His grin spreads, slow and wicked. “Aw, that’s sweet,” he drawls. “But you’re not really my type.”
“Well, damn,” I say. “And here I got all gussied up for you.”
Cabe snorts, the sound sharp in the cold air. He steps closer, close enough that I can smell coffee on his breath, and cocks his head.
“Shelby said you had a hot date in town this morning,” I say. “She also said you might give me a ride to Ironhorse on the way.”
He shrugs. “Shelby talks too much. I never said I had a date, just that I was going to breakfast.”
“She is a bit ornery this morning,” I say.
Cabe chuckles. “She must be the one who gave you that shower.”
I wince. “That was a shower?”
“I saw you sleeping on the hay this morning when I came to get Mystic here from his stall,” he says, leaning back against the post. “Figured I’d wake you when I got back to the barn myself. Guess Shelby beat me to it.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I think I must’ve startled her.”
Cabe laughs outright now. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s why she tried to drown you.”
“I tried to apologize, but she chased me out of there, so I didn’t get the chance. Will you tell her for me?”
“I’ll pass it along.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Can you? Give me a lift, I mean.”
He jerks his chin toward the barn. “Wait here. I’ll go untack.”
He disappears inside, leaving me alone with the cold again. I shift my weight and regret it instantly. My boots squelch faintly, still damp. I wipe at the hay that still clings to my jeans before dragging a hand down my face and closing my eyes for a second, breathing through the ache.
I shouldn’t have been there last night. Shouldn’t have gone as far as I did. But the past has a way of sneaking up on you when you’re not looking, wrapping its fingers around your throat and squeezing until you reach for whatever’s closest to make it stop.
I open my eyes just as Cabe walks back out of the barn and heads toward the pickup parked near the house.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he calls, “You coming, Sleeping Beauty?”
I push off the wall and cross the yard and round the truck as he fires up the engine.
I haul myself up into the passenger seat and shut the door with more force than necessary.
Cabe pulls out, tires crunching over gravel. He cranks the heater up to high, blessed warm air blasting my face. I groan.
“What the hell did you get into last night?” he asks, rolling down his window a crack. “You smell like a keg had a fistfight with a horse stall.”
“The bottom of a whiskey bottle,” I say. “And apparently some dirty hay in the Wildhaven Storm barn.”
“Smells about right.”
The road stretches out ahead of us, pale with frost. The sky’s just stirring awake, the sun chasing away that thin gray mist that hovers over the hills before sunrise. I watch it through the windshield, my head resting back against the seat.
“So,” Cabe says after a minute, “you sticking around this time? Or you just passing through town again?”
I swallow. That is the question everyone is thinking. “I’m not altogether sure yet,” I admit. “Guess I’ll just have to see how things go.”
He nods, eyes still on the road. “I hope you stay.”
Something tightens in my chest at that. I miss being in a place where people actually care what you do—or don’t do.
