Page 83 of Awaiting the Storm
And I’m the only one who seems to care.
I excuse myself for a minute and head to the men’s room. Splash cold water on my face. Grip the sink.
This isn’t just business to me anymore; it is personal, and that scares the hell out of me.
I came to Wildhaven with a goal—to transform Ironhorse Ranch into a leading horse ranch and build a home for myself and my mother. My focus was singular, and my plan was clear.
But I hadn’t planned on Maitland Storm.
When she entered the picture, everything changed. Somewhere between tequila shots and stolen dances, amid her cautious smile and the fierce glint in her eye, I found myself shifting from thinking like a businessman to simply thinking like a man.
I don’t want to hurt her.
And now, whether it’s my fault or not, this is going to hurt.
By the time I return to the table, Holland’s ordered dessert for us all, and he’s halfway through explaining the layout for the training complex.Stanhope and Giles are listening intently. I slip back into my seat and grab the bottle to pour myself another drink.
For the rest of the evening, I keep my thoughts to myself. I allow Holland to outline the new breeding contracts and the partnership with the syndicate in Kentucky, and Stanhope explains the new branding strategy his firm in New York will implement. It’s all impressive.
Game-changing.
After dessert—bourbon pecan pie—Stanhope makes his exit, heading off to catch a late-night flight back to JFK. Giles lingers a little longer, swapping stories with Holland about races and foals and pasture management.
When he finally stands to go, he claps me on the shoulder. “I’d better go. I’ve got to be at Wildhaven Storm bright and early. I’ll wait for word from you before I tender my resignation.”
I shake his hand. “I appreciate that.”
I’m still in the kitchen, stacking dishes beside the sink, when I glance at my phone again.
Nothing.
Just the same silence that’s been staring back at me since supper ended twenty minutes ago.
Caison said he’d text. Said he was sorry for canceling. Something urgent came up. We rescheduled for Wednesday—two whole days from now—but it still stings. I was excited for tonight. Maybe too much. I spent extra time on my hair this morning, picked a shirt that shows just a little cleavage, and even put on the sexy underwear. Just for him.
Stupid.
Ugh, I’ve never been this girl. The one who worries about what she wears or checks her phone every five minutes, looking for a text from a guy. It’s like I’ve morphed into Charli overnight.
“You keep checking that thing like whatever you’re looking for is going to miraculously appear. It will chime if you get a text, you know. Stop stressing,” Charli says beside me as she rinses a plate.
“I’m not,” I lie. “I’m just checking to see if Shelby texted to let us know that they’ve left Cheyenne.”
Charli snorts. “You mean the Shelby who texted the group chat over an hour ago with pictures of her in Cabe’s truck, holding a check and her new ribbon? That Shelby?”
I sigh and roll my eyes, setting a dish down a little too hard. “Fine. I’m waiting to hear from Caison.”
Charli grins. “That’s what I thought.”
I don’t have the energy to banter. Disappointment sits heavy in my chest, even though I try to convince myself otherwise. It’s not like we had concrete plans. We were just going for a ride. It was just something I waslooking forward to. And I haven’t looked forward to much of anything the last year, so the feeling is foreign, and I don’t know what to do with it.
I’m drying my hands when my phone starts to ring.
Finally.
My heart kicks up, and my damn stomach flutters as I grab it from the counter, expecting to see Caison’s name.
Only it’s not.
