Page 39 of Bourbon and Proof

“I’m telling you, there were horses here. They were in the field when I pulled in. I saw a white one and a tan one with a black mane,” the louder one says, his voice getting closer.

As if my girls are going to understand what that means, I put my finger over my mouth. I grab a bucket, turning it over to get a boost onto Lady’s back. Without the saddle and stirrups, it’s nearly impossible without a boost of some kind. But my foot tips it just enough to slide along the concrete, making enough noise to alert the strangers of a presence.

“Hey! Stop!”

I don’t look back or take a second longer to move. I tightly squeeze my thighs, tap my heels twice, and say, “Let’s see you run.” They’ve never needed vocal prompts; they’re trained to move with the pressure of the body riding them, but we need tomove.

It’s not clear if those men are armed, so I don’t look back. I keep my body low and push to get to the edge of the tree line. Fergie whinnies, picking up the pace, and runs along in timewith Lady and me. I twist my wrists to hold on to the reins tighter. I haven’t ridden without a saddle in a long-ass time. We don’t stop or slow. Instead, I have them go faster. I’ll ease up when I hit the flat landscape and can see the peppering of black rickhouses with their white Foxx logos.

I’m squinting and out of breath when we finally hit shorter grass. The farthest rickhouse from the main property swipes by my right, and we reach the well-manicured landscaping of the only place that’s ever felt like home. With a still-pounding heart, I exhale the breath I’d been holding, seeing a familiar tall and broad body just getting into his sports car. But I don’t let myself feel relief just yet. I need to get to him. It makes no sense that even as he sees me, gets out of his car, and starts walking toward me that it’s not enough. I haven’t slowed; I just need to get there.

He stops and doesn’t flinch as I ride right for him. The second I pull to a stop and slide down Lady’s side, hitting the ground with both feet, he rushes to me, grabbing Lady’s reins. “What happened?”

I’m out of breath, practically shaking with adrenaline as I say, “There were men.”

He walks closer, slowly approaching like I’m a wild animal. I put my hands on my hips, and inhale, counting to three to lower my racing heart. I do it again as I turn around and try to coax back the tears that have started to pool. I’m not going to break over being spooked like this. I wait for another handful of counts before I turn back to see him pulling out his phone.

In a stern tone, he asks, “What men, Hadley?”

I just shake my head. “I don’t know.” Even though I’m here, I’m not asking him to fix this. I simply needed someplace safe, someone safe.

“Del, thanks for taking this,” he says with a smile into his phone, eyes on mine. “There were some unwanted visitors overat Finch & King stables. Can I have you or one of the guys go check it out for me?”

As he talks to Del, I lead the horses to the filled water troughs, unhooking them from each other and giving Lady a rub along her neck. I look down at my trembling hands; they’re burning and bright red from gripping onto her reins so tightly.

I hear Ace say more quietly, “She’s spooked, Del. I don’t know who they were, just that they didn’t belong there.”

As I’m rinsing off my hands in the utility sink along the exterior of his stables, he approaches my side, grabbing a towel for me.

“Tell me you’re alright,” he demands. I realize he must’ve hung up, because the only other sounds are the late afternoon bugs echoing and my horses drinking vigorously.

“I’d rather not lie to you,” I say honestly. But my anxiety peaks, and I start to ramble, “Nothing is alright. For an entire year, shit hasn’t been alright. Honestly, I’ll take sub-par. Even mediocre. Plenty of people live happily in mediocrity. I might have to be okay with that if Midnight Proof keeps tanking. Can’t quite call it a success if I’m getting lucky with any busy nights now.” I swallow past the lump in my throat, full-on spiraling. “My mental health lately feels like I’m playing Marco Polo in the Atlantic or the Pacific, whichever one is bigger and more ominous. So, yeah...” I release a heavy breath. “I’m the furthest thing from alright.”

He doesn’t say anything. He simply nods, turns away from me, and starts walking toward the house. Something about watching him walk away has my anxiety morphing into frustration. I take in his crisp white shirt tucked into those black suit pants with the faintest pinstripe as he plucks the jacket he dropped from the ground and tosses it over his shoulder, like he has no cares in the world. I don’t know why that fires me up so much, or why I’m starting to seethe. What the hellwas I expecting? He called the cops for me; what else do I want? Maybe it’s the after-effect of being scared and running. Or maybe I’ve just had enough of this chaotic excuse for a relationship that I’ve been so quick to accept in any way he’ll offer it to me.

“You know what?” I say to myself and the damn horses, because his long legs are now far out of earshot. “Fuck this.” Marching after him, I shout, “I don’t know what they wanted, but they were looking for me. It’s not just random drop-ins at my bar, Ace. Someone’s been watching me too; maybe the same guys, who knows, but they sent a fucking picture message of ME eating at Hooch’s the other day to spook me.” I raise my arms, defeated. “And, it’s working.” I try to make up the distance with long strides, and then pick up my pace so I can cut in front of him. As soon as I do, he stops. The look on his face isn’t one that I expect—he’s angry. “What? Are you mad at me that I came here?—”

But he cuts me off, dropping his jacket again, his hands moving to my waist as he guides me back so that I’m pinned to the large oak tree behind me. Any words I planned to say escape me on a gasp as he looks at my mouth.

“You’re going to say yes,” he says in his deep, low voice—the sound of it feeling like a front-row seat to pure masculinity and self-confidence at its very finest. “You’re going to say yes, Hadley. But then we’re going to play it my way.”

I can’t help the laugh that pulls out of me, but his face doesn’t break into a smile. His grip along my waist pulses as I search the grays and blues in his eyes, the smell of oak and orange easing some part of me. His mouth—oh hell, I’ve fantasized about all the things this man could say and do to me with his mouth. All of it tamps the fire that was churning in my gut, and instead, it’s being replaced with a warm and eager tension. The palpableenergy that always seems to surface between us. “Okay,” I breathe out. “What am I saying yes to?”

He glances down at my mouth again, before his eyes move back to mine, and releases a small hum, like I’ve pleased him. “Marrying me.”

Chapter 16

Ace

“You’re serious?”she asks, trying to digest what’s changed.

As she takes a stuttered breath, her chest heaves, drawing my attention lower. Her damp T-shirt molds to her curves, the words written across it making me glance down to her cut-off jean shorts, wondering if she, in fact, isn’t wearing any panties right now.

“Nice shirt.And yes, I’m serious,” I say, taking a step back and dragging my fingers from the front of my hair to the back, resting my palms on my neck.

Her tongue dips out, wetting her lower lip—the move hitting me square in the dick. Kissing her replays during every quiet moment I have. And even when I’m engaged in something that requires my full attention, it’s a challenge not to let my mind wander back to one of the few moments that quite simply knocked me sideways.

The smile pulling at her mouth now is a helluva lot better than when she came riding up here. Grabbing her hand, I leadher toward the house. I’m making this up as I go along. There hasn’t been enough time to think through any of it properly, but we’re going to need to define clear lines that each of us will have to stay behind if this is going to work. Her hand pulses in mine, holding tighter as we walk up the porch stairs. I lead us to the kitchen, looking down the hallway toward Griz’s wing as we pass. The doors are open, which usually means he isn’t here.

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