"I'm a winemaker, Charlie. Everything I own has a stain on it."
"That's my girl." The words slip out easy and warm, and his eyes widen a fraction as if he did not entirely mean to say them. He covers with a sip of coffee, but I catch the flush climbing his neck. The fact that I can make Charlie Hayden blush makes me feel invincible.
We finish the session at noon, and he leaves through the tasting room with a wave to Tabitha. I stand still for a full minute after he is gone, my hand resting on the worktable where his elbow was, and I think about the careful way he has handled the past five days. No pressure or crowding. Just a slow, steady presence through text messages, letting me come to him on my own terms.
Tabitha’s words from a few weeks ago filter through.At some point, you have to let someone past the tasting room.
* * *
Saturday morning is bright and warm, and I’m standing in front of my closet in my underwear at nine, which is absurd, because I told Charlie I’d wear something I didn’t mind getting dirty, and yet here I am rejecting three perfectly acceptable shirts.
I settle on a faded navy tank top, my oldest pair of jeans, and the work boots I wear in the vineyard. I French braid my hair and take my time getting it right.
My stomach flutters the entire way to Twin Oaks, and I release a deep sigh as I turn beneath the wrought-iron archway. Rolling pastures stretch to the east, dotted with live oaks and clusters of horses grazing in the morning light. The main house sits on a rise ahead, a sprawling stone structure with a wraparound porch and flower beds that bloom in organized profusion.
I park near the barn and step out of my truck, scanning the property for Charlie. The barn doors are open, and I can hear the low murmur of someone talking to an animal inside, but I don’t see him.
Then I hear hoofbeats.
Charlie rounds the corner of the far barn on horseback, and the sight of him steals the breath right out of my lungs. He sits in the saddle like he was born there, one hand loose on the reins, his body moving in perfect rhythm with the animal beneath him. He is wearing a white shirt with the sleeves cuffed to his forearms, faded jeans, and a hat angled low. The morning sun hits him from behind, making him appear like some beautiful avenging angel.
The horse is a big bay with a glossy coat and intelligent eyes, and it carries Charlie with the effortless grace of an animal that trusts its rider completely. They move together across the yardin a fluid line, and I stand beside my truck with my mouth hanging open.
He spots me and steers the horse in my direction, pulling to a stop a few feet away. The bay tosses its head once and settles, and Charlie tips his hat back and grins at me.
"Morning, Sunshine." He shifts in the saddle and extends his hand. "Want to see the ranch from up here?"
I look at his outstretched hand, then at the horse, then back at his face. "You want me to get on that horse. Right now. With no lesson."
"I'll do the driving. You just hold on." His grin widens. "I promise he's gentle. This is Colby, my best stallion."
"You're putting me on your best stallion for my first time on a horse."
"I trust him more than any horse on this property, and I'll be right behind you." He wiggles his fingers. "Come on, Sunshine. Live a little."
My heart is hammering, but I take his hand. His grip is warm and strong, and he guides me through the motion of putting my foot in the stirrup. I swing up in front of him and his arms wrap around me to hold the reins, bracketing my body with his.
I am suddenly very aware of the solid wall of his chest against my back, the warmth of him through my tank top, the way his thighs press against the outside of mine. Colby shifts beneath us, and I grab the saddle horn instinctively.
"Easy." Charlie's voice is low and close to my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "Relax your hips and move with him. He'll do the rest."
We walk out of the yard at a gentle pace, and the rocking motion is strange at first, my body stiff and fighting the rhythm. Charlie's arms are steady around me, his hands quiet on the reins, and after a few moments my muscles begin to release. Thetension drains from my shoulders, and my spine softens against his chest.
"There you go," he murmurs, and I feel the rumble of his voice through my back. "You're a natural."
"I am sitting on a horse that is walking in a straight line. I would not call that natural."
"You stopped death-gripping the saddle horn. That's progress." He turns Colby down a gentle slope toward a tree-lined pond, and the ranch spreads out around us in shades of green and gold. "This is the south pasture. The mares graze here in the mornings."
The view from horseback is different from anything I expected. The land has a beauty that can't be fully appreciated from a truck window. I understand for the first time why people talk about horses the way I talk about wine.
"It's beautiful," I say, and I mean it.
"Wait till you see the ducks." He steers Colby toward a fenced enclosure beyond the far barn, and as we approach, I hear a chorus of quacking that grows louder with every step.
Charlie dismounts first and lifts me down, his grip spanning my waist as he sets me on the ground. The contact is brief, but the warmth of his touch lingers against my skin long after he lets go.
The duck enclosure is bigger than I expected. It sprawls out from a central pond in several directions with separate areas for shade and grazing. An arched bridge, with pink railing that's even more vivid in person, spans the pond, and a tidy shelter with a sloped roof sits off to one side. Six ducks move around the space with the casual self-importance of animals who know they are adored.
