“Just about,” he replies with a flirty wink. Ugh. Why does he have to be so handsome? The scruff lining his jawline paired with the moustache growing along his upper lip doesn’t normally make me swoon, but add in the black baseball cap covering his dark hair and the fact he looks like he really works the ranch?
I might be a puddle of all the reasons why this isn’t a good idea.
“You know how to ride a horse?” he asks as he opens the truck door for me. It’s an older model; the paint discoloured from years of use. It might have been red at some point, but it looks orange now. Not the same truck from the bar. A strike against him possibly being Christopher’s father.
When he gets in the driver’s side, I shake my head. “Not really. Unless you count the pony ride at the county fair,” I reply, watching him as he pulls away from the cabins. “Why?”
“I was thinking I could show you Vista Peak,” he replies, glancing at me. “But those trails are for more experienced riders. We do have trail rides up there for the inexperienced, but I’m not qualified to take you up there alone. And I don’t want to put you in danger.”
Something twists in my stomach as I cross my arms. “Alright. Where are we going instead?”
“The pavilion. Lake Wildridge is nearby. More trails, but the lake is something else,” he murmurs, cruising down the road, passing glamping tents and larger cabins. In another life, maybe under other circumstances, I might love this place. It’s gorgeous. Scenic.Perfect.
The landscape looks as though it’s been plucked right off a Pinterest board. The glamping tents look almost as good as the cabins, especially where they sit along the river, which winds across the terrain, beautiful under the sun. As we pass the tents and water, I catch sight of early morning hikers and a couple of people fishing.
“How long have you worked here?” I ask, sitting back. My eyes flicker to him and I can’t help but admire how handsome he is.
The strong line of his jaw, along with the dark scruff growing over his cheeks, defines his rugged features, especially with the morning sun beating down on us. His sun-kissed skin barely hides the smattering of freckles along the bridge of his nose and cheeks. The man is also made of muscle; it coils around his biceps, veins popping along his forearms. His thighs also look like they’re made of steel.
It’s a wonder that a man like him wants anything to do with a woman like me.
It’s not like I’m unattractive—unless you ask an incel or a fatphobe. Since giving birth, I’ve gained a few pounds and didn’t lose any of the ones I had prior to having Christopher. I’ve always had a pretty face but never quite the body to match—according to some.
It didn’t matter to me before, and I try not to let it now.
Ford spares me a look, a half-smile forming on his lips. “About a year now,” he replies. “How long have you been in Texas?”
“A few months. Since my sister got divorced. We both left home at the same time.”
“Where were you before, then? Where’s home?” he asks, eyes on the road once more.
I follow his stare, taking in the trees, then the break between them. I catch the first sign of the pavilion ahead. “New Mexico. Albuquerque, actually.”
Ford makes a sound under his breath, though he doesn’t respond right away. The part of me that’s almost convinced he might be Christopher’s father wants to believe he recognises me, that mentioning home triggered a memory. Hopefully, a memory about me and the bar and that stupid bucking bull.
But because he doesn’t say anything, I brush it off. He’s probably been there before. He’s probably been all over the south.
“What about you?” I ask, shifting uncomfortably. “Texas boy born and raised? Or…”
He shakes his head. “From Kansas, originally. I’ve been drifting from ranch to ranch working.”
The tone of his voice tells me he’s tired of it, but I don’t say anything. I feel the same way. Tired of drifting, of not knowing where I belong. And now that I have Chris, it’s twice as hard. He needs stability, but I don’t know how to give him that without figuring out all our options.
I almost tell Ford about Chris, but he pulls the truck over, and I realise we’re at the pavilion and lake. There’s a building where people are getting kayaks and canoes to take onto the water. The dock already has a few people lazing on it or jumping in.
“Come on,” Ford says as he jumps out of the truck. I fumble with the seatbelt, but to my surprise, he’s at my door in an instant, opening it and offering me a hand.
My cheeks burn as I finally get the thing off. “Chivalry isn’t going to save this marriage,” I mutter.
The cowboy shrugs. “Worth a shot, though. Shows you I care and mean it.”
“How can you care about a woman you just met?” I ask honestly, crossing my arms instead of getting out. “Why would you want this to go on? It’ll only get more complicated if we don’t rip the band aid off. And I can’t let this get complicated. I meant it when I said I have a reason for this to end.”
Ford steps closer, bringing his body to mine. The smell of his aftershave, musk and leather, assaults me, but not in a bad way.
It makes me think instead of the night in the back of a truck, gazing at the stars while making love to the man who’d eventually give me my son. It’s almost the exact same, except missing the hint of whiskey from the drinks we’d shared.
“Tell me why it would be complicated? You said there’s no one else,” he replies, voice low. The tenor sends a shiver right through me, one that has need pooling between my thighs.
