Page 7 of Bolt To Me
Prairie Tension
The sun hung low and heavy over the Texas prairie, spilling its molten gold across the fields until every blade of grass looked dipped in light. Heat shimmered above the long stretch of pasture, that familiar, slow-burning summer kind that clung to skin and hummed in the air. Carli sat curled in the wide porch chair of the Hayes guesthouse, a chipped mason jar of sweet tea sweating in her palm, the ice long melted. She had been out here most of the day, her knees tucked under the soft cotton hem of her sundress, watching the wind move through the tall grass like waves on a green ocean. The breeze carried with it the faintest scent of mesquite and horse sweat from the nearby stables, along with the wild openness that belonged to the Texas countryside. It was a scent that could not exist anywhere else.
She hadn’t unpacked more than a handful of clothes, a toothbrush, and her curling iron, all of it still sitting like a half-formed decision on the edge of the dresser inside. Instead, she’d let the morning pass her by with a quiet stillness she wasn’t surehow to describe. The last two days had been an avalanche, white dress, running barefoot, Cory Hayes’ pickup truck, ditching her family, the crushing awareness of how fast a small town could turn one woman’s personal disaster into a story traded over pie at the diner. Today, in the lazy warmth of the porch, it was just… waiting. And that was almost worse.
She sipped from her glass and stared out at the horizon. She didn’t need to check her phone to know it was already crawling with questions and sideways comments. The women at the church quilting circle would have stopped their stitching to whisper about it. Someone’s Facebook post would have claimed to have “seen Carli Santana riding shotgun with Cory Hayes last night,” racking up likes and speculative comments. The theories would be flying fast: had she been seeing him for months? Did she leave Thomas at the altar for him? Had they run off together in some country-song romance? She imagined it like a swarm of relentless, buzzing, and impossible-to-outrun bees.
And she hadn’t seen Cory all day. Not a glimpse. Not even a shadow at the barn. That should have been a relief. It wasn’t. She lifted her glass again and froze halfway. Her breath caught before she realized she’d been holding it.
Out in the pasture, framed in the burnished light of late afternoon, Cory Hayes was astride a chestnut mare, riding at an easy, loping canter, the scene so perfectly framed it could’ve been ripped from the pages of a dog-eared romance novel. He was shirtless. The man was carved in temptation, sun-browned skin stretched over lean muscle that moved with the grace of someone who’d spent a lifetime in sync with horses and land. His bronzed skin caught the sun as though he’d been dipped in honey and heat. His faded jeans clung low on his hips, dust marking the seams; his boots were worn from work rather than fashion. The muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed in perfect sync with the rhythm of the horse beneath him, each effortlessmovement carrying the grace of someone who had been born into the saddle. The wind tossed his dark hair into unruly waves, and there was that grin, unhurried and sure of itself, as if this was just another afternoon for him and not a living, breathing distraction designed to drive her insane.
He looked like the photograph you weren’t supposed to look at too long because it would tell you something about yourself you weren’t ready to know. Carli’s jaw might have dropped. Just a little.
And the worst part? She remembered this version of Cory Hayes. Not exactly this, the bare chest of ranch-god perfection, but the boy behind it. The Cory Hayes who used to appear on her parents’ porch every weekend alongside his older brother Jackson, always grinning like he had some secret in his back pocket. He was her brother Luke’s best friend, the tall, charming one whose laughter carried through the kitchen window, who smelled faintly of cedar and dirt and the kind of trouble a small-town girl wasn’t supposed to go near. The boy who used to lean against his parents’ kitchen counter every Saturday afternoon, laughing with Luke as if they owned the world.
Back then, she was just Luke’s little sister, the one who was “off-limits” thanks to her brother’s unshakable decree. Luke, who was three years older, had a gift for making rules sound less like advice and more like commandments carved in stone, and Cory had abided by them. Mostly. Except for the way he looked at her when nobody else was paying attention, the way his gaze lingered for just a second too long, the teasing comments dropped casually but sharp enough to stick in her ribs. He had been the one to call her “Wildfire” the first time, when she’d been seventeen, hair a mess from the wind, cheeks flushed from an argument with Luke. “Careful,” he’d told her with a crooked grin, “you’re gonna set the whole county ablaze one day.”
That same crooked grin was on his face now when he turned the mare in a slow, lazy circle and spotted her on the porch. And then, God help her, he winked. She choked on her tea. It had been years since those summer afternoons, but the undercurrent between them hadn’t vanished. If anything, standing here now watching him, it had thickened into something heavier, more dangerous.
He eased the horse to a halt just beyond the porch, sliding down with the kind of practiced grace that made it seem like gravity itself bent to accommodate him. He patted the mare’s neck, murmuring something low and fond, before looping the reins over a fence post. Then he started toward her, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, every step lazy but deliberate, like he knew exactly what effect he was having and was in no particular hurry to stop it.
“Well, hey there,” he drawled when he reached the steps, his voice warm as a whiskey pour. “You settling in okay?”
She crossed her arms, trying hard not to let her gaze dip toward the dust-streaked muscles of his stomach. “You always parade around half-naked on horseback, or is this just for me?”
Cory’s smirk deepened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That depends. Is it working?”
She forced herself not to blush, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her anyway. “Maybe.”
He stepped up onto the porch until he was close enough that she could smell him: sun-warmed skin, leather, the faint metallic tang of sweat, and something that was just… Cory. A scent that made the air feel heavier, more complicated.
“Town’s buzzing,” he said easily, leaning against the porch railing as though he had all day. “Saw one of the diner girls out by the road earlier, trying to be subtle while she took pictures. Pretty sure we’re officially the scandal of the month.”
“Great,” Carli muttered, setting her glass down. “Exactly what I need. My life as tabloid fodder, Texas edition.”
Cory shrugged, a casual lift of the shoulders that made his stomach muscles ripple in a way that made her mouth go dry. “Well, everything is bigger in Texas.” He grinned. “They’ll get bored eventually,” he said with the kind of confidence only a man born in a small town could fake.
“Doubtful,” she said, shifting her tea in her hands. “Small towns have long memories and short attention spans. We’re the perfect storm.” She dragged her fingers through her hair and set her tea glass aside.
His eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion but in the kind of consideration that meant he was working through something. “You want me to cool things off? Keep my distance?”
The question hung there, stretching between them like an unspooled wire. “No,” she said after a moment, the word quiet but steady. “That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?”
She hesitated, gaze dropping to the porch floorboards. “I don’t know what this is, you and me. If it’s anything. I just left a man at the altar, Cory. I can’t be your next casual thing.” She harumphed. “Here I am saying that when I was the one who kissed you.”
His expression shifted, the easy humor sliding away to something more intent. “You think I’d treat you like that?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, meeting his eyes again. “You’re… you.”
He leaned a fraction closer, voice dropping. “I haven’t looked at another woman since you walked into that bar in a wedding dress. So maybe it’s not casual anymore.” The words struck harder than she expected, landing somewhere in the center of her chest. “And I didn’t exactly stop that kiss, now did I?” And then, as if he’d been holding it back for years, he said,“You know, Luke would’ve tanned my hide if he knew how bad I used to flirt with you.”
Her head snapped up. “What?”
Cory laughed. “You were his kid sister. Off-limits. The golden rule, according to Luke Santana.” He gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “But damn, Carli, you were always fire. I couldn’t help myself.”
She blinked at him, trying to reconcile the boy who used to wink at her over her mother’s cornbread with the man standing shirtless in front of her now. “You used to flirt with me?”
