She hasn’t smiled like that in years. I know, because I’ve been watching her. Clocking her every movement and following her around campus like a creeper. When I couldn’t be there, I hired a private investigator to tail her.
I did what I did to protect her, all while trying to forget her.
She touches her brow to the soft part of Ketchup’s muzzle. “Does anyone ride her?”
“I do.” I push off the wall and prowl toward her. “Get her saddled. We’re taking her out.”
“Tonight?” A wide grin, and she spins around, kissing Ketchup’s snout. “Do you want to go for a ride? Yes, you do, don’t you?” She pivots toward the next stall and smiles at my stallion, her voice laced with affection. “How about you, Barnabe? You wanna go for a run?”
“He’s not going.” I grab a saddle pad from the tack room behind her.
She glances at Ketchup and narrows her eyes at me. “I’m not riding double.”
“You’re not riding alone. You haven’t been in the saddle in six years.” I hold out the pad. “It’s dark. The terrain’s changed. One misstep and you’ll be ass-end-over-tea-kettle. We’re riding double or not at all.”
“Fine.” She sniffs and snatches the pad. “But I have to sit—”
“Behind me. I know.”
As she saddles, cinches, and bridles the mare with practiced movements, her gaze turns inward. So many unanswered questions in that logical head of hers. Soon, they’ll start chipping away at her mask of indifference.
When Ketchup is ready, I swing into the saddle and hold out my hand. She grips it, and I sling her up behind me.
Riding double isn’t ideal for a guy my size. But Ketchup is strong and sturdy, and Conor weighs little more than a feather. We’ve done this countless times.
She wiggles back to the edge of the saddle, her hands hovering out at the sides like an uncomfortable newbie. But her unease has nothing to do with the horse. She doesn’t want to touch me.
“Grip my waist.” I urge Ketchup into a fast trot, forcing her to grab on.
Her handhold twitches with reluctance, each finger a deliberate, barely-there point of contact. Fuck if I don’t want to strip her down to her skin and remind her just how intimate the bond between us used to be.
We exit the stable and cross the field at a lazy pace. The full moon illuminates the landscape, embracing us in a pale glow.
The house sits off to the side, a couple of windows shining with light. Jarret and I live alone in that huge fucking estate, and I hate it. I miss the family dinners, the arguing and laughter, and the strum of guitars. Mostly, I miss Conor and Lorne.
“Where is everyone?” she asks.
I glance back and follow her line of sight to the bunkhouse in the distance. When she lived here, the long building served as a permanent home for the ranch hands. Now, it stands like a tombstone in the dark.
“Jarret and I fired everyone.” I breathe in, carefully choosing my words. “We replaced the employees with people we trust, and no one’s permitted to live on site.”
Because we don’t trust anyone enough to allow them to live here.
“What? Why would you do that?” She gasps. “What about Andy Longley?”
I know what she’s thinking. How could we fire the father of the man Lorne murdered? Truth is we did Andy Longley a favor. What we should’ve done was dump him tits up in the ravine like all the others.
“Remember what I said about the answers I give?”
Her fingers press against my waistband. “For each answer, there will be more questions.”
“Yes and following a single line of questioning will pull you in too deep, too fast. We’ll keep it at the surface for now.”
“Because you want leverage.” Irritation clips her voice.
“Ask a new question.”
“Why did you lie about Ketchup?”
I tilt my head back until the moon emerges from behind the rim of my hat, rhythmically rocking in sync with Ketchup’s gait. “I cut all ties that connected you to the ranch. Removed every reason for you to come back until it was safe.”
“Safe? Safe for whom? And what the hell does anyone need to be safe from?” At my silence, she blows out a breath. “More questions, I know. But you can’t just trickle bits and pieces. You’re not telling me anything.”
“I’ll tell you.” I guide Ketchup toward the small grove of trees at the edge of the east pasture. “But you have to do something for me.” At the tree line, I pull us to a stop. “Hop off.”
She dismounts, and I follow her down.
“What are we doing?” She looks around, probing the darkness.
“You know what that is?” I gesture at the trail leading into the grove. “It’s the road to adventure.”
“Oh, no.” She crosses her arms. “You know I can’t go in there.”