“Thanks. It means a lot that you like it,” he says, almost shyly, like I might not mean it.
“Owen, I more than like it. I love it.”
He nods, and then one by one, carries our saddles into the tack room. After we look the horses over, rinse them off in case something got between the saddles and their bodies and to keep them cool from the still warm, early September heat, we put them in their stalls and make sure they have water.
As we work side by side, he remains uncharacteristically quiet until we’ve finished the chores that come along with a ride as beautiful as the one we were just on.
We may not talk, but we sing along to the songs floating in from the barn party, and to this cowgirl, the quiet work we’re doing together and the silly singing and bopping around is just as romantic as the sunset ride.
We’ve just finished up when a song about dancing in the country comes on and before I know it, he’s swinging me around just like he did at The House the other night. We’re both grinning from ear to ear. The music is coming from the distance, so his chuckles and my giggles fill the air. The blink of shyness he exhibited minutes ago is nowhere in sight.
Before the song ends, he pulls me into his arms, and we slow dance to our own rhythm. As though the universe doesn’t want the night to end, a slow song begins. He holds on tight, and without a word, we sway as the lyrics sing about risking it all. Our boots leisurely move over the random pieces of hay decorating the concrete floor. We’re sticky from the summer heat, and we both smell like we’ve been on a horse, but this moonlit dance is one of the most special moments of my life. Even in the dim light and shade of his hat, his brilliant blue eyes sparkle, only pausing their inspection of my boring brown eyes the few times he gently spins me in front of him. But as soon as I’m back in his arms, his gaze locks right back on mine.
We rarely shut up when we’re in each other's orbit, but this quiet moment with only the two of us and a barn full of horses says more than any words ever have. Something deep in my soul shifts, as though a piece of me has snapped into place for the first time. My heart is hammering against my chest, and air refuses to fill my lungs.
No. No. No. No. No.
I know what I’m feeling, and it’s the absolute worst-case scenario. It tried to sneak its way in during our weekend in New York. It was silly of me to think I could ignore it.
Just as my panic sets in, the song ends. Owen presses a kiss to my forehead, and I’m grateful I don’t fall to my knees when he releases me, because I’m shaking from the inside out. I feel nauseous. My body’s reaction to the fear of the four-letter word my heart so desperately wants to latch on to wreak havoc on my psyche. It’s a word I need to bury down deep or else I’ll lose what little I have with the handsome cowboy carrying my saddle out of the tack room.
The exquisite piece of art made with his own hands means more to me than a piece of jewelry ever could. Owen is the only man who would know this about me. If I’m being honest withmyself, he knows me better than anyone in my life. Better than Mia. Better than my mom.
He knows every side there is to me and still wants me.
All of me.
I can pretend I don’t believe him until the cows come home, but I know him too. And Owen Swift doesn’t say what he doesn’t mean.
He clears his throat, a grin spreading across his face because he’s caught me staring. “How ‘bout we put this in the back of my truck and I give you a ride to yours?”
“That’d be great,” I say, absentmindedly rubbing my fist over my sternum where a certain word ping-pongs all over my heart.
He drives us to my truck and eases the saddle from his vehicle to the back of mine. Then we stand by my driver’s side door and stare at each other. It’s like looking in a mirror. Both of us are feeling so much, but neither of us is expressing those feelings to the other. Not that he hasn’t. It’s me holding back. Like I always do.
Clearing my throat, I muster up what I can. “Owen, thank you doesn’t seem adequate, but since I don’t know what else to say, thank you for the beautiful gift and the gorgeous ride. It was a perfect night.”
“Glad to hear it.” He pulls my door open.
I guess I’m leaving now.
In my feelings over being dismissed, I avoid eye contact with him when I step between the open door and the cab of my truck, but he has no intention of letting me go so easily. Stepping into my space, one of his hands lands on my hip, holding me in place while the index finger of his free hand tilts my chin up to meet his ocean eyes, and my heart leaps at the prospect of a kiss goodbye.
“Thanks for the dance,” I say, much breathier than I wish I had.
The kiss he presses to my forehead isn’t the kind I was hoping for, but it’s what I needed. My mind, heart, body, and soul are in a whirlwind of emotion. I wouldn’t know what to do with more than his sweet gesture. He promised to give me time after New York. Tonight proves he’s a man of his word.
With a soft pat to one of my denim-clad ass cheeks, he takes a step back.
“Drive safe.”
On autopilot, I climb into my truck and drive away, thinking how the word safe and Owen Swift can never exist in the same sentence for me again.
My heart is anything but safe when I’m in his arms.
Yet, I know I’ll get caught up in his vortex again and again.
And every time it will get harder to drive away from him.
