6. Bryn
SIX
Bryn
I couldn’t believe I’d told him all that stuff.
It actually stopped me coming out of my tent first thing—because I could hear him out there, moving around, setting up a fire to make breakfast…and I was so, so embarrassed. I’d just met him, and I’d told him about my ex. I told him that I’d been pregnant. I told him about my baby.
The baby that had never actually been a baby…never been anything, but had still ended a three-year relationship and sent me running to the Hill Country.
And the thing was…Stetson didn’t bring it up.
Not when I came out of my tent. Not when we had breakfast together. Not when he decided that I still shouldn’t be walking on my foot, so we were going to get back on the horse together…which, surprisingly, I didn’t hate.
Actually, I really liked it?
It started to rain around mid-afternoon, starting as a nice reprieve from the heat and quickly turning into dense, thick humidity. I pulled my hood up, the rain pattering against it, my pulse picking up. I knew this could be a good sign…that it could be just what I was waiting for.
Then—there it was.
“Stop!” I blurted out.
Stetson pulled up short. “What?”
“Listen.”
He went still. I held my breath, straining to hear over the rain on my hood until I finally just yanked it off to let the rain stream down my face.
Then it came again.
A thin, clicking chirp.
“There,” I whispered. “Do you hear it?”
“Hear what?”
“That.” I grabbed Stetson’s arm. “That’s him. That’s the call.”
I was getting off the horse before I even realized it—not even knowing that I was moving, practically flinging myself to the ground.
I hurtled face-first into the creek in the process, but I didn’t care; just shook it off, whipped around to grab my recorder out of my pack, spooked Copper in the process.
That didn’t matter either; I got the recorder and waded into the water, then I just… stood there.
Waiting for the direction.
Recording the call.
“Bryn!” Stetson called from behind me. “Your stitches—”
“Shhh!!” I said, pressing my finger to my lips. “Shut up.”
The chirp came again, closer, then another answered from somewhere off to the left. Then a third.
It wasn’t just one frog…it was a chorus.
“Come back,” Stetson hissed.
No way.
I waded toward the sound, recorder held up, rain disturbing the surface of the creek. There was a still pool up ahead—a little cove filled with boulders. I narrowed my eyes, then, on top of one of the boulders—
They were everywhere.
You wouldn’t have seen them at first glance…but there were frogs on every rock, in the water, on the muddy bank. I laughed out loud, then leaned down to cup my hands in the water. It came up full of them—no bigger than dimes, hopping out of my hands.
“Hundreds of you,” I breathed. “Just…sitting here. Singing.”
They were, in fact, singing. A chorus of scattered chirps, small and beautiful and perfect.
We were going in the right direction. Wherever these babies came from…the aquifer, I was becoming more and more convinced—we were getting closer.
“Damn it, Bryn,” Stetson was cursing, the sound of his steps sloshing in the creek behind me. “Your damn stitches—you can’t be in here without the waders—”
I reached out with my left hand and grasped his forearm, keeping the recorder held tight in my right.
“This is more important,” I said. “More important than stitches. Listen, Stetson.”
He stood beside me, my hand on his forearm. I stayed there, just holding him.
Listening.
The chorus got back to work now that we were holding still…the sound of chirping frogs surrounding us. I just closed my eyes, swaying slightly…reveling in it—
“Bryn—”
I gasped as I lost my balance and fell directly into him.
Let out a surprised laugh as I held his forearms and looked up at him.
“Goodness,” I said. “Oh—I really need to keep falling all over you.”
Stetson actually smiled. “I don’t mind it.”
I smiled too—looked into his eyes, taking advantage of the brim of his hat keeping out the rain, decided I wouldn’t mind staying right here—
It wasn’t much of a change to kiss him.
Well…I’m not sure if I kissed him or he kissed me first—it was that kind of kiss, like we’d both decided at once that this was the correct course of action.
I didn’t know when I’d decided I wanted to do it, but it felt inevitable.
Like, of course you’re doing this now, what else would you do? Why didn’t you do it yesterday?
His mouth was warm, the cool rain sluicing off his hat and into my hair. His hand came up to my jaw, thumb along my cheekbone, and I melted into him…forgot anything else in the world existed, including the recorder—
—which promptly slipped out of my hand and fell into the water.
“Oh god—” I muttered, pulling away to grab the recorder. I bent to retrieve it, scooped it into my hand, heaved a sigh of relief.
“Is it alright?” Stetson was asking.
“It’s fine, it’s waterproof—”
“Don’t want you to lose that call recording—”
“It’s really okay—”
I paused, looking up at him.
“I kissed you.”
He let out a startled laugh. “I was uh…just thinkin’ I kissed you.”
I blinked. “Okay.”
“I don’t do that,” he said.
I did a double take. “Are you…trying to tell me you’re a virgin?”
“No,” he said, cheeks turning red under his beard. “No. Not at all.”
“You have a lot of experience then?”
“You—” He stopped, laughing in disbelief. “You have this way of filling the silence, don’t ya?”
“Someone has to.”
“If you say so.”
I reached down to slip the wristband for my recorder over my hand, then tightened it so it would actually be secure. Only then did I look back up at him—raising my hand to grab onto his shirt.
I didn’t say anything this time. Waited him out for once.
“I’m…” He paused, all gruff and broad-shouldered and annoyed. “I don’t kiss people I’ve known two days. Don’t bring strangers on family land. Don’t sit at a fire and end up talkin’ more in one night than I have in a year.”
“So I’m special.”
“That’s one word for it.”
The rain was tapering off, as were the calls. All of this was on the recording.
“Did you want to kiss me?” I asked.
“Hmph. Don’t do much of anything I don’t want to do.”
“So…that’s a yes.”
He grunted again. “Want me to do it again to prove it?”
“Yes.”
He did.
This time he took his hat off; held it one hand, put his other hand on my lower back to pull me in. Stetson Holt kissed me slow and deep as we stood in that creek in the rain…and I let my body mold to his, fit his shape, let him hold me as the frogs sang.
We finally broke apart when the rain stopped completely, sun cutting through the clouds in patches. Stetson kept his forehead against mine a second longer, breathing steady.
"We should get you dry," he said. “Can’t be standing here with your stitches still fresh.”
"You said that already."
"Meant it more this time."
I laughed, and he almost smiled, and neither of us moved right away. Buck barked from the bank, tail wagging, like he'd been waiting for permission to come check on us.
"Your dog's got terrible timing," I said.
"Or perfect timing. Depends how you look at it."
We waded back toward the horses, my recorder secure on my wrist, frogs still calling behind us beneath the clearing sky. Stetson kept one hand at the small of my back the whole way, like he'd forgotten it was there, or maybe he hadn't forgotten at all.