Page 122 of Captivated

Then Nate rolled away from him, and Zeeb knew the game had ended.

This dream was over, and reality was knocking on the cabin door.

He flung the sheets back. “Rise ‘n’ shine, cowboy. You’ve got packin’ to do. I’ll put the coffee on.”

He yearned to stay there, to touch, to gaze, but if he did that, he’d want more.

And he couldn’t have it.

Nate rubbed his eyes. “I don’t even remember closing my eyes. I think I fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow.”

Zeeb had stayed awake a while longer. He’d wanted to burn the experience into his memory.

The feeling of holding Nate close, with nothing to separate them.

He went downstairs, conscious of putting distance between him and Nate.

Get used to it. He’s going. That’s probably the last you’ll see of him.

That voice was back, not yelling this time, but speaking with quiet determination.

It doesn’t have to be that way, you know.

Nate dropped the bags in the trunk. Around him, the ranch was already getting into its routine. The bunkhouse was alive with activity as Butch oversaw the clean-up operation. Paul was in the paddock, exercising a couple of the horses.

Zeeb was nowhere to be seen.

He’d been quiet throughout breakfast, more so than usual. Not that Nate felt much like talking either. But Zeeb’s vanishing act as soon as he’d finished eating had stung a little.

I’m not ready to let go, but it seems Zeeb is.

He wasn’t going to think about that. It was time for some goodbyes.

Nate wandered into the stable, taking some apples with him that he’d liberated from the bunkhouse kitchen. Sorrel gave a soft whinny as Nate approached his stall. He pushed his nose into Nate’s hand, and Nate rested his forehead against the horse’s mane.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He spent a minute or two in silent communion, letting the space’s calm seep into him, all the way to his bones. Butterscotch made no attempt to peer out of his stall, and Nate wondered how long it would be before the pony felt safe enough to approach a human.

“Thought I might find you here.”

Nate jumped a little at the sound of Zeeb’s voice. “I thought for a minute one of the horses had finally decided to skip the act and prove they can talk after all.”

Zeeb came over to him, his faded jeans tight around thighs thick with muscle, his tanned forearms at his sides, the open collar of his shirt revealing a glimpse of the thick hair Nate knew lay beneath the cotton. He held something in his hand.

He cackled. “Wouldn’t put it past ’em. Smart creatures, horses. They know it’s better to keep quiet. That way they don’t miss a thing.” He held his hand out. “Got something for you.” He placed a light object in Nate’s palm.

Nate stared at the bracelet woven from thin pieces of leather. “For me?”

Zeeb nodded. “I made it for you. Sort of a friendship bracelet, I guess.” He paused. “Something to remember us by.”

Nate smiled, his throat tight. “What makes you think I could ever forget this place?”

Zeeb’s gaze met his. “And what makes you think I’ll let you? I got your number, don’t I? So I’m gonna stay in touch.”

“You say that now.” Nate’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “But people vanish.”

Zeeb squared his broad shoulders. “I don’t vanish.” Something low and certain in his voice steadied Nate for a moment. “You’ll call. I’ll answer. I’ll write. You’ll write back. It’s simple… unless we make it hard.”

In the ensuing silence, Nate’s gaze drifted to Zeeb’s hands, the same ones that had touched him the previous night, slow and sure. Then he pushed the memory aside. It felt too raw for the brightness of day.

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