A fiery need to cry took up residence behind my eyes, and I blinked up to the sky to will it away. “Don’t.Please.”
“Blair…” His knuckles grazed my jaw, igniting the spark that had been dormant all year.
“Please,” I begged. But the problem was, neither of usknew if it was a plea for him to stop—to walk away from me forever—or a plea to be kissed.
Denver, of course, decided it was the latter.
His lips pressed softly to mine, and suddenly the entire previous year hadn’t happened. He backed me into the brick exterior wall of a hardware store and kissed me like his life depended on it. And I soaked him in. Everything from his tongue clashing with mine to the feel of his callused hands on either side of my face.
A police car in the parade sounded its siren, breaking our spell, and the memories crashed into me like a tidal wave.
“Denver, we can’t.” My hand pressed to his chest, pushing him away for good. “I can’t do this with you. I can’t do thistoyou.”
He looked at me with the same devastation he had the night he proposed in my dorm room. Unable to bear the guilt that racked me after everything we’d been through, I turned and ran. Vowing toneverspend a single second longer than necessary in Wells Canyon.
Denver Wells shattered my heart, and I shattered his. He was finally picking up the pieces of himself and moving on with someone who could give him the life he wanted. Who was I to come back to town, be involved in himcheatingon his new girlfriend, and hurt us both all over again?
Racing through the front door of my childhood home, I found my younger sister alone on the couch watching a cheesy Christmas movie. Independent, stubborn side be damned, I fell into her lap in a fit of sobs that racked my entire body. Andfinally,I told somebody every painful secret I’d been carrying.
Blair
For three days, he didn’t leave my side for anything longer than a bathroom break. On day four, he sat in the waiting room and listened to Wanda talk about her Yorkiepoo for a full hour while I worked. Day five he left me home alone only so he could venture to the grocery store with my mom. Ignoring my insistence that I would be okay if he left for a while, Denver stuck it out through hard moments with Mom, kept track of the little day-to-day things I was constantly dropping the ball on, and held me close at night. And on day six, he finally agreed to go back to work under one condition—I would hang out at the ranch with the girls.
With my nephew, Jonas, tagging along to give my sister a break, we turn off the dirt road to spend the day at Wells Ranch. Drinking, watching the cowboys sort out cattle to ship off, and eating Beryl’s fire-cooked feast I’ve been hearing rumors about for the last two weeks.
“So, I’m not allowed to ride any horses today?” I glance at Denver in my periphery as the truck rattles over the cattle guard, teasing him. “No barrels—promise.”
“If I say no, you’ll do it for sure. So fill your boots. I think Jackson has a new horse in—never been ridden before.” Denver winks, testing me. “I’ll get tickets to that show any day.”
“I think I’ll leave the bronc riding to you.”
“That’s right, leave it to the pros.” He dusts some pretenddirt off his shoulder. “Maybe we can get Jonas on there, though.”
“Absolutely not. Whit would kill me.”
Jonas clears his throat from the backseat. “I’ve been bucked off before.”
“Wait, what?” I spin to face him, catching the way he and Denver share a mischievous smile. “When your mom agreed to let you come work here for the summer, I don’t think she was agreeing to you being involved in ranch-hand shenanigans.”
“Your nephew’s getting branded next spring. He earned it,” Denver says, shutting the truck down and grabbing his hat from the middle of the bench seat.
“He’sten!” I smack him on the arm before stepping out into the sun. “It’ll be your funeral.”
Jonas hands me the crutches from the backseat before sliding out, and I start my hobble across uneven ground toward where the girls are sitting in folding camp chairs. Denver’s close behind me, as always—convinced I’m mere seconds away from toppling over any time I’m not on perfectly level ground. I swear he doesn’t take a breath until I plunk down in a padded chair, dropping the aluminum crutches beside me.
“You need anything?” he asks.
I know better than to say no, because he’ll look like a dejected puppy if I do.
“A drink would be wonderful.”
“We got you,” Cecily pipes up from a few seats down, quickly pulling something that looks a lot like a homemade Capri-Sun juice pouch from a large blue cooler. “It’s sangria! I found these reusable pouches when I was looking for wedding stuff online, and they’re perfect.”
“It’s nine o’clock in the morning,” I exclaim.
“Five o’clock somewhere,” Kate quips.
Denver laughs, passing me the juice box. “Okay, well, looks like they’ve got you covered here.”
