Page 28 of Make Me Yours
“She remembers you,” I said.
“Yeah, looks like she does.” His voice was warm in that quiet, even way of his. He tipped his head toward the barn. “Grace is saddled. We can load up so we can get to the lake before lunchtime.”
“Perfect,” I said, exhaling quietly.
We crossed the yard together, my basket bouncing lightly against my hip. The ground was still soft from the spring thaw—pocked with hoofprints and tire tracks, and somewhere in the tree line a hawk called, sharp against the wide sky. I handed thebasket over—heavier than it looked—and our fingers brushed. Just a quick touch, but it sent a little spark rushing through me.
“You okay?” he asked, eyes steady on mine.
“Me? Yeah. Totally fine.” My laugh sounded high and silly. “Just trying not to overthink riding behind you.”
“Not much to it,” he said. “You hang on, and I try not to do anything stupid.”
“That's your official ranch policy?”
“Yep. Top line of the handbook.”
The stable air wrapped around us, hay and leather and that musky sweetness of horse. Grace poked her head over the stall chain, ears flicking forward when she saw Sunny nosing along the wood-chipped floor. To my relief, Sunny didn’t bark or shy—just padded forward, tail wagging. Grace stretched her muzzle down, and the two touched noses like old acquaintances.
I smiled, the tension in my stomach loosening a little. “Well, that’s a good sign.”
“Animals tell the truth,” Sawyer said, almost to himself.
The heat from his body pulled at me as I crouched to stow the food in the saddlebag. Every movement tightened my awareness, making it feel like the stable itself was charged. Words felt unnecessary, so I stayed quiet, breathing the scent of leather, wood chips, and him.
Grace shifted, waiting patiently. Sunny plopped down by the door, tongue lolling, perfectly content. I straightened, brushing straw off my jeans.
“All set?” Sawyer asked.
I nodded, heart thudding like I’d already ridden miles.
Sawyer steadied Grace with one hand and offered the other to me. His grip was strong, unhurried, pulling me up behind him with a smooth swing of motion that felt far too easy for someone like me. I settled onto the saddle, my knees brushing the back ofhis legs, my arms circling his waist because there was no other place for them to go.
Sunny darted ahead, then fell back into a steady trot alongside us, her tail swishing in rhythm with Grace’s stride.
The trail cut through pastures that rolled into a valley of wildflowers, yellow and purple splashes across the green. The air smelled of grass just woken from winter, of blossoms pushing toward the sun. Every shift of Sawyer’s body beneath my arms—every flex of muscle, every lean as he guided the mare—sent a ripple through me.
Grace jolted once at a rabbit darting across the path. I tightened my hold without thinking, pressed tighter into Sawyer’s back, and he absorbed it like it was nothing. Solid. Steady. Unshaken.
The silence between us wasn’t empty. It pressed close, weighted, thick with things I didn’t dare say. My cheek hovered a breath away from his shoulder, my pulse caught on the thought that he carried shadows I couldn’t name. A man haunted, and I couldn’t help but wonder by what.
Ahead, sunlight flashed on the lake. Sawyer slowed Grace to a walk, and Sunny splashed eagerly into the lake. My chest tightened, not from nerves now, but from something difficult to admit—this sudden, aching wish that the ride never had to end.
The blanket was soft beneath us, the saddle bag between our knees, half-unpacked. Sunny had claimed a patch of shade under a pine before she started to doze. The lake rippled quietly, ducks cutting slow V-shapes across the surface.
Sawyer leaned back on one elbow, watching me more than the scenery. His silence pressed, not uncomfortable exactly, but heavy enough to make me fidget with the edge of a napkin.
Then he asked, low and direct, “Where’d you go after the cruise? You didn’t come straight back to Lovelace like the rest of us.”
The question caught me. I hadn’t expected him to notice—or maybe I’d hoped he hadn’t. My gaze slipped toward the water, the words sticking in my throat. Finally, I let out a slow breath.
“I stayed a few extra days in Arizona,” I admitted. “It was because of my parents. They’re getting older, and they need me.” I twisted my hands in my lap, embarrassed at how small the truth sounded. “Dad can’t do as much as he used to. And Mom…” My voice faltered, then steadied. “She’s fragile. I help them out, mostly financially. I couldn’t just walk away from that.”
What I didn’t say: how the bills in my shop drawer stacked up like bad secrets. How, sometimes, I wondered if I was just treading water until the whole thing collapsed. That part stayed locked inside.
When I finally glanced at him, Sawyer wasn’t frowning, wasn’t probing for more. He just studied me with that steady, unreadable gaze.
“You’re loyal,” he said.
