Page 44 of Untruly With You

“I started it, knowing it was one of your childhood favorites. But I got distracted.”

Laine smiles, and warmth swells in my chest. We’ve been sharing a bed all week, but this is the first time she’s been awake before me. It’s the first time we’ve actually talked like this.

“I don’t have a lot of these moments,” Laine murmurs. “I’m usually so impulsive and fidgety and talkative. It’s nice to just…be still with you. It’seasierto be still when I’m with you.”

I shift onto my side, mirroring Laine's position, and prop my head up with my hand. “Well, then, let’s be still.” I’ve always known Laine to be a whirlwind of energy, constantly go-go-go. But in this quiet, stolen moment, I get to see a new side of her.

“As much as I like the everyday Laine, I like this side of you too,” I confess, my eyes tracing the soft contours of her face.

Laine ducks her head and studies her hands. “Yeah, well, don't get used to it. It doesn’t come around often.”

I chuckle, my heart pounding. "I like all sides of you, Laine. The exuberant one, the introspective one, and everything in between."

Her eyes meet mine again, and I'm struck by the sincerity in her expression. There's a connection between us that has been growing stronger with every passing day—a connection that's as undeniable as it is unspoken. I’ve felt drawn to Laine since the first day I met her, and for once, it feels like she might, justmight, feel a sliver of that.

She reaches out and touches my upper lip. “What’s that scar from?”

“Horse-riding accident,” I explain. “When I was twelve.” I reach my own hand out, gracing my fingertip across Laine’s matching scar. Her breath is warm against my palm. “And yours?”

“When I was fifteen, I had a six-week obsession withgymnastics. I thought I would be the next Nastia Liukin.”

“Naturally.”

“I gave it up to try my hand at ceramics.” She reaches out for my hand resting between us, tracing the ridges of my knuckles absentmindedly.

After a stretch of silence, Laine says, “Thank you for bringing me to West River.”

“Have you liked it?”

“More than I even expected. It’s beyond beautiful here. And I’ve loved spending time with your mom and Frankie.”

“How have the articles been coming?”

Laine’s expression drops a bit. “Okay, I think. I love interviewing everyone, seeing into their lives and living a bit of it through their stories. I just hope it all comes together in my writing. Today I’m going to be interviewing your dad. Hopefully that will give me the final few points I need for my article on modern-day cowboys.”

“I’m sure your articles will be great…but are you sure you want to interviewHank?”

“He’s the lifeblood of the ranch,” Laine says, resting her hand atop mine. “This legacy has gone all the way down the Davis line, starting with his great-grandfather. Your dad is the head-honcho, the big buckaroo, the classic cowboy.”

“Alright, enough alliteration. Just…just don’t let him hurt your feelings.”

Though I was supposedto be spending the day working with Bill and the foals again, I find myself sitting under the open window of the porch, eavesdropping on my father’s interview. I’ve never known him to be intentionally rude tosomeone he doesn’t know. On the other hand, I also feel like I don’t know my father at all these days. If hedoesstep out of line, like he had at dinner, I want to be there for Laine.

She spends nearly an hour at the start of it asking him softball questions. But slowly, she digs deeper.

“Did you always want to take over the ranch?”

Hank is quiet for a few long seconds. “No.”

Laine stays silent, allowing for him to expound, which he does after a gruff sigh.

My father’s voice is slower than I remember it. Some words blur together, like he has a mouthful of pudding. “I always knew Iwouldtake it over, but I didn’t want to.”

I feel a pinch in my chest.

“Why is that?” Laine asks.

“I knew I would take over Silver Ridge because it’s what every eldest son in the Davis family does. And for a long time, I was eager to follow suit.”

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