Page 92 of Sunshine

“Thatta boy,” Wells murmurs, pulling me back into the moment. I turn my gaze back to him and find the mustang has stopped bucking. Wells runs a hand down the slope of his neck, giving him tender affection in exchange for his trust, and my heart thrums at witnessing such a beautiful moment.

As if Wells can read my thoughts, he smiles. “He gave me a solid run for my money,” he jests, shaking his head.

“Good,” I say. “You need the practice.” It’s been a few months since Wells competed, but there’s a handful of rodeos he’s scheduled for in November and December. We decided that I’d go with him, travel from one state to another, exploring landmarks along the way. I can’t wait.

Wells laughs. “You in a good place for us to head back?”

I nod, closing my textbook and grabbing my notebook and highlighters spread around the flannel blanket. I tuck it all away in my backpack and amble toward Champ and Lady who rest in the shade. “Hey boy,” I say softly as I stroke Champ’s nose. “You ready to go home?” His ears flutter as he presses his mouth to my shoulder, and I can’t help but giggle.

Wells comes up behind me in his bright-yellow waders and wraps his arms around my middle. “Hey!” I squeal as the back of my jeans soak from the water dripping down his legs. To add insult to injury, the new horse shakes the water off his body and sprays us all. Lady whinnies, and Wells chuckles.

He presses a kiss to the curve between my neck and shoulder. “Nothing wrong with getting you a little wet, is there?”

My cheeks heat. “Definitely not.”

We make the long ride home, the black horse trailing behind Lady, tethered by the lead rope Wells holds with Champ and me taking up the back. Once the narrow trail through the denser part of the ranch opens up, I move to ride alongside Wells. We fall into an easy rhythm as the ranch spreads out around us, vast and majestic. I’m thankful I get to experience this every day—there’s no denying it feels like home. And Wells . . . What we share together goes beyond words—it’s a language all on its own.

When I look at him, I find him alreadywatching me with a heady mix of adoration and pride that nearly knocks me off the saddle. “What?” I ask, my throat squeezing around the word.

His mouth pulls up, and it’s devastating. “You only smile like that when you’re on a horse,” he says simply.

No, I think to myself.I smile like this because I’m withyou.

Later that night,Wells and I make dinner together in the kitchen of our little cabin. I officially moved in at the end of summer after spending my first two months home with Annie during her break from school. It wasn’t easy to navigate being back in my mother’s house while things between us were still so broken, but Annie’s fourteen and about to start high school. I know how important these years with her are, and I want to be a part of them as much as possible.

It’s what led me to finally sit my mother down one night after Annie had gone to bed, to tell her what I had with Wells was serious and important to me. She didn’t take it well, but something about the conversation was . . . different. I’m not sure if it was the confidence I’d been gaining through therapy or the clarity in my feelings for Wells, but even though she disagreed with me and insisted it was a phase, I could tell she was at least listening.

It was a start.

We’ve had many more conversations since then, especially later in the summer when I told her I was moving in with Wells. Logistically, it meant I’d be moving to Bennett Ranch, and that wasn’t an easy conversation—but yet again, it felt like she really listened and tried to understand. I think she’s waiting for theother shoe to drop, for me to have my heart broken by Wells in the way she was hurt by my biological father. But I know my story is different from hers, and someday she’ll know it, too.

As much as the pain and grief of losing Jason shaped me, Wells changes the shape of me, too. He blurs all of my carefully drawn lines, and I’ve spent so much time trying to find the edges of them, to pinpoint the exact place where one of us ends and the other begins so that I can maintain some semblance of control. But now, as his eyes catch mine beneath the dim kitchen light of the cabin and an easy smile lifts from his beautiful mouth, it’s so easy to admit the truth: this might be messy, but it’sreal.

It’s realer than anything I’ve ever known, and how lucky am I to have a new set of firsts with him? A first kiss stolen in his secret place; the first dance inourcabin after I moved in, beneath the moonlight as the cicadas sang; a first leap into the unknown with the man who’s loved me for so damn long.

I don’t regret anything that’s happened to get me here, my flower-stitched boots rooted firmly on the soil of this ranch, because I never knew how much I’d been missing until he showed me. Until I was reminded of the passion and delicious chaos of newness. I can’t get enough of him. Of the temptation of him, my desperate want for him.

Maybe I’m a cowboy like him, meant to roam the world, to take from it just as much as I give. To live through the courage and pain of losing, through the glory of getting things right.

“What?” I ask as I watch his smile stretch.

He shakes his head, eyes sparking. “You.”

It’s the weight of everything we’ve been through, nestled inside a single word. My skin warms as he takes a step closer, hisdetermination shining. He reaches to snake a large palm around my neck, tugging me to him for a long, slow kiss.

I lick into his mouth and he groans, pinning me to the edge of the counter with his hips. He’s hard, and desire flares boldly inside me. “You’ll burn the potatoes,” I say, and I kiss him again.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs. “I’m going to fuck you right here, Layla.” He looks down at my neck, at his fingers wrapped around the column of my throat, and his jaw rolls. “I’m going to fuck you until you scream and then I’m probably going to fuck you again because I already know I won’t be able to stop.” His dark eyes dart up to mine, his pupils blown with hunger. “That work for you?”

Even after months of living together, it’s always like this with him: the desperation of his need. I arch into him as he slips a hand beneath my shirt, fingers spreading wide over my ribs.

“Promise me that this is forever,” I whisper against his mouth. I don’t think I could ever survive the loss of Wells—his fingerprints cover my heart and his fire burns in my soul.

He looks at me like I’m the only thing he’s ever loved, and it nearly brings me to my knees.

Having you like this . . . it’s like touching the sunrise.

“I promise, sunshine. I’m yours forever.”

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