Page 45 of The Hometown Heartbreaker

There was a moment, then, when neither of us moved. The barn felt suddenly much too small, the air too thin. Out in the paddock, the cattle lowed, and through the open barn doors, I could see the wind stirring the wild grass.

“If you’re worried about Angie,” Dawson said, “don’t. She’ll be fine. She’s got half the county lining up to take her out.”

I knew from experience, it wouldn’t matter if the entire state, the entire country was lined up to take me out, none of them were Dawson Lockhart. He was one of a kind, and once you fell for him, getting over him was impossible. I was proof of that.

Of course, I wasn’t going to share that with him.

Instead, a weak smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “I guess that makes it easier, knowing she won’t be home crying into a pint of ice cream.”

He mirrored my grin. “If she were, she’d never admit it.”

We both stood, staring at one another smiling, softly, and something loosened between us. It wasn’t forgiveness, not exactly, but maybe the next best thing. Acceptance for the past and silent acknowledgement of what we meant to each other, which caused me to panic. It scared me. Keeping Dawson at a safe distance was my only shot of leaving this town with my already broken heart still somewhat functional. Every second I spent in his presence was threatening that possibility.

I took in a shaky breath, arms wrapped tight around myself. “I don’t know why I care so much. It’s none of my business.”

His expression softened, and for a second, he looked almost… sad?

“I do,” he said quietly. “You always cared more about other people than yourself.”

My eyes stung, but I blinked it away and tried to sound casual. “And you always pretended you didn’t care about anything, including yourself.”

He smiled, a real one this time. “I’m still pretending.”

I wanted to reach for him, but I didn’t trust myself. Not when my defenses were this thin.

“So,” I said, forcing my voice to steady, “what now?”

Dawson shrugged. “You tell me, Sadie. You’re the one who took off for New York and never looked back.”

That stung, but I didn’t flinch. “I did what I had to.” I pressed my lips together. “At least what I thought I did.”

He nodded at that, but his gaze dropped to the floor. My heart tripped over itself at the way his lashes made a dark, uncertain fan on his cheek. It was nothing and everything, that gesture—one I’d seen a thousand times. The way he could fold himself into silence and let it stretch out until I was the one who couldn’t stand it.

I had no intention of caving first.

He cleared his throat. “You want to go for a ride?” His voice was gruff, as if the offer itself was an apology for everything he wasn’t about to say.

That came out of the blue. “A ride?”

He lifted a brow, the corner of his mouth tugging upward like he already knew I’d say yes. “Out to the north slope. The fence line’s been acting up, and you always had a knack for repairs.”

A snort escaped me. “I think you’re confusing me with your mom.”

He shook his head, a slow, deliberate movement. “Maybe, but Penny misses you so you should still come for a ride.”

I felt my cheeks heat, the memory of my first time on horseback with the Lockharts overwhelming for a moment.

When my mom was in hospice, I was having a really hard time. I was depressed, anxious, overwhelmed, devastated. But then I started hanging out at the ranch and helping Dawson in the stables. Penny Lane, named after Kate Hudson’s character in Almost Famous, was a new addition to the stable at the time. I’d instantly bonded with her and was able to ride her. The open field, the salt wind in my hair, a sky so blue it made my eyes water. It was the first time in my grief that I’d felt, even for a second, the possibility of something like joy.

I bit my lip, trying to keep my face neutral. “Horses don’t miss people.”

He shrugged, but his eyes were warm. “You’d be surprised.”

I tried to sound casual. “I don’t even have boots, Dawson.”

It was a lame excuse, I’d ridden in tennis shoes, like I wore now, more times than I’d ever ridden in boots. It was my self-preservation was grabbing at straws to try and protect my heart.

He blinked once, then gestured at the row of mismatched rubber boots in the mudroom cubbies. “Pick a size. Or go barefoot, if you want. Up to you.”