Our eyes catch through the open window, and I speak first. “Are they in there?”
“Yeah. All three,” he says, voice deep, almost raw.
I drop the bags on the ground, and once he eyes them, realizing the decision I’ve made, I go to the back of the trailer. Red lights burn into my eyes while I pop the latch, cursing at how tight it is. The door is heavy, but I manage to heave it open before Rowe joins me.
He stands closer than I was expecting, and I fall victim to the pull between us, glancing up at him. There’s so much he’s hiding in those grey eyes, and I want to tell him to just blurt out everything he’s thinking. It’s unlikely that he would, but for right now, the risk of being turned down doesn’t feel as scary.
Not when I’m standing in front of three broken horses that I know his father doesn’t want and won’t be happy to see pull up on his property. The same ones I begged his son not to leave behind.
“How did you get him to let us have them?” I murmur, afraid that if I speak too loudly, this will all disappear.
“It doesn’t matter. They’re ours.”
Ours. Not his. Not his father’s.
He shifts on his worn boots, staring down at me with this obvious . . .exhaustion. It’s deep, sharp, like he hasn’t spent a single day without feeling it weigh on him. My protectiveness rears its ugly head, provoking me to do something to help.
I don’t give myself a chance to change my mind once I make it.
Without breathing, I step forward and hug him. I squeeze my eyes shut and press my palms to his back, holding him tightly. There’s a familiar warmth against my cheek when I settle it against his chest and exhale, blowing out my anxiousness.
Time doesn’t seem to move like normal. It stalls, then glitches in an attempt to catch back up. One second, he’s standing frozen, his hands at his sides, and the next, I’m biting down on my tongue to trap a moan when he palms my back and drags his touch up. Every hair on my body rises in response to his hands on me, and I nearly vibrate from the effort of holding myself still.
His palm continues to move, climbing further up my back until he fills it with my nape, fingers curling into my hair. The second finds a home between my shoulder blades, pressing just hard enough to urge me closer, until we’re planted together.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my breath ruffling his shirt, blowing his cologne into my nose.
He almost pulls my hair at the root from how tight he’s holding me. I feel the movement down in my toes. For the firsttime in years, I feel completely safe and protected. That’s a hard realization to stomach after what my last few months have looked like.
“Don’t thank me for this.”
I can’t bear the thought of stepping back yet and losing this, so I don’t. He doesn’t say anything when I shuffle forward, my boots directly between his now. If his heart is racing even half the speed that mine is, maybe I’ll be able to hear it like this.
“Did you at least kick his ass for what he did to them?”
“Yeah, hellcat.”
I dig my fingertips into his muscles. “Your dad is going to be pissed.”
“Let him be. His reaction isn’t anything you need to worry about,” he grunts.
The laugh that escapes me is so sudden I almost jerk in surprise. Rowe tenses for a beat before his fingers start to knead the back of my head, almost like he’s finding comfort in the motion too. I look in front of me, letting my forehead roll across his chest as I suck in a desperate breath. He takes advantage of the new angle and holds me tighter.
“Do you want me to drive home? You look like you need to catch a nap,” I offer.
“Is Tilly Whittman trying to be generous right now?”
“I don’t know, is Rowe Carrigan really making a joke about it?”
He scoffs, releasing a noise low in his throat that almost sounds like a chuckle. “Let go of me, leech. I’m driving.”
“Leech?” I echo with a scoff. Reluctantly, I push myself back and remove my fingers from where I’ve started trying to imbed them into his back. “You’re the one all but begging for me to take my hair out so you can run your fingers through it.”
“It could use a good brushing first.”
He turns his attention to the trailer and closes the door, busying himself with getting it locked up tight.
“Oof. Okay, jackass.”
