Page 14 of Promised Cowboy
Wyatt and Rachel are down for the night. Clara’s sleeping in her bassinet. Everything is calm, soft, still.
Everything but me.
I’ve tried distraction. I cleaned the kitchen. Folded a week’s worth of laundry that wasn’t mine. Scrolled through job listings back in the city that all looked identical. Nothing helped.
Because the truth won’t shut up in my head.
I want him.
Not as a maybe. Not as a memory.
As a man. Asmine.
I close my eyes and press the rim of the mug to my lips, though I don’t drink. My heart’s been beating too fast for hours, ever since I left his house the night before, ever since I woke up with the echo of his kiss still imprinted on my mouth.
That kiss shook me.
I didn’t expect it to feel likeeverything.
And now I’m sitting here, in the quiet of my childhood home, pretending I can go on like I’m unaffected. Like I’m here to “help with the baby” and “figure things out.” But it’s all a lie I’m tired of holding up.
I know exactly what I want.
I just haven’t been brave enough to reach for it.
Until now.
I stand and pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders, heart racing even before I step back into the house. I leave the mug in the sink. Grab my keys from the counter.
No plan.
No excuses.
Just this low, burning need that’s been sitting inside me since I got back to Shadowbrook — and the man who’s been feeding it every time he looks at me like I already belong to him.
I don’t even hesitate when I reach my truck.
I start it. Turn onto the gravel road. Head toward Silver Creek like I’m on a string.
* * *
The house is quiet when I pull up. A soft porch light glows above the door, casting a golden halo on the rain-slick steps. His truck is here. The rest of the ranch is asleep.
But I know he’s awake.
Somehow, I know.
I sit in the truck for half a second, gripping the steering wheel, trying to calm the tremble in my chest.
And then I get out.
The air smells like rain and cedar and summer. I walk up the porch steps slowly, heart pounding with every one.
I knock once, softly.
I barely finish lowering my hand when the door opens.
He’s standing there barefoot in jeans and a T-shirt, hair damp like he just stepped out of the shower. His eyes land on me and something shifts in them — that quiet intensity I’ve always seen in Colton, but never felt turned on me quite like this.
