Page 22 of Craving Her Cowboy
Then he opened the door and walked out, not looking back.
***
He drove into Ironhaven with the windows down, the cold slapping his face awake. The distance from the ranch to town was nothing—twelve minutes if you didn’t get stuck behind a tractor, seven if you took the county road and pushed the speed. He took the county road, left hand tight on the wheel, right resting at twelve o’clock, knuckles white.
He hit the main drag of Ironhaven, which was two blocks long and lined with buildings that hadn’t seen paint in a decade. The Hen House bar was shuttered, but someone had propped open the back door and a muffled drum beat rattled the alley. Down the street, the post office had a fresh flag up, someone still cared about that at least.
He parked outside the vet clinic, careful to stay out of the no-parking zone even though nobody ever enforced it. The lotwas empty except for a battered Ford with government plates and a Prius with a cracked windshield. He cut the engine and let the silence flood the cab.
He sat there, breathing through his nose, hands still wrapped around the wheel. The urge to drive away was strong, but he’d been running long enough to know it would only buy him another day, maybe two. He leaned his head back, eyes closed, and counted to five. He let the air fill his lungs, then let it go.
He grabbed the door handle, paused, then opened it. The slam sounded like a gunshot in the empty lot.
The glass front of the clinic was clean but smudged at what would be the perfect height for a dog. He could see through to the reception area, a single lamp on the desk, papers stacked in organized chaos. He scanned for signs of life, saw no one, then caught movement in the back paddock.
Asha.
She was down on one knee, hands on the face of a bay gelding, speaking into its ear. The horse flicked an ear, then leaned into her touch. She wore a red flannel over a plain black tee, sleeves rolled to the elbows, jeans already streaked with mud at the knees. The angle was off, but Gavin could tell she was tired—her shoulders sloped, head bent, like the weight of the world sat right there.
He stayed at the window, watching. He felt like an intruder, or a spy, but didn’t move. She shifted her position, said something else to the horse, then pulled a syringe from her pocket and emptied it with a practiced flick. The horse didn’t even twitch. She stroked the animal once, then let herself rest against its neck for a second longer than necessary.
She stood, wiped her hands on a rag, then turned toward the office. Her eyes met his through the glass, the look direct, unblinking. She didn’t move.
He pushed open the front door, the bell above it ringing once, sharp. The reception area was cold and smelled of bleach and disinfectant, but not in a hospital way. He walked straight through the waiting area, boots loud on the tile. Asha watched him approach, arms folded. She didn’t look angry or nervous, just there. Like the whole town had gone silent except for her and the horse.
They stood on either side of the wire mesh, five feet apart, nothing between them but a gate and the day.
She spoke first. “How did you know I was here?”
He tried to smile, failed. “I went looking for you this morning.”
She nodded. The pause sat there, growing.
“I saw your name in the message cabin,” he said, voice raw.
She shrugged, one-shoulder. “You’re supposed to leave something behind before you leave.”
He wanted to tell her he couldn’t stop thinking about her, that he didn’t want her to leave him. But the words caught. He watched her hands, the way her fingers curled and uncurled around the rag.
He tried again. “I was a shit to you. Worse than that.”
She snorted. “You were yourself, I guess. You don’t owe me anything.”
He flinched at that, but only a little.
“You leaving?” he asked, eyes on hers.
A couple of seconds passed. “I’m thinking about it. Got a job offer in Colorado.”
He nodded, once. The wind picked up and rattled the gutters. “You going to take it?”
She looked over his shoulder, out at the street, then back at him. “I haven’t decided.”
The horse butted her arm, looking for more attention. She turned, patted its face, and Gavin watched the softness in her movements. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet.
“Why are you here, Gavin?”
He paused, his eyes focused on her face. “Because I didn’t want to lose my chance to say it.”
