Chapter 7
Lucy
I kissed Tate Thatcher.
I kissed him.
And not only did I kiss him, but it’s now all I can think about. The way his lips had felt on mine, the way he’d cradled my face like I was the most delicate thing in the world. The way he’d savored every second of it, breathing me in, kissing me, touching me in a way that felt … loving.
I don’t think I’d ever felt that before.
That realization hits me like a ton of bricks to the chest. Wow. I guess I’ve never felt that way before. It’s sad and confusing and frustrating.
But also … hopeful.
I spent the night running circles in my head. About how new and different this feels. About whether it’s right or wrong. About what to do. The excitement is almost enough to scare away the fear about the text messages I keep getting. The ones from unknown numbers.
Only I know who they’re from.
But I’m good at burying emotions, burying fear. And so I do.
It’s Sunday morning now, and I haven’t seen Tate yet today.
I’m sitting on the back porch of the ranch house looking out over fields, watching some nearby horses grazing.
A warm cup of coffee is held tightly in my hands, a throw blanket wrapped around my shoulders.
And despite the tumultuous last few weeks, I feel somewhat at peace.
More at peace than I’ve felt in a long, long time.
The sound of the screen door opening beside me catches my attention, and I turn to see Tate stepping out onto the porch. “There you are,” he says, a warmth in his voice that’s new and not unpleasant.
I smile up at him, feeling that familiar shyness creeping over me again. Although this time it isn’t from fear of his grumpy exterior.
He takes a seat next to me on the bench, far enough away that we aren’t touching. “I was looking for you,” he says softly. His eyes search mine, but for what, I’m unsure. He almost looks … afraid? But what could possibly scare Tate Thatcher?
“I, um …” He looks down at his lap, crinkling his brows. He’s nervous. He takes a deep breath and looks up, determination clouding his features. “Lucy, can I take you on a date today?”
A giddy smile sweeps across my face before I can stop it. “Yes,” I say immediately.
Relief washes over him like a waterfall, and it takes everything in me not to laugh out loud. Seeing this big, tough man reduced to anxiety over me?
Loud, exuberant cries from inside the house catch Tate’s attention, and he momentarily looks over his shoulder. He chuckles, realizing it’s Fern. “A lunch date?” he suggests, standing. “Be ready at noon?”
I nod up at him. “Sounds good,” I say.
He shoots me one last smile before heading back inside to Fern. And while I’ve been keeping the cold away with my blanket and hot mug of coffee, it’s something else that warms me now.
It’s nice enough today to forego a sweater, so I’ve matched my light-wash jeans with a pale pink t-shirt.
It’s a color that looks good on me, and the fit is snug enough to accentuate my curves without feeling uncomfortably tight.
I only have the one pair of sneakers, so I hope they’re okay for wherever we’re going.
Hopefully not a fancy restaurant or anything, simply because I’d feel so out of place.
But where in Cedar Ridge would sneakers be unacceptable?
At exactly noon, I leave my room and head for the main part of the house, only to find Tate already waiting for me there.
He turns, shooting me a grin that just about undoes me.
He’s wearing a clean pair of Wrangler jeans—and it’s only now that I realize every other time I’ve seen him, his jeans have been muddy.
I almost chuckle aloud. His jeans are paired with a dusty blue button up and a tan cowboy hat that he tips at me in greeting.
And God almighty, I never really thought the cowboy thing did it for me, but hell was I wrong. It takes a few seconds for me to realize my jaw is hanging open, and I quickly close it.
“Ready to go?” he asks, offering me his elbow in just about the most endearing way ever.
I bite my lip, smiling up at him and taking his arm. “Yes.”
He leads me out the front door, and I immediately stop short. Instead of his truck, or any of the other cars on the property, parked right out front are two horses. Living, breathing horses.
“Uh, I …” I stammer.
Obviously, I’d seen the horses around. In the fields, by the stables, even ridden by Tate and some of the other ranch hands. But this is about as close as I’ve ever been to them. To any horse, for that matter.
Tate clocks my unease and simply smiles. “You ever ridden a horse?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He chuckles softly. “Well, I picked out Andy here for you—he’s our oldest gelding. Retired from any actual ranch work. He’s a sweetheart. And slow.” He emphasizes that last part, presumably to put me at ease.
I turn my widened eyes to him, still not convinced.
