“What?” he asks.
I take a quick sip of my coffee. Keep my eyes on the road. A whole minute passes and Dylan doesn’t try to fill the silence.
“I just don’t know if ranching is what’s best for her.”
His brow furrows. “You don’t think she’s happy?”
“No, she is. She loves ranch life. But sometimes I wonder if I’m being selfish. Ranching is my dream, not hers, and it’s not exactly stable.” My hands tighten on the wheel. “My parents want us to live with them. It’d mean security. Madison would have her own room in an actual home, not a pull-down bed in a trailer. Plus, she could do any extracurriculars she wants. Choices I can’t give her while ranching.”
“But…” Dylan prompts.
“But I felt so trapped in that life. Like I didn’t belong. Everything I did, I felt like I was a disappointment.”
“So why consider it for Mad?”
I bite my lip. “Because she already has one unreliable parent. Hooper flits in and out of her life, forever breaking his promises. I can’t protect her from that. But I can be the one to give her structure and stability.”
“And you don’t think she has that with you right now?”
I sigh. “If I could split myself in two, live both lives, see which one makes her happiest… God, I would. But I don’t get that luxury. I just have to guess and hope I’m not screwing it all up.”
“For what it’s worth, Mad is a great kid,” Dylan says. “She’s happy and smart and confident as hell. So whatever you’re doing, Brooks, it’s working.”
The hum of the tires on asphalt fills the silence. I focus on that, fighting a lump in my throat. Being a single parent meansnever having anyone to tell you that you’re doing a good job. Hearing these words from Dylan means more than it should.
“Thank you,” I reply. “And maybe you’re not a total jerk.”
He huffs a laugh. “High praise.” Dylan is quiet for a moment before he speaks again. “I’m trying, Iz. I’m really trying to get my head around my football career ending and what my future looks like.” He hesitates, like he might say more, and my heart thumps harder in the pause. “There’s less than three weeks left on your contract. I know that. I haven’t forgotten. I just… I promise I’ll do better. I’ll figure it out.”
I glance over, expecting the usual brooding grump—that edge to his dark eyes telling me to back off—but there’s only honesty and a flicker of raw vulnerability I’ve never seen in him before.
And damn it if it doesn’t hit me square in the chest.We both have a decision to make. Dylan about the ranch and football. Me about my future and Mad’s. The weight of it sits heavy in my stomach. Dylan made a deal with Bill to keep me on for six weeks. But just for a second, I want to ask him, what will happen when my time is up? Is he just waiting for the time to pass so he can sell the horses without feeling guilty? Or is there a chance…?
I can’t bring myself to think about the question trying to break into my thoughts, let alone voice it. In the last few hours, I’ve swung from being furious at Dylan for oversleeping to practically drooling over his body to flirting—if that’s what it was. I can’t trust my own feelings toward him. And I sure as hell can’t trust him.
But when Iglance over at him again, I find myself wondering if there’s more to this man than I’ve let myself believe. And maybe… just maybe… I don’t actually hate Dylan as much as I’ve been trying to tell myself.
SIXTEEN
DYLAN
By the time we reach the arena, the sun is beating down, glinting off row after row of trucks and trailers. Even though Izzy doesn’t say a word as we park, I know she’s thinking we should’ve left earlier, and it’s my fault we didn’t.
I almost say something. I want to. I want to tell her how I’d meant to be up and helping her first thing, but I’d lain awake half the night thinking about the ranch and what kind of future I want, no closer to finding an answer when I finally drifted off somewhere close to dawn, sleeping straight through my alarm. It’s a lame-ass excuse and one there’s no point voicing. We’re here now.
I glance her way as she cuts the engine, thinking of the moment she stormed into my bedroom this morning, bringing with her the smell of that sweet sea breeze perfume. All fire and wrath, hauling the covers off me like she had a point to prove. The flash of want in her eyes when she caught sight of me—all of me, considering my underwear wasn’t doing much to hide what was underneath. Did I imagine that flicker of desire crossing her face?
The truth is, it wasn’t just the ranch keeping me awake last night. It was her, and how the sharp edges between us havestarted to wear down over the past week or so. The way we move around each other now—like maybe we’re actually becoming something more than extremely reluctant co-workers.
Every time she opens up about Mad and her life, about who she is beneath all that stubbornness, it has me wanting to know more. Then there’s the way she looks at me sometimes, staying quiet at the right moments, pushing in others, that has me opening up too, telling her things about my childhood and my life I’ve never shared with anyone. And when she smiles—not the sarcastic smirk, but the rare, soft smile she tries to hide—I find myself wondering what it would be like to reach for her hand, tug her toward me, and press my lips to hers.
Izzy cuts the engine and jumps out, snapping me back to reality. I step out of the truck to air heavy with the scent of horses and dust, mingling with the smell of grease and fried food wafting from the food trucks. By the time I’m joining her beside the horse trailer, she’s got the doors open and she’s speaking to the colt in low, soothing tones as she unhooks his tether. A shiver runs over the foal’s back, rippling his black coat and mane, but he stands steady, ears pricked, eyes curious.
“I need to register him for the auction,” she says, handing me the lead rein and pointing me to a block of metal pens to one side of the arena.
A dozen other foals are already there, some grazing, some skittish, others standing close to their handlers. There are yearlings and a few older stallions and mares too. Izzy leads the way and I follow with the colt, the little guy stepping lightly at my side, his hooves clicking softly against the ground.
Once he’s inside the pen, Izzy pats his flank as she assesses the other horses. “Stay here. I’ll go do the paperwork.”
