Page 110 of My Cowboy Trouble
"Where are we going?" she asks as I turn onto the dirt road that leads to the north pasture.
"You'll see."
The drive gives me time to think, which is probably a mistake. I can talk up a blue streak, but this emotional stuff? That’s where I fall flat on my face. Give me a fence to fix or cattle to move, and I'm your man. A pretty woman to flirt with? I’m all over that shit. But trying to explain feelings? I'd rather wrestle a bull.
When we reach the section of fence we repaired together two weeks ago, I park the truck and get out, waiting for her to follow. She does, slowly, suspicion written all over her face.
"The fence?" she asks. “What about it?”
"Yeah. The fence?"
"What’s up?" she asks with a deep sigh, hands on hips.
It’s clear her patience is thin, and getting thinner by the moment.
This is it. The moment where I either find the right words or screw things up worse than they already are. I walk over to the corner post, the one that gave us so much trouble. The one where we argued about alignment and technique and ended up laughing until we couldn't breathe.
"Look," I say, pointing to a spot about shoulder height.
She looks, and I see the moment she spots it. The initials carved into the wood: A.H. &K.R. surrounded by something that's supposed to be a heart but looks more like a lumpy potato.
"When did you?—"
"Day after we finished the repair. Came back out here with a knife and spent an hour carving like some dumbass lovesick teenager." I run my thumb over the letters, still rough under my touch. "Seemed like the thing to do."
She stares at the carving like it might disappear. "Why?"
"Because." I shrug, because explaining feelings isn't exactly my strong suit. "Wanted to mark it, I guess. This place. This moment."
"What moment?"
"When I realized you weren't just passing through. When I figured out that watching you succeed mattered more to me than being right about you failing."
She's quiet for a long moment, just staring at our initials carved into the wood. "You carved our names like we're in high school."
"Yeah."
"That's..." She looks at me, and there's something different in her expression. Something that might be amusement. "That's really stupid, Asher."
"I know."
"And corny. And juvenile. And kind of sweet."
"Don't tell anyone."
She laughs, actually laughs, and the sound goesstraight through me. "I’m telling everyone in town. Maybe I’ll even take bets.”
"Good. You should. I deserve that."
"There goes your reputation." She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo. "This will put a serious dent in it. I can see it now, Clara Mae screeching up in her truck, stirring up all kinds of dust, both literal and figurative."
"Worth it."
"Is it?"
Instead of answering with more words I'll probably screw up, I show her. My hands frame her face, and I kiss her before she can think too hard about it. It's not smooth or practiced, I'm too wound up for that, but it's honest. Everything I can't say poured into the connection between us.
For a moment, she's stiff against me. Resistant. But then she melts, her hands in my shirt, pulling me closer.