And it’s then that his expression shifts from amusement to concern.
He reaches for my hand, gently taking it in his.
“Hey, you’re gonna be okay,” he assures me.
“I wouldn’t put you up on that horse if I didn’t know you’d be a hundred percent safe. ”
My anxiety lessens ever so slightly.
My hand in his, Tate leads me over to the horses. He reaches up to pet the one closest to us—a tall, dark brown one. “This is Andy,” he says, squeezing my hand in a way that both calms and excites me. “Andy, Lucy.” He nods to the horse.
I laugh.
“You want to pet him?” he asks. “He likes scratches on the nose. Like this.” He demonstrates a long pet along the horse’s face, right under his eyes and down to his nose. I tentatively follow suit and am surprised at how soft he is. I always expected horses to feel somewhat brittle.
“You won’t even have to guide him,” Tate goes on. “He’ll just follow Maisy and me.” He inclines his head toward the other horse—the pale brown one.
While I’m still a little nervous, a sense of courage is growing within me. And besides, I trust Tate. If he says I’m safe, I believe him.
“Okay,” I say with a small smile.
Tate grins back at me and then walks around Andy’s side, leaning down and interlacing his fingers. “Step up,” he instructs.
I put my shoe into his hands, grab hold of the saddle horn as Tate says, and on the count of three, I jump and am hoisted onto the horse. I immediately tense, afraid my clunky landing is going to offend Andy, but he simply swishes his tail a bit.
Tate takes my foot and guides it into the stirrup, and my fears are momentarily halted as all I can think about is the feeling of his hand around my ankle. “Put your other foot in the other side,” he says, and I do.
He looks up at me, gently placing a hand on my calf. “How you feel?” he asks.
“Good,” I say. And it’s basically true. While I’m still nervous, I’m also kind of excited. And Andy seems nice. Or at least not mean.
Tate chuckles. “Let’s go then.” He strides around to the other side of his horse, Maisy, and jumps on much more gracefully than I had.
He steers her toward the road and urges her forward, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Andy is following close behind.
I suck in a breath of air as Andy pivots and makes his way after them.
I grip the saddle horn for dear life, squeezing my legs and hunching my shoulders, but after a few moments, I slowly become accustomed to the horse’s gait.
It’s weird being up here. So wobbly and … high.
“How you doing?” Tate asks me from a few paces up.
“Fine!” I call.
He chuckles. “Let me know if you need a break.”
I nod.
As my muscles slowly start relaxing and I begin to trust that Andy isn’t about to bolt anytime soon, I finally have the mental space to take in the scenery around me.
The ranch is made up mostly of sprawling, green fields dotted with daisies, and this area is no exception.
We’re heading up the dirt road that leads …
well, I’m not actually sure where it leads.
It’s just the road that I see Tate and the ranch hands coming down every day after work.
As if reading my thoughts, Tate says, “The cattle barns are up there if you take the left fork.” He points.
“It’s where I spend most days.” He guides Maisy toward the right fork in the road.
“This goes up into the woods. The ranch has over five hundred acres to it. Jack and Willow’s cabin is up this way too. ”
“We going to visit them?” I tease.
He snorts, shaking his head. “No. We won’t be going that far.”
As the horses trod along, Andy behind Maisy, I take the opportunity to let my eyes wander over Tate.
His back to me, he holds the reins deftly out in front of him, relaxed but in control.
I can practically see his taut muscles underneath the thin button-up he’s wearing.
His free hand rests casually on his thigh, and I find myself fixating there, remembering the feel of his rough, calloused hands on my cheek.
Wondering how they’d feel on other parts of me.
We enter the woods, following the main road for a while before Tate takes us off the main trail along what I can only call a path.
We don’t talk much. We’d have to practically shout to do it, especially now that we’re single file.
About ten minutes later, we come upon a clearing, and I almost gasp audibly at the sight of it.
Gorgeous, rolling fields lay beneath purple, snow-topped mountains. The grass is littered with daisies and dandelions and other flowers I can’t quite identify. Tate turns around to see my reaction, and a bright smile lights up his face.
I could get used to those smiles on him.
He leads us about twenty feet out into the field before bringing Maisy to a halt and then hopping off. He pulls something from his saddle which just looks like a large stick and stakes it into the ground, wrapping Maisy’s reins around it before striding over to me.