Sloane
Iwake up with stiffness in my body and gentle soreness between my legs. The blanket slips off my hip, and I jolt upright before I even remember why I’m not in my room. Sunlight streams through the windows, too bright, too honest, and then the rest of it hits me all at once.
Gage and I had sex last night.
I close my eyes tightly, wishing I could wash away the memory, but that only makes it replay harder.
How did this happen? Why did I let it happen?
I groan at the truth of it—because I liked it. And that’s the part I don’t know what to do with.
I shouldn’t even be thinking about Gage like this, but I can’t help it.
The difficult part now is facing him.
Does he regret it? Knowing him, he probably does. He isn’t the type of man to share his feelings, and he doesn’t make a habit of talking to me.
Last night was the first time he truly spent any time talking to me about the ranch, and before everything that happened, he seemed pretty willing to finally let me in.
It was the moment I was hoping for, but then it was like a tornado, and everything spiraled into this sexually charged moment.
I didn’t hate it, but I wish I did.
Because liking him feels like the kind of mistake that costs something.
And I’m not sure I can afford to find out what.
It would make this easier.
But it doesn’t.
I get up, button the flannel shirt, and wrap the throw around my waist. My messy, disheveled hair falls onto my shoulders, and I stretch, trying to work out the knots and not think about why they’re there.
I head for the stairs, deciding it’s best to shower before I start my day.
After getting cleaned up and sorted for the day, I walk out on the porch and place my muddy boots back on my feet. The heat has returned, drying them and causing the once slick mud to harden and crack on the toes.
As I walk outside, I notice the truck has been returned, like Gage promised, and the boys seem to be back to work as usual. Looking around the place, I’d never think we had a crazy storm last night.
I walk toward the smaller barn, and Hank tips his hat to me. “Well, hello, Miss Carter. I hope the storm wasn’t too harsh on you last night,” he says with a friendly smile.
My mind drifts to when Gage helped me from the truck, flashing to his kindness as he attended to my hand, before drifting to us wrapped around each other on the couch as the storm raged outside.
I shake my head and force myself to smile his way. “It was forgiving,” I reply, and he chuckles. “Hope you stayed dry,” I add.
He chuckles again.
“Ah, well, as dry as you can after herding a whole slew of cattle with a grumpy owner and his cattle dog,” he says, and I smile at the way he refers to Gage. He truly is a grumpy man, but at least he’s surrounded by good people.
“Well, I won’t hold you up any longer. I’m sure you have work to do,” he says, patting my shoulder gently before walking off.
I sigh and roll my neck, already bracing myself for a long day—physically and mentally.
Thankfully, the water issue keeps me anchored. Once I get into the office, I dive into every document connected to water usage, filling a separate page with notes as I hunt for answers.
Every instinct I have tells me something is wrong, and if I can find evidence in these reports and put it in front of Gage, he’ll have to see that I’m not imagining things. Maybe he’ll even be in my corner and loosen up a little.
Two hours later, I’m still buried in reports from the past few years, tracking how the numbers shift.
