“Feel how he moves?” I keep my voice low, fighting to stay steady. “Let your hips follow. Don’t fight it.”
She tries. I feel the moment she stops bracing and starts moving with the rhythm—a subtle softening, her weight settling back against me. The friction is torture. The best kind.
“That’s it.” My lips brush her ear. “Just like that.”
Her breath hitches. I feel it more than hear it—the way her ribs expand against my chest, the tiny shiver that runs through her.
We ride in silence. I want to slide my hands from the reins to her hips. Want to pull her tighter against me and show her exactly what she’s doing to me. Want to turn her face toward mine and finish what I started in that diner.
Instead, I keep my grip on the leather and let her set the pace.
“Why this horse?” she asks quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“You said he’s the steadiest on the ranch. But you also said he was damaged. Took years to trust anyone.” She pauses. “Why him?”
Because he’s me. Because I see myself in every flinch, every moment of hypervigilance, every hard-won inch of trust.
“Because the ones who’ve been hurt,” I say slowly, “are the ones worth waiting for. Once they decide you’re safe, they’re loyal to the bone. They don’t give trust easy, but when they do, it’s real.”
She’s quiet. Then, so soft I almost miss it: “That’s not fair.”
“What isn’t?”
“You. Being...” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”
I want to push. Want to ask what she means, what she’s feeling, whether she’s starting to see me as something other than the man who humiliated her in front of the whole town.
But earning trust means being patient. Means showing up without demanding.
The wind shifts.
I lift my head, reading the air the way I learned to read it overseas—when a change in the breeze could mean the difference between walking home and getting carried. The sky to the west has changed. Blue giving way to bruised purple-gray, clouds stacking on the horizon like fists.
“Storm coming,” I say, realizing how far we’ve strayed from the barn.
Delaney twists to look, and the motion grinds her against me in a way that makes my vision blur. “That looks bad.”
“Moving fast.” I’m already calculating: distance to the barn, speed of the front, the way Captain Winky’s ears are pinned back. “We need shelter.”
“The barn?—”
“Too far.” I turn Captain Winky toward the north pasture, nudging him into a trot.
Delaney gasps, grabbing for the horn.
I wrap my arm around her waist, hauling her back against me. “There’s a line shack about ten minutes out. We'll wait it out there.”
The first gust hits us, cold and sharp, carrying the smell of rain. Captain Winky snorts, tossing his head, and I feel Delaney’s fear spike through the tension in her body.
“I’ve got you,” I tell her, my mouth against her hair. “Hold on.”
She grabs my forearm where it’s banded across her stomach, her fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.
Good. Let her hold on. Let her learn what it feels like to lean on someone who won’t let her fall.
We ride toward the darkening sky, the storm chasing us across the pasture, and all I can think is that I’d ride into a hundred storms if it meant keeping this woman safe.
