Page 51 of Cowboy Dragon's Rose

Somewhere in the distance, I hear cows. Probably judging me.

For a while, we just ride in silence.

But it’s not awkward.

It’s peaceful.

Zeke rides beside me, one hand loosely holding the reins, the other resting on his thigh.

Every now and then, he glances over—just a flick of his eyes—but each time, I feel it like a touch.

Eventually, I can’t take it anymore.

“So, you do this often?” I ask.

He grunts.

“Ride? Every day. I work on a ranch,” he says, canting his head as he looks at me curiously.

“Yeah, but you’re not working today, are you?” I ask, casting a glance his way as our horses walk side by side.

Zeke looks over at me, a slow grin curving his mouth in a way that makes my stomach flutter. “No. I guess I’m not.”

“So…” I smile, shifting in the saddle, trying to play it cool. “What are you thinking about right now?”

His grin fades—just a little.

His jaw tightens, the muscle flexing beneath the stubble, and for a second, I think he won’t answer.

Then his voice drops, low and rough, like he’s pulling the words from some place deep.

“Right now? I’m trying to remember why I ever thought it was smart to keep my distance from you.”

Oh.

Oh damn.

I stare straight ahead, trying to remember how to breathe, my heart doing its best impression of a hummingbird trapped in my chest.

“That so?” I ask, pretending to be casual, like my hands aren’t slick with sweat and every nerve ending in my body isn’t on high alert.

“Yeah,” he says, voice dipping into something deeper, darker. “You don’t make it easy.”

“Good.”

The word slips out before I can second-guess it. And it hangs there between us like an open door I just stepped through.

He chuckles, quiet and warm and just a little dangerous. It slides over my skin like smoke and makes me want to lean into him.

I shift again, trying to calm the riot in my chest. “This place is beautiful,” I say, more to ground myself than anything.

“That it is,” he agrees, the corners of his mouth still curled.

“You know, I had no idea New Jersey had big ranches like this.”

“Oh, there are a few,” he says. “This is probably more farm than ranch, technically. But with the dairy and the animals and everything else we’ve got going on, it fits.”

“It’s peaceful,” I murmur.

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