Page 42 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

My mind instantly snaps to the passage I read this morning.

“We have a problem,” And not the one that is currently pitching a tent in my Wranglers.

“That being?” she says back.

“Well, the horse you were riding is out of action. You’ll have to ride with me.”

She launches off the beam and covers the distance between us in seconds. Never seen such a small human move with such speed.

“Absolutely not! You’re telling me that you don’t have one other horse that I can ride. This is a ranch, for crying out loud.”

Sure, there are other horses. Plenty of them. But Maeve’s new to horse riding, and the trail we’re taking isn’t exactly beginner friendly. I needed a horse I know I can trust with a newbie, and Clementine was one of them.

That's the reason. That's the only reason.

It definitely has nothing to do with the way Maeve will have to press against my back for a few hours.

“Be careful, angel.” I keep my face neutral. “You're making me feel like you don't want to share with me.”

“Because I don't, Mr. Carter.”

That name puts me back where I need to be. Boss. Employee. A line I keep finding myself edging toward and then catching myself on.

“There's no other horse I'd trust.” I force my voice back into the blunt, even tone I've spent years perfecting as armour. “Especially not for a city girl with shit-all riding experience.”

Wade Carter, the dickhead blunt boss. That’s who I have to be. That’s who they think I am.

“You’ll be safe riding with me. I’m your boss after all, your safety is my concern.”

“Fine,” she huffs.

My hands work on autopilot, tacking up Marcellus while I do what I've been doing more and more lately—ripping myself apart quietly. I am not the man who crosses lines. Or the one who lets people in. That's not a personality flaw; it's a decision I made a long time ago and stuck to because the alternative costs too much.

But these mornings on the porch with Maeve—just sitting there, not having to be anything but two people existing in the same quiet moment—have loosened the grip I keep on the mask. And now I'm wondering if this act has actually done anyone any good. Especially Colt.

I let myself become the focus of his pain and anger because I thought it was the lesser damage. But he has to see me every day. Has to relive what he believes is the truth every time we're in the same room. I never thought that far ahead when I made the decision. I was thinking about protecting a nine-year-old boy, not about the man he'd become.

And somewhere along the way, it has begun to chip away at me too. I’ve forgotten who I am outside of the secrets and the blame.

So maybe that’s why I allow myself those moments with Maeve, because they are the only thing that has felt good on this ranch in years.

“That’s a good lad.” Marcellus leans into my touch as I run my hand down the side of his nose. I reach towards the treat bag that hangs from the pen door as Maeve skips up to Marcellus.

Panic flares hot in my chest.

I trust this horse more than any other on the ranch, but he's got a mean streak with strangers, especially when he hasn’t been eased into the contact.

“Careful—”.

But before I can even get the word out, she is at his side, one hand on his large snout, the other giving him neck scratches. The horse is like putty in her hands, and I am utterly gobsmacked.

“Well, that’s something I didn’t think I’d see…”

Maeve stops her motions, her head whipping up to meet my gaze. Marcellus nudges her to continue. The bastard doesn’t even do that with me. Does this girl make everyone weak for her?

“What?” She questions, with a wide, bratty grin on her face that sends electricity through my body, causing me to feel warm and fuzzy.

I am a 6’2, tattooed-up cowboy. I don’t do warm and fuzzy.