Farrah shrugged, her humility ever-present. It was one of the things Darren had first loved about her. He wanted to taste her pork chops with onion gravy right now; the creamy mashed potatoes she made tasted more like butter than anything else.
“Yeah, I think I’ll stay for dinner.” He took a step closer, his mind swirling around that idea he’d had. “Maybe you’d teach me how to cook, and I’d be able to take care of myself.”
His words had the desired effect as Farrah’s face flushed and she drew in a quick breath. When they were dating, she’d oftenjoked that she needed to give him a few cooking lessons so he’d be able to survive on his own. Darren had always assumed she’d teach him after they were married, or she’d simply tease him about his lack of culinary skills for the rest of their life together.
He wasn’t really asking her for a cooking lesson, and they both knew it. He was asking her out. Right there, right now.
She couldn’t seem to look away from him. Those teal eyes held him fast, and he reached for her. “Farrah,” he said, her name like poisoned honey on his tongue. He brushed his fingers against hers and wanted to grab on and never let go.
“I just want…. Can we just talk?” He had a whole lot more to say, but the words seemed stuck behind a dam in his throat.
A flash of a smile touched her lips for a moment. “I’d—I want?—”
The clanging of the dinner triangle interrupted her. She turned back toward the house, just across the field. “I’m starving.” She turned and walked away from him, her hips swinging with every step.
Darren watched her go, wondering what, exactly, she was hungry for. Because he was starving too, but it wasn’t for want of food.
The next dayDarren had just brushed down Paintbrush after working him in the fields when Cody came into the back barn. “There’s a Jim Bybee on the phone, and he says he needs you out at the farm.” Concern crossed the other cowboy’s face. “I told him you were already out on the farm, and he said Alaska’s loose, and then he hung up.”
Darren didn’t hesitate. He reached for his rope hanging on the wall and started for the door. “Alaska’s his horse,” hesaid. “And Jim Bybee owns the organic farm north of town.” He hustled outside into the bright sunshine, already late and wishing he hadn’t had to wait for the message about Alaska.
He made it to the farm in under fifteen minutes and skidded to a stop next to the stables on the opposite side of the farm from the aquaponics shed. Corey stood there, wringing her hands. “Jim left Slate for you,” she said. “Alaska unlatched the west gate and got out. Jim’s been out for an hour trying to find her.”
Darren glanced at the shiny black sedan parked in the wrong place. He didn’t have much time to comprehend why Farrah had parked all the way over here when her work was in the building on the other side of the farm.
He swung onto the slate gray horse that had been saddled for him and pressed his hat further onto his head. “West?”
“Well, I’m—we’re not really sure.”
Darren gripped his rope and headed out on the horse, his eyes scanning the fields, the horizon, the tree line for any movement, any flash of white against the green. Alaska was a stubborn old horse—Jim’s favorite, of course—who had a soul that couldn’t be contained behind a fence.
Worry wormed its way under Darren’s skin. Jim would be devastated if he lost Alaska. The steady rhythm of hooves lifted into the sky as Darren worked his way along the line between the house and the outbuildings and the pastures.
Another rider appeared from out of the trees, and Darren lifted his hand to Jim. He pointed farther north, and Darren swung his horse that way. Only a moment later, another rider appeared, this time on a bright brown horse named Featherwing.
It wasn’t hard to see the feminine figure despite the distance between them. The woman wore a hat, but her blonde curls cascaded over her shoulders and down her back.
It was Farrah.
Riding a horse.
Wearing a cowgirl hat.
And boots.
Darren almost slid right off Slate’s back, and his mouth practically hit the dirt. She turned and joined Jim as they moved north, leaving Darren there in a state of shock. Once that wore off, all that remained was anger. She’d sworn to him that she’d never ride again. She’d resisted every request of his to come to Steeple Ridge. She’d broken up with him over riding a horse and carrying the colors in a small-town parade.
He almost turned Slate right around and went on back to the farm he knew. The farm where he’d never have to see Farrah and experience such a tidal wave of fury.
Why could she come here and ride these horses and she couldn’t come to his farm and ride his horse?
The need to leave shot through him with the force of lightning. But he couldn’t do that to Jim. So he made his horse follow theirs. He’d nearly urged Slate to pick up his trot when a noise from the trees to his left caught his attention. A flash of white cut through the shady darkness under the limbs, and Darren swung his horse that way.
“C’mon, Alaska,” he called, approaching slowly. The horse huffed, shuffled in the undergrowth. Darren’s fingers tensed around the rope and he released the loop and let it hang.
“You gotta come on back to the corral.” He paused Slate as Alaska came into full view. The horse had a wild look in her eyes, and her coat was slick with sweat. She had to be tired and thirsty and Darren thought he could get her back without the rope.
Her eyes twitched to his right, and Farrah appeared on her horse. Darren warned her off with a lifted hand, and she stilled. He drank in the sight of her on that horse, and everything in him ran a little hotter. And he hated that, because she’d made her position about their relationship really clear.
