“Oh?”
“Should I surprise you? Or do you want to know?”
“Surprise me. Always surprise me.”
“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”
“What about you?” she asks. “Are you a surprise person or a plan-and-control?”
“Maybe surprise—as long as it’s good.”
“That sounds a little like needing to be in control,” she teases.
“You’re probably right.”
We drive down the old highway until it merges with I-40 and then we head through Nashville. The trees along the side of the road are mostly bare, but the scenery still feels like home.
“So, what’s the story with this horse?” she asks.
“Dad’s always looking at equine pages. He retired Scout last month and wants a good solid quarterhorse gelding toreplace him.” I glance over at her and then back to the road. “I’m actually honored to be the one Dad asked. He doesn’t buy problems. And he trusts me to be the one to discern whether this one’s a fit.”
“Of course he does, Cody.”
Her words land, grounding something in me. I’m the fourth—the one with a job off the ranch, the last one Dad should’ve picked. But Carli’s knee-jerk certainty eases my doubt and helps me see myself through her eyes.
“What’s his name?” she asks.
“Storm.”
“Oh, I like that. Do you know his coloring?”
“He’s a buckskin.”
“My favorite.”
“Like Lark,” I smile over at her.
“Yeah. I love the way Lark’s dark mane contrasts to her blonde body. She’s like the supermodel of horses.”
“The two of you together are quite a sight.”
Her smile is soft and shy. “I love watching you ride too.”
“Supermodel?” I ask, making a face that I think is a smolder.
She laughs and then reaches across the cab and runs her fingertips down my jawline.
“Careful there,” I warn her. “I might have to pull the truck over. Then we’d never see the gelding.”
“I think on day-long dates, detours are acceptable,” she says with a smile that’s definitely meant to tempt me.
“Not before we see Storm. Definitely after.”
We ride along quietly for a while, taking in the Tennessee landscape and the easy way we fit together. I shouldn’t be surprised. Carli’s always seamlessly fit into my family’s life, rolling with our sense of humor, pitching in as if she lived on the ranch. I couldn’t have known if that ease would translate when it’s just the two of us. Now I do.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
“How easy it is to be with you.”
