetting how to handle a fork. She doesn’t bitch once, no complaining about the smell, no tiptoeing around the mess. Just head down, sleeves pushed to her elbows, getting shit done. Literally.
“Not bad for a big-time lawyer,” I say, wiping my forearm with the back of my hand. “You, in fact, still remember which end of the pitchfork’s up.”
“Hudson Slade would be proud.” She laughs, then points a finger at me, “And don’t forget, I can still rope better than you ever could.”
“Bullshit.”
“Want to make a bet?”
I cock a brow. “What do I get if I win?”
She pretends to think. “Bragging rights. Why, what’d you have in mind?” She gives me that look, the same one she gave me the other night that got me in trouble.
“Awfully confident for someone who choked in the breakaway finals that one year.”
She gasps and smacks my arm with the handle of her fork. “I missed by an inch, and you know it.”
“Uh-huh.” I let my grin go lazy, voice dropping to a rough whisper. “An inch is a lot, sweetheart. Thought I made that clear the other night.”
Her breath catches, just barely, but I see it. The memory hits her just like it hits me, sharp and hot, curling in the space between us. For a second, the whole barn goes still except for the pounding in my ears. Her eyes meet mine, and there’s no denying what we’re both thinking about.
“Scotty…”.
I step closer until I can feel the heat radiating off her. My fingers toy with a strand of hair at her shoulder, brushing it back so I can see her face. “You saying you forgot already?”
Her chin lifts, lips parting. “I didn’t forget,” she whispers.
That single sentence does something to me. I can almost feel the tremor that runs through her, the air thick with it. I tip my head down, close enough that my breath grazes her cheek. My hand slides to her waist, fingers flexing just enough to make her shiver.
We’re seconds away from losing whatever line we’ve been pretending exists when Priscilla slams her hoof into the stall wall and lets out a loud, impatient whinny. The sound snaps through the heat like a cold shower. Adrienne jumps back, and I have to laugh.
“Guess someone’s jealous,” I murmur, still close enough that my mouth brushes her ear.
She exhales, half-laugh, half-groan, pressing a hand to her chest. “Your timing sucks, Priscilla.”
“Can’t blame her,” I say, stepping back and reaching for the feed sack. “She’s hungry. I get it.”
Adrienne shakes her head, laughing now, cheeks flushed in the warm light. “Yeah, well, so am I.”
I damn near choke on a laugh because the way she says it doesn’t sound like she’s talking about food. “Then let’s feed the ladies before they riot.”
Priscilla dives nose-first into her bucket. Adrienne strokes her neck, smiling.
“Impatient,” she says. “Just like someone else I know.”
When she leans to hook the last bucket, her jeans stretch tight again, and I can’t stop the low noise that rumbles out of me.
“Those jeans should be illegal,” I say.
She looks back at me, teasing. “I’ve noticed you staring at them. I didn’t realize they were such a problem.”
“They’re a damn distraction.”
“Focus, Scotty,” she teases.
“Trying real hard.”
I reach around her, steadying the bucket, my chest brushing her back. She doesn’t move. My hand finds her hip, thumb sweeping the soft curve before I force myself to pull away. If I keep touching her, the horses are gonna get one helluva show.
She straightens, brushing hay from her shirt, pretending she’s composed. “You always this handsy with ranch help?”
“Only when they show up in jeans like this.” I grab two handfuls of her ass. “Just want to make sure you feel appreciated for your help.
“I must be very helpful then.”
“Too helpful,” I mutter.
We make a slow pass down the stalls, checking the feed, making sure the latches are secure. By the time we finish, the tension between us has eased into something quieter, steadier, but it’s still there, humming just beneath the quiet.
I hang the empty scoop and lean on the stall door, watching her wipe her hands on her jeans. The moonlight through the high window catches in her hair.
“Come on,” I say, nodding toward the brushes hanging on the wall. “They’re waiting.”
The sound of the brushes fills the barn, steady, rhythmic, almost soothing. The mares lean into it, tails flicking slowly, their breathing soft and even. Adrienne moves beside me, quiet, her sleeve brushing my arm every now and then.
She’s the first to speak. “When I said I didn’t know what I wanted anymore the other night…” Her voice trails off, almost like she regrets bringing it up.
“Yeah?” I keep my eyes on Rosa’s shoulder, but my pulse is already picking up.
“I meant it,” she says finally. “I love my job, but it’s not enough anymore. I want more. I want what my cousins have. A husband. Kids. A home that actually feels like one.”
Her tone softens. “It’s different for men. You get to take your time. For women, it feels like everything’s on a clock I can’t control.”
I stop brushing, lean on the stall rail. “You’re twenty-nine, Adrienne. You’ve got plenty of time.”
She shakes her head, jaw tightening. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
The quiet stretches. I study her profile in the low light; the way her hair falls over her shoulder, the determined line of her mouth. I can feel it, the weight of what she’s not saying. What I’m scared to ask.
I set the brush aside. “Adrienne.”
She looks up, eyes meeting mine.
I take a step closer, closing half the space between us, voice low and rough. “What do you want this to be?”
Her lips part, breath catching, but she doesn’t answer. For a long second, the air goes thick enough to drown in. Then— Headlights flash through the slats of the barn wall, bright and sudden, slicing right across us before fading down the road.
My gut twists. Axel.
The thought slams through me, sharp and cold, pulling me straight out of whatever that moment just was. I take a slow step back, forcing a breath, forcing distance.
I clear my throat. “Well,” I say, nodding toward the stalls, “that pretty much covers all the chores.”
She blinks, the shift hitting her just as hard. “Right.” Her hand tightens around the brush handle. “I should… probably call it a night soon.”
“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “Guess we both should.”
She sets the brush on the rail, running her fingers through her hair. “Thanks for letting me help. I forgot how good it feels, ya know? The physical release.”
That earns a half-smile from me. “Yeah. You did well, Barbie.”
“Careful,” she teases, eyes flicking up. “Say that again and I might start showing up more often.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” I admit, barely above a whisper.
The words hang there between us, heavy, charged, neither of us willing to move first. Outside, the night hums low with the familiar crickets, the far-off roll of thunder building somewhere past the ridge. The air smells like rain.
She watches me for a long beat, searching my face for something I’m not sure I can give her right now. I don’t say another word, but I can feel it, everything I’m not ready to admit simmering just beneath my skin.
The storm cracks again, closer this time, a low growl rolling through the mountains.
Adrienne’s gaze flicks toward the open barn doors, then back to me. “Looks like the rain’s coming.”
“Yeah.” My voice comes out rough. Neither of us moves to close the doors.
So I step closer to her, the pull too much to resist. I don’t say anything, just move toward her until our lips are touching, our mouths instantly moving against each other.
“Scotty, I need to go.” She insists, though her body is saying the exact opposite.
“Tell me I’m what you want,” I confess, drunk on her kiss. “At least for tonight.” The storm cracks again, closer. She looks at the doors, then at me. I step in anyway, kiss her like I’ve already picked a side.
“Tell me I’m not the mistake you’re bracing for,” I breathe against her mouth. Rain hits the roof. She swallows. The mares shift. And for a second, I swear I can feel the whole barn hold its breath.