Horses Don’t Miss People #3
He nodded at that, but his gaze dropped to the floor.
My heart tripped over itself at the way his lashes made a dark, uncertain fan on his cheek.
It was nothing and everything, that gesture—one I’d seen a thousand times.
The way he could fold himself into silence and let it stretch out until I was the one who couldn’t stand it.
I had no intention of caving first.
He cleared his throat. “You want to go for a ride?” His voice was gruff, as if the offer itself was an apology for everything he wasn’t about to say.
That came out of the blue. “A ride?”
He lifted a brow, the corner of his mouth tugging upward like he already knew I’d say yes. “Out to the north slope. The fence line’s been acting up, and you always had a knack for repairs.”
A snort escaped me. “I think you’re confusing me with your mom.”
He shook his head, a slow, deliberate movement. “Maybe, but Penny misses you so you should still come for a ride.”
I felt my cheeks heat, the memory of my first time on horseback with the Lockharts overwhelming for a moment.
When my mom was in hospice, I was having a really hard time.
I was depressed, anxious, overwhelmed, devastated.
But then I started hanging out at the ranch and helping Dawson in the stables.
Penny Lane, named after Kate Hudson’s character in Almost Famous, was a new addition to the stable at the time.
I’d instantly bonded with her and was able to ride her.
The open field, the salt wind in my hair, a sky so blue it made my eyes water.
It was the first time in my grief that I’d felt, even for a second, the possibility of something like joy.
I bit my lip, trying to keep my face neutral. “Horses don’t miss people.”
He shrugged, but his eyes were warm. “You’d be surprised.”
I tried to sound casual. “I don’t even have boots, Dawson.”
It was a lame excuse, I’d ridden in tennis shoes, like I wore now, more times than I’d ever ridden in boots. It was my self-preservation was grabbing at straws to try and protect my heart.
He blinked once, then gestured at the row of mismatched rubber boots in the mudroom cubbies. “Pick a size. Or go barefoot, if you want. Up to you.”
I sighed and suppressed a smile, he was so infuriatingly himself.
The same stubborn streak, the same refusal to acknowledge any obstacle as real.
I was already halfway to the mudroom before I realized I’d agreed.
When I did, I tried to say something clever, but the words wouldn’t stick.
Instead, I found myself lingering for a second, to see if he’d fill the silence.
He didn’t. He just watched me, face open and unguarded in a way that made my stomachache.
“I have to change,” I said at last, more abrupt than I meant to be.
He just nodded. “Ten minutes. I’ll tack up.”
I fled—there’s no better word for it—back to my cabin, the entire walk vibrating with the nervous energy of a first date, which was ridiculous. This wasn’t a date. It was a fence inspection and nothing more.
The cabin was chilly, the tang of woodsmoke still lingering from last night’s fire.
I dug through my duffel, hands shaking as I tried to assemble something remotely ride-appropriate.
I’d only packed for a three-day conference, luckily, I was a chronic over packer.
Still, it’s not as if I’d known I was going to be coming back to my hometown for an open-ended stay.
Jeans, a tank top, and bootlets, which were the closest thing to boots I owned.
I splashed water on my face and stared down at my reflection in the tiny bathroom mirror.
You know this is a bad idea, I told her.
She stared back, unimpressed.
After I pulled my hair into a ponytail and stood in the middle of the room, letting the quiet build until I could hear my own pulse.
Memories pressed in from all sides—me at fourteen Dawson’s sweatshirt slung over my shoulders, eating Pop-Tarts and watching the sunrise.
Me, at sixteen, trying to memorize the shape of his hands. Me, at eighteen, trying to forget them.
I checked my Apple Watch. It was 6:34 a.m. Early for me, but not for ranch standards.
Visiting hours for Buddy didn’t start until nine.
My entire reason for being here had been reduced to a three-hour window each morning before the staff started bustling around with clipboards and “enrichment” exercises and tests and PT. It was my quality time with Buddy.
On the way back to the stables, I told myself that this would be platonic.
A way to prove to myself I could be around him without wanting him.
My internal voice kept screaming that last night clearly hadn’t meant anything to him since he’d left this morning without so much as a goodbye.
Just because he was single now and claimed that the gorgeous doctor he was seeing wasn’t in the same universe as me, didn’t mean anything.
Just like him telling me that he didn’t remember anything from the night he cheated on me didn’t change things…
Or maybe it changed everything.