I drop my gaze to the one of the many pairs of Manolos I’ve been collecting over the past couple years, evidence of my hard work and success. “As opposed to . . . ?”
“Those aren’t the right shoes.”
“Well, I didn’t realize you’d be taking me on a hike.”
“It’s not a hike. We’re literally walking on flat ground.”
“Fine.” I smile. “I didn’t realize you’d be taking me on awalk.”
He rolls his eyes. “You’re going to sink into the mud.”
“I don’t plan on stepping into any mud, Kasey.”
“And then you’re going to get spitting mad and take it out on me.”
I narrow my gaze. “I don’t take my anger out on you.”
He has the audacity to snort. “Andthenyou’re probably going to cry. You’ll try not to because you’re stubborn and don’t want anyone to see you cry, least of all me. But you will.”
I stop walking. “What are you doing?” I ask, feeling the temperature of my blood rising with this charade of a conversation.
He turns to face me, two brown eyes roaming lazily down to my waist before dropping again to my feet. “You know damn wellthoseshoes don’t belong onthisranch.”
“Yeah? Well, get used to it, because soon these shoes are going to be all overthis ranch.”
“What do you mean?” A spark in his eyes catches hold in my chest, a warmth that’s so familiar it scares me. I haven’t seen this man in a decade, and yet my body still responds to him as if nothing’s changed. As if all this time and distance hasn’t cleaved us in two.
I stare at him. “You think I’m going to keep living at home after we’re married?” I ask.
He curses, turning away to look out toward the pasture. And then he’s on the move again, steering us back toward the barn.When he walks through the wide double doors and into the shade I follow suit, eyes tracing down the line of horses who look curiously at us from their stalls.
“There’s so many of them,” I say out loud, more to myself than to him.
“Twenty-two right now,” Kasey says. “Four more come in next week.”
I nod. “You guys have gotten bigger.”
He shrugs. “We have our ups and downs. It’s been slower the last couple years, but lately it’s been busier.” I watch as he grabs a shaving fork from the rack on the far wall and heads for the first stall. He gives the horse inside a tentative rub on the nose before unlatching the door and disappearing inside.
“Um,” I say, “are you working right now?”
“Yep,” he calls back.
“I thought you wanted to talk.”
He easily pokes his head over the stall’s wall—it’s gotta be at least six feet high. “I do,” he says. “But I also have to work. Thought I might be able to rope you into helping, but . . .” He looks at my feet again before his head drops back down.
I shift my weight from one foot to another, feeling ridiculous just standing here while he mucks. “I’m a lawyer,” I tell him. “Not a ranch hand.”
“Don’t read into it, Ava. Just find a place to sit down and I’ll work while we talk.”
I look around the barn, but there’s definitely no place to sit. I sigh. “Do you want to start or should I?”
“Ladies first,” he grumbles.
“Great. Okay. Well, since it already came up, let’s get back to the topic of housing. I’m going to have to stay here, Kasey. You know that, right?”
The stall is silent for a long beat. A horse behind me whinnies.
