Page 82 of Saddle Storm

“Something smells good.”

She looks up at me from behind the island. “Chicken soup.” Sliced carrots are tossed into the pot. “Your mom used to make it for us.”

My stomach flips at the warm memory. “After we’d get caught in the rain,” I say, stepping toward the familiar smell.

“It was a lot easier getting caught in the rain in the summer.”

I kiss the top of her head as she leans against me, stirring up contents of the soup. I could easily fall for this version of her. Though nothing will compare to the version of her riding me. “You’re so damn sexy, Bee.” I finish the thought out loud.

She licks her lips, a hint of sadness that was nowhere in sight for the past few hours flicks across her face.

“Did I say something?”

“Hmm?” Her head flips back for a second but she doesn’t meet my eyes. “No. I was just thinking that . . . I had a nice time.”

I frown. “Storm if you give me more of that one-time thing B.S.—”

She shakes her head and gives me a seductive smile. “You know I wouldn’t dare.”

The tightness in my chest eases. “Is this about Max?”

“I’m just . . .” she manages a genuine glance my way. “Glad we finally had this time.”

There’s something off about what she’s saying and I know words are hidden. But I don’t push it. She’s given me enough today. And I’ll take as much or as little as she’s ready to give me.

Because I’m not losing Storm again by jumping the gun on questions.

Like why it sounds like whatever she’s hiding . . . might be the reason we won’t have this time again.

27

Storm is beautiful in the morning, light spilling across her face. She’s sprawled across the bed like she forgot she’s supposed to be careful with me. Whether it be my arm—or her heart.

One thigh’s hooked over mine, her hand loose on my chest. No hesitation. No walls. Like this wasn’t a one-time thing she’d suggested before.

I get the initial limitation. As right as last night felt, it was bound to end up complicated.

The What happens now? and What do we tell Max? Will she or won’t she give this a chance?

But I don’t feel an ounce of it right now.

I’m not worried. I’m getting my girl.

The ache in my chest? Probably from feeling like I’d been screwing this up for years by not choosing her sooner.

And that changes today.

Slipping out of bed, I grab my clothes out of the dryer we ran last night after dinner and step out into the cool fall morning to make a call. I know he’ll be up getting ready. He and his wife no doubt already hitting the gym together.

The phone rings twice before he answers.

“About time you called,” Chase answers, slightly winded.

“Out of breath already? And they tell me I need to recuperate,” I grumble.

“How’s that going?”

I stretch my arm, feeling the soreness from the workout yesterday. Saddling and riding most likely. It wasn’t easy, practiced, controlled movements. It was jerkier than I need right now.