Page 8 of Breathless

When he talks like this, I can almost forget what happened at Christmastime.

Like someone slams the brakes, my heart lurches at thememory.

I want to ask him why he said the things he did. Why he cleaved my heart in two. But if I do, that would prove his point—that I’m clingy and have no life—and I still have a little pride left that prevents me from laying it all out there, especially with Patrick hanging on our every word. Granted, I was never meant to overhear Logan’s conversation on the River Walk, but that doesn’t make it hurtless.

Yes, I want to apologize to Logan for not communicating with him more. I never meant for him to worry. At the time, I wondered if he’d even care, but now I know those were my emotions talking. I was so hurt, and that pain blinded me from the obvious—that he cares… as a friend. A friend who needsspace.

Grim, still feeling like someone kicked my puppy, I hold out as long as I can before I start sneaking glances at him as hedrives.

I take in his rugged good looks. His messy hair that dangles over his eyes and makes him roguishly flirty. That perfect nose and square jaw that’s lightly dusted with stubble. Those sexy lips I’ve longed to feel against my skin. His tanned forearms roped inmuscle.

I could go on and on, but enumerating his handsome physical attributes is only making thisworse.

Pulling up to the ranch brings an unexpected smile to my face. Even the old wooden sign makes me happy: Carter Cutting Horses, est.1960.

Logan and his brother raise, train, and compete champion cutters, horses that are used alongside cattle to “cut” one from the herd if it’s injured. They inherited the business from their father when he passed away several years ago. Ethan was graduating from college at the time, and Logan was a senior in highschool.

I slide out of the truck and stare at the beautiful house that sits surrounded by acres and acres of farmland and fenced-off areas forhorses.

Although I’ve always said I live next door to the Carters, it’s more like two lots over, and since their property is ginormous, it’s a good twenty-minute walk. My grandmother’s house looks more like a shack compared to this ranch, but Bev and her family never treated me like a charity case. Even though Iwas.

Logan motions toward the barn as we head up the walkway. “Wanna ride Cinnamon Pie some time? She missesyou.”

The mention of my favorite horse banishes the gloom that had settled over me on the drive here. “Heck, yes, Ido.”

Patrick laughs along the other side of me and tosses his arm over my shoulder. “I love how you don’t curse. It’s socute.”

What every girl wants to hear. How cute I am. Pint-sized. Adorable. The little sister they alwayswanted.

I roll my eyes and shove his arm off me. “You won’t think I’m so cute if I knee you in theballs.”

The boys snort, and I’m chuckling when Logan pulls me to his chest, so that my back rests against him. I’m expecting another chokehold, because somewhere in that dense head of his, he thinks I’m his peanut-sized MMA partner, but he keeps his forearm gently pressed to my collarbone. Almost like… like he’s holdingme.

I will myself to take a deep breath in hopes it’ll stop my heart from pounding out of mybody.

“See.Mybest friend.” Logan’s voice, low and grumbling in my ear, makes goosebumps break out on myskin.

For a moment, I’m so confused how this could be the same person who said those things about me. If he needs space, why is he being so affectionate? Did he really miss me that much? Did he have a change ofheart?

Like this, it’s easy to appreciate his incredible physique and strength. Against me, his stomach flexes, and I don’t have to strain my imagination to envision that crazy eight-pack. Logan is a lean, athleticmachine.

And so dangsexy.

I want to close my eyes and relish being in his arms, but I’m already too close to purring and rubbing against his leg like a straycat.

Coughing, I extract myself from Logan and Patrick’s pissing contest and head into thehouse.

He’s just taunting Patrick. That didn’t mean anything. It neverdoes.

The moment I’m inside, Mila sees me from the kitchen and screams. Ethan’s seven-year-old daughter races toward me and jumps into my arms, nearly sending both of us hurtling to thefloor.

“I missed yousooomuch, Joey!” she squeals in myear.

“Missed you too,munchkin.”

Another set of arms wrap around my waist, and Cody, Mila’s little brother, grins up atme.

“Dude. You’re covered inchocolate.”

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