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Springing into action, I grab the dark blue nail polish. I touch up my nail and blow on it while pulling out my jeans that I’d never wear to work and toss them on my bed. I’ve mastered the art of getting ready with wet polish over the years…one of the skills from trying to hide a nervous habit. I run my free hand over the holes I’ve worn into this pair. One from each move I’ve made over the years. The left knee is the move with my family when we moved across town to a place that was one level, their dream for eventually retiring. The snag on the back pocket and start of the right knee happened over the few times I moved for college. The full right knee is from when I sort of moved in with an ex. The final snags and one of the belt loops coming halfway off are what I’m most proud of…those are from moving here. I’m not sure why, but I think learning to ride a horse seems like a fitting thing to do in these. Another big event in my life, another move forward.
The pants lay on my bed along with my simple, and I suppose sturdy, brown leather belt. My turquoise boots are just inside the closet, and I set them at the foot of my bed. I open my second drawer from the top and dig one-handed, so I don’t ruin my nail polish in record time, shifting shirts out of the way until I get to a plain white V-neck. Since Tommy volunteered one of his flannel shirts, I’m not saying no to that, so this is all I need.
Once I’m dressed and my hair is pulled back into a ponytail, I toss a pair of workout pants and an extra shirt into my tote bag just in case I end up on the dirt. I’m definitely safe in Tommy’s hands, but a horse is a huge animal. Can you tip off of a horse? I know that saddles are secured and there are stirrups for the riders’ feet, but it’s not like there’s a seatbelt…
While locking my apartment, I resolve to not research if saddles come with seatbelts. I'm a grown-ass woman who already spent way too much time searching for tips beginning riders should know. Sitting on a saddle is going to happen, and it’s going to happen today.
After I let Tommy know I’m on my way, I turn on the radio, roll down the windows, and enjoy the wind, the sun, and earthy smells that come with living in this small town and having fields of crops, horses, and cattle surrounding it. The highway is a blur and the turn to Landen Acres is here before I know it. The house comes into view and my heart is racing, but not in an anxious state, an excited one. We’ve only had one date for crying out loud, but not only do I like Tommy, I like this. I like this life, I like this place, I like who I’m becoming.
I like not hiding. This place, maybe this ranch even, feels like it could be home.
There are a few spaces where people can park, not with white lines or anything like that, of course, and I pull my car to the far edge, away from the house, so there are plenty of options for customers. I roll the windows up once I’m stopped when I register what’s likely one of their dogs coming towards me from near the main stables. I haven’t actually met any of the dogs before.
My tote falls off the seat when I reach for it, grabbing the shirt and my water bottle that are now on the floor of the passenger side. By the time I’ve rerolled the shirt and gotten it back into my bag, a shadow shifts near my window and my whole body jerks in surprise. My mouth is open, like I made some sort of sound, but all I hear for the next few breaths is the whooshing of my racing heartbeat because instead of a dog outside my window, it’s a wolf.
And it’s in this where I learn that, in true moments of adrenaline, my body neither fights nor flights.
It freezes.
Chapter 28: Tommy
Oh my God.
I jump out of my seat and bolt for the door.
“Gerald!” I yell, jogging down the steps and towards her car. “Go find Bryant.”
Of course the wolf-dog comes up for a quick scratch behind his ear and I repeat the command once more before he gives Sam’s car one last longing look and trots back to the stables.
“I’m so sorry about that,” I say, opening her door. “He’s a gigantic fluffball, but he’s intimidating as hell when he does this, which isn’t often, I promise.”
“Who is he?” Sam asks, watching the huge canine disappear into the main stables.
“It’s Bryant’s dog. He’s likely half-wolf, half-dog, but no one knows anything else. His name is Gerald and every now and then he’ll check out a car that pulls up. He has a tendency to put his paws up on someone’s arms or shoulders so he can look into their eyes, and that can be super weird the first time it happens, but he’s been harmless to everyone on or visiting the ranch, and that includes the livestock,” I explain, reaching my hand down. “Here, let me take something for you.”
She finally looks up at me and shakes her head to clear it. “Pardon me, I wasn’t expecting that. I think my brain is trying to catch up with seeing a wolf, even a half-wolf, out here.”
Her face scrunches up and she looks at me when she accepts my outstretched hand. “Did you say his name is Gerald?”
“Yeah, Bryant named him.” It’s hard to read how she’s feeling beyond surprised. But she didn’t turn around before I could even call Gerald over, so that’s a good sign.
She glances in the direction the wolf-dog went and lets out a startled laugh. “It’s a good name for him.”
Holding out my free arm, she steps close to me so I can wrap her in a tight hug. I rest my cheek on the top of her head and breathe in deep, enjoying that addicting scent that always centers me.
“You always smell so damn good to me,” I murmur. “I hope that’s not weird to say.”
She shakes her head against my chest, then looks up at me. “Nope, not weird at all.”
She lifts up on her toes, closes her eyes, and then my lips are on hers, caressing and coaxing little sounds from her. Her fingertips press into my back and her brown tote rests against my hip as it dangles from her elbow. There’s an extra tingle that wasn’t there before and a pepperminty smell that might be driving me a little wild, and I wonder where that’s coming from. I grip the back of her neck so my thumb can trace along her jawline, feeling the shift when she opens for me, allowing me to caress her tongue with mine. Then she erases the miniscule space between us.
Ignoring her open door, I steer her backwards so she’s pressed against her car, dropping my hand to her hip and trailing it along the back of her thigh to hitch up her leg. Her fingers lock behind my neck and she does a little jump so she can cross her heels at the small of my back. God, I could die a happy man right now. Relishing every sensation, I squeeze the back of her thigh, trailing up her jeans, feeling frayed holes every now and then. When I cup her ass, my fingers snag on a pocket that has been torn, making me want to tug it off right here. The entire herd of cattle could stampede by right now and I wouldn’t be able to tear myself away from her if I tried.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with so much as a button out of place, let alone holes in her clothes. Being able to explore them through touch has me pressing against her like there’s a way to be closer. As if there was something besides a few layers of torn fabric between us. Her hands shift to my hair, urging me to stay right where I am.
A piercing catcall cuts through the air and something low, almost like a growl, rumbles in my chest.
Sam squeaks and her feet hit the ground.
