“And after sex that good, you thought I didn’t want to see you again? Skylar, I asked you to come here after that.”
“Maybe just for sex.”
“Bullshit.” He sighed. “I like you. I want to see what this is, don’t you?”
“I do.” She grabbed his hand. “Rawley, I don’t do that.”
“Skylar, I know that. A man usually doesn’t have trouble knowing which woman will hop into bed with anyone and one who won’t.”
“Thank you.”
He leaned forward and kissed her lips. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I love that, ‘yes, ma’am, darlin’, sweetheart, all that cowboy jargon.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘yes, ma’am, is cowboy jargon. My parents taught me to always say that along with ‘yes, sir, please, and thank you’.” He shrugged. “As far as darlin’ and sweetheart, I agree most cowboys use those to sweettalk a woman, but I’m not one of them. I called you those because I wanted to.”
“You don’t need to sweettalk a woman. Have you seen you?”
He laughed. “Come on, Skylar. I bet you have men coming on to you all the time.”
“I’m not having this conversation.” She raised her eyebrows.
He raised an eyebrow and tipped his head slightly. “Touché,” he said, the word slipping out with a soft exhale that carried a hint of both admiration and surrender.
Skylar removed her hat, set it on the blanket, then pressed a hand to his lightly whiskered cheek, feeling the rough tickle of stubble beneath her palm. “I do like you, Rawley,” she confessed, her voice soft against the hum of birds overhead.
He leaned in and his lips met hers in a tender kiss that deepened as the afternoon heat wrapped around them. When they finally broke apart, she grinned.
“You taste like mustard.”
Rawley chuckled. He took another bite, reached for his bottled water and took a long drink.
Skylar watched him peel off his hat, revealing dark hair ruffled by his fingertips, then leaned back and placed his hat over his face. She folded her sandwich wrapper into one of the crinkling paper bags, scooped up the empty baggies, and tuckedthem all inside before twisting off her own water bottle cap. She raised it to her lips, took a long drink, then held it against her jawline trying to cool down.
“It’s so hot,” she murmured. “I hate this.”
Rawley’s voice came muffled from beneath his tilted hat. “You don’t like summer?”
“Not really.” She shook her head, watching a dragonfly flit across sunbeams. “I keep telling myself I was born in the wrong state. Give me crisp fall days over this insufferable heat any time.”
He chuckled, exhaling a breath of agreement. “Fall is my favorite, too, the smell of fallen leaves, the first chill in the air. Spring’s pretty good, too. You get blooms and freshness without sweating through your shirt or freezing your balls.”
She laughed as she laid back beside him on the blanket, the fibers poking through her shirt. “Are you outdoors a lot?” she asked, tracing a pattern on the canvas.
“More than I’m indoors,” Rawley replied, stretching out his legs. “When I’m not buried behind a desk, I’m out in the fields, or in a barn.” He lifted his hat and set it on the blanket. Skylar turned onto her side to watch him, the afternoon light casting warm shadows across his strong features. “But you love it. That’s what matters.”
“Yeah,” he said, rolling to face her. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with gentle fingers. “You’re a beautiful woman, Skylar McCoy.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, cheeks flaming.
Rawley sat up, his gaze drifting to the tree line where pines met sky when the dogs stood stock still, staring into the woods. He squinted, as though listening. “They heard some—” His words cut off as two riders emerged between the trunks, their horses’ hooves soft on the ground. “thing. Damn.”
She sat up, heart thudding. “Do you know them?”
He stood, brushing dust from his Wranglers. “Yes. I wasn’t expecting them today, but we’ll head back if you’re ready.” He turned toward the pair of Border collies, their black and white coats gleaming in the afternoon sun. “Calvin, Hobbs, stay.” The dogs immediately sank onto their bellies, ears perked forward attentively, their eyes staying focused on the woods.
Skylar slipped her hat on and watched the newcomers approach across the clearing. They were young, probably no more than twenty. The young man guided his horse to a stop a few paces away; the young woman trailed behind.
