Not wanting to dwell on that possibility any further, I hurry and finish, turning the water to cold for the last few seconds to get my thoughts in order and my head on straight.
After drying off, I get dressed in jeans and a dark gray Henley and head back out to the main room.
Sasha’s still asleep, with one arm tucked beneath the pillow and her head. She looks peaceful, gorgeous. I can’t help it. I juststand there and stare for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
After pouring two cups of coffee, I sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under my weight, and she stirs, eyes fluttering open. For a second, she looks confused, then recognition dawns and she smiles up at me sleepily.
“Morning, beautiful.”
“Morning,” she murmurs, voice husky with sleep.
Hair tousled, there’s a faint crease on her cheek that I find ridiculously endearing.
She sits up and stretches, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before taking the mug from my hand. “Thanks. What time is it?”
“Just after seven.” Taking a sip from my mug, I try not to stare when her shirt slips off her shoulder. It reminds me of how she told me last night that she doesn’t wear a bra to bed. “I figured we’d get an early start. Breakfast, then a horseback ride. What do you think?”
Her eyes light up. “I’d love that.”
“Great.” I stand, giving her space. “I’ll let you get ready. Meet you outside in a bit?”
She nods.
I take my coffee and go out onto the porch to give her some privacy. The morning air is crisp, carrying the fresh scent of pine. I lean against the railing, watching thin rays of sunlight filter through the trees.
By the time she comes out, I’ve finished my coffee. Dressed in jeans and a simple blue T-shirt, her hair is pulled up in a ponytail.
She takes my breath away.
“Ready?”
“Absolutely.”
She climbs into the golf cart, and I catch a whiff of her shampoo as I settle in beside her.
I mentally shake my head, knowing it’s going to take everything I’ve got in me to keep my hands to myself the rest of the day.
After breakfast,we head straight to the barn, where a couple of ranch hands are preparing our horses.
“I figured you might like to ride Maverick,” I tell her. “He’s perfect for someone who’s ridden before but might be a little rusty.”
Miguel, one of our most experienced ranch hands, shows Sasha how to saddle Maverick. Even though she used to ride, it’s been years, and I want to make sure she’s comfortable before we hit the trails.
He’s patient, showing her how to position the saddle pad, lift the western saddle into place, and secure the cinch.
Sasha listens intently, following his instructions with careful attention. “Like this?” she asks, tightening the cinch.
“Perfect,” Miguel nods. “Now check if you can fit your fingers between the cinch and her belly. It should be snug but not too tight.”
The way she’s so focused on getting it done right does something to my insides, and I can’t seem to tear my eyes away.
Hollis comes up to stand beside me, shoving his hands in his pockets. I can feel him side-eyeing me, which tells me he’s holding something back. The old coot has never been one to mince words, so his silence is a little off-putting.
“Just spit it out, old man.”
“You like her,” he states simply.
Feeling oddly defensive, I shake my head. “It’s not what you think.”
