“How do I look?” she asked, not quite meeting my eyes as she lifted her chin and twisted left, then right to model the hat.
Like I was wrong. Like maybe youdobelong here.
“Still like a princess,” I teased, letting my eyes drag over her from the hat to the dust on her jeans and boots. “But that hat’ll start to look less like a crown eventually.” I sent her an encouraging smile. “Inside of every princess is a cowboy, waiting to come…” and—fuck me, that sounded so much better in my head— “...out.”
Her mouth curved, and that soft laugh of hers slipped out—low and surprised, like she didn’t expect to like what I said but couldn’t help it.
I shifted in the saddle, suddenly way too aware of how close we were. “Come on,” I muttered, turning Cash toward the pasture.
We rode out together, the open fields stretching wide before us. The grass was sun-bleached and windblown, dotted with wildflowers rippling like water beneath a wide, cloudless sky. The breeze carried the faint scent of something wild and sweet. I honestly couldn’t have asked for a better day. We didn’t talk much, just the occasional comment about a deer in the distance or a hawk cutting across the sky, but I didn’t mind because it wasn’t awkward. It was…comfortable.
Eventually, the gentle trickle of water broke through the silence. We rode up to the creek bed and dismounted.
“Why don’t you pick a spot to sit? I’ll tie the horses,” I said.
She wandered over and settled beneath an old oak tree while I got Cash and Dolly secured. A few minutes later, I dropped down beside her, took off my hat, and raked a hand through my hair. Andi did the same, running her fingers through thick strands that looked even better messy.
“Well, this is nice,” I said, resting my arms over my knees. I plucked a wildflower from the patch beside me and spun it absently between my fingers.
“It’s really peaceful here,” she said.
A long stretch of quiet followed, but it wasn’t the comfortable silence we’d rode here in. This one felt…expectant. Like itneededto be filled. And I knew what I wanted to say to fill it, knew the question I’d been skirting around for over a week now:Who the hell are you really, Andi Ford?
Because for all the time we’d spent together lately, Istilldidn’t know. Not really. She was sunshine one minute, shadow the next. Said just enough to make you feel like she was opening up, but never enough to really let you in. And yet here I was, sitting next to her by the creek like I didn’t have a dozen reasons to keep my distance. Like I didn’t already feel the ground shifting beneath me.
I turned the wildflower between my fingers and let the silence stretch a little longer. She glanced over at me, and something in her face softened.
Yeah. I was in trouble.
“So,” I said finally, keeping my voice even, “you ever gonna tell me who you really are?”
She blinked, head turning toward me fast like she hadn’t expected the question—or maybe how blunt it sounded coming out.
“I mean, I know your name,” I went on, softening some. “Know you’re from the city, that you’ve got a lead foot when you’re fleeing for your life, and that you’ve got the basics of saddling a horse down, give or take a loose cinch.”
I smiled a little at that, but she didn’t.
“But you’ve been here for how long now? And I still don’t knowyou.” I nudged her knee with the back of my hand.
She looked away, jaw tightening just enough to let me know I’d hit something.
“Why does it matter so much to you?” she asked after a beat, voice quiet but not exactly gentle. “Why doyouget to know everything when I barely know you?”
“I never said I needed to knoweverything,” I countered. “But something would be nice. Anything real.”
She picked at a blade of grass, not looking at me.
“What does it change?” she asked, shrugging. “I’m not staying, and you know that.”
That did something to my chest. A little twist I wasn’t ready for.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding slowly. “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t started giving a damn anyway.”
The words came out too easy. Too honest. And maybe they were supposed to be a line. Maybe theystartedthat way. Something she’d believe. Something I could use to finally get the answers I was after. But watching the way she looked at me now—eyes wide and unguarded, like she hadn’t expected me to admit it out loud—I wasn’t so sure anymore what I meant by it.
I leaned back on one arm, giving her space but not backing off.
“You came here out of nowhere, you got under my skin faster than I wanted you to, and now you’re just here. Every day. And if you’re leaving soon…” I exhaled hard through my nose. “I guess I’d like to know what I’ll be missing.”
