Page 35 of Wild Then Wed
The thought hits me like a stray spark to dry grass. Dangerous. Reckless.
Then she’s lowering her hand, fixing me with that unimpressed glare of hers, and the moment snaps like a twig underfoot.
Shit.
I drag my gaze back up to her eyes, clearing my throat. “Right. Guess I’ll see you then.”
She gives me a sarcastic little salute. “Oh, joy. Can’t wait.”
I watch as she slides into the car, the engine coughing to life. The Bug fishtails slightly as she pulls out, and I don’t move until the yellow disappears into the gray.
That’s when it hits me.
Four years. Ten months. Seven days.
That’s how long it’s been since I noticed a woman’s lips. Reallynoticedthem—the shape of them, the way they move when she talks, the way their chapstick smells.
I didn’t justnoticeWren’s, though. I imagined catching that snowflake with my own mouth. Not that I’d actually do it, but the thought flickered through my mind before I could stop it.
That’s what tightens my chest as I stand here in the parking lot, snow melting in my hair, sliding down my neck. Not guilt, exactly. More like shock at my own capacity to notice at all.
For nearly five years, that part of me has been dormant. Buried with Julia. I’d convinced myself it was gone forever.
Turns out, it was just sleeping. And today, for one fleeting second, it woke up.
And Christ, if that doesn’t scare the shit out of me.
Chapter 7
WREN
There are better ways to earn a paycheck than freezing your ass off in a round pen at 6:30 a.m.
But Vaughn Hart paid me more for one session than most people do for a weeks’ worth, so here I am—half-frozen, under-caffeinated, and mildly pissed that I had to rearrange my entire schedule just to get here.
The indoor pen is quiet. I walk the perimeter, checking the footing. It’s packed but not too slick. Good. Less risk of a slip if he bolts again.
Behind me, the side door creaks open and Dottie walks in, shaking snow from her hat like a golden retriever. She’s wearing a smile too big for this early in the day.
“Morning!” she says, like it’s not still basically nighttime.
I nod, polite. “Morning.”
“You ready for today’s session?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
She chuckles, coming to lean on the rail. “What’s the plan?”
I shrug off my coat and glance toward the stall where they’ve got him waiting. “Same thing as yesterday. Establish a baseline. Read his body language. See if he remembers anything from last time.”
Dottie nods, thoughtful. “You gonna get hands on today?”
“Not unless he tells me he’s ready.”
That’s the thing about horses like this one. The second you try to rush, you lose. So I’ll wait. I’ll move slow. I’ll earn it, inch by inch.
The door creaks open again, letting in a gust of frigid air and a flash of blonde hair. A girl walks in—young, probably twenty if that. Her scarf is pulled up past her nose, cheeks flushed from the cold, and her hair spills down her back in loose waves that look a little too perfect for ranch work.
