Morgan was halfway to her car, her spine straight and shoulders squared, moving with that controlled grace that told me she was holding herself together through sheer will. In about ten seconds, she'd be gone. Back to town. Back to her life. Back to proving she didn't need anyone, least of all me. And I'd let her go because I was too chickenshit to admit I wanted her to stay.
The folder hit the ground. “Morgan, wait.”
She paused, her hand on the car door, but didn't turn around.
I closed the distance between us in a few long strides, my boots crunching in the snow. “Don't leave. Not like this.”
“Like what?” She still wouldn't look at me. “I delivered the approval. That's what I came here to do.”
“That's bullshit and you know it.”
Now she turned, her eyes full of tears. “Excuse me?”
My heart stuttered. Knowing I was the reason for those tears split my chest in two. I couldn’t let her leave. Not until she knew the truth.
“You came out here because the mayor asked you to, sure. But you're leaving because I made you feel like you had to.” I stopped a few feet away but still close enough to see the hurt she was trying to hide. “And I'm sorry for that.”
Her jaw tightened. “You don't owe me an apology.”
“Yeah, I do.” I dragged a hand through my hair, searching for the right words. “What happened in that cabin?—”
“Was a mistake,” she said. “You made that pretty clear.”
“No. That's not—” I stepped closer. “It wasn't a mistake. That's the problem.”
She blinked, some of the steel in her expression faltering. “I don't understand.”
“The morning after, when we got back here and Dawson was waiting...” I stopped, took a breath, and made myself say it. “I panicked. Not because I regretted what happened, but because it was real. Because you were real, and I didn't know how to go on without screwing it up.”
“So you pulled away.” Her voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it. “Decided for both of us that it couldn't work.”
“Yeah. I did.” Shame burned in my chest. “I told Dawson you weren't planning on staying. That this was only a job for you. That once the rodeo was approved, you'd probably move on to something bigger.”
“You said that?” She looked like I'd slapped her.
“I was wrong.” The admission came easier than I expected. “I was trying to protect myself by assuming you'd leave before you had the chance to decide. And that's not fair to you. It's not fair to either of us.”
Morgan wrapped her arms around herself, and I hated that she needed the armor. Hated that I'd made her feel like she had to protect her heart from me.
“I spent my whole life being the Kincaid nobody believed in,” I said. “The reckless one. The screw-up who couldn't be trusted with anything important. And I got so used to people writing me off that I started doing it first. Before they could.”
“I never wrote you off.” Her voice came out soft and sad.
“I know. That's what scared me.” I took another step closer. “Because you saw me, Morgan. Really saw me. And I didn't know what to do with that.”
She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze searching my face. “What are you saying?”
“I'm saying I was wrong to push you away. Wrong to assume you'd leave. Wrong not to acknowledge my feelings because I was afraid.” I closed the remaining distance between us. “I don't want you to go.”
Her breath caught. “Slade?—”
“I know you've got a career to build. I know Mustang Mountain might not be where you planned to end up. But I'm asking you to stay anyway.” My voice roughened. “Not for the rodeo. Not for the town. For me.”
“That's not fair,” she whispered, but her eyes were bright.
“Why not?”
“Because you can't—” She shook her head. “You spent two days avoiding me. Acting like nothing happened. And now you want me to what? Forget that? Pretend it didn't hurt?”
