Page 17 of Since Day One

I furrowed my brows and glanced between him and my mother, whose jaw was hanging on the floor in shock from Gunnar’s cold shoulder. “Uh, sure?”

“Alone,” he snarled at my mom, turning his steely gaze toward her as she quickly regained her composure and nodded vigorously.

“Oh, of course, I’ll leave you two alone. Good talk, Willow,” she said, and then scurried off. Slumping backward, my shoulders sagged as thick air escaped my lungs in relief.

“What’s up?” I asked, wondering what he wanted as my eyes trailed after my mom who disappeared into a huddled circle with a few of her sisters-in-law.

“Are you okay?” Gunnar asked, and I paused, pulling my brows together. I whipped my head to face him, and his intense gaze met mine. After scanning his features, not a single ounce of amusement was found. He was completely serious and concerned for me and unexpected waves of magnetism for him rippled through me.

“Yes?” I said slowly, questioning what was going on.

“You sure?”

“Yes, Gunnar. I can handle myself, but thank you,” I snapped, still running on the infuriating adrenaline from my conversation with my mom.

He threw his hands up and took a step back. “You just looked caught and frustrated, so I wanted to make sure, and rescue you if needs be.”

I sighed, knowing he hadn’t deserved the angry attitude I’d thrown his way. “Thank you,” I mumbled a little more genuinely, my cheeks burning a little pink from shame and embarrassment. “I’m just not used to someone caring.”

Gunnar ran his hand over his scruff and tilted his head. As I wrung my fingers together anxiously, he studied me, his tawny eyes flickering across my face. Whatever was going on in his head was a mystery to be solved. It seemed as if he was debating pushing further or not, something everyone always did. But as the concentration ebbed from his features, he smiled softly instead.

“Want to dance?” he asked, and my body froze, tightening for half a second before smiling.

“Yes, actually. I would,” I replied and followed him around the fire. We joined several of the ranch hands who’d asked some of my cousins to dance. Also out dancing were Ruger, who was two-stepping with a beautiful blonde that I assumed was his wife, and an older couple, who I assumed were Ruger and Gunnar’s parents.

He extended his hand and placed his warm palm firmly against the small of my back. How oddly comfortable it was as he pulled me closer and we began swaying to the music. My chest was pressed flush against his coat, and I wondered if he could feel my heart pounding, trying to erupt from my ribcage. The bruise ached, but I barely noticed that dull thump beneath the electricity that zapped through my skin. Pine and leather coated my senses again, enveloping me in a cocoon of safety.

Starting with a simple two-step that I had picked up from my years attending cowboy events with my boss and his wife, I fell into easy rhythm following Gunnar’s lead.

He twirled me around, kept me close, and took charge as the music swallowed the frustration that held me tightly bound. His touch transported me back to that space of safety and comfort, swaddled in the subtle smell of Gunnar and his strong embrace.

“The Texan cowgirl can dance,” Gunnar quietly said as he pulled me a little closer and we moved in tandem.

“I’ve picked up a few things here and there.” My breath washed out, quiet, finding the most invigorating security and protection being held tightly in his arms. Once again, his touch held relief; physical human touch from someone who seemed to simply enjoy my company brought me solace.

“Your one cousin with the fake worn-out boots is staring and scowling at us. She’s gonna get permanent frown lines if she ain’t careful,” he muttered into my ear, and a giggle bounced through my throat. Glancing over my shoulder, he spun me so I could see her. And so she was, with arms crossed and everything.

The song gently came to an end as he twirled me back into his body and held me tightly, slowly dipping me as the last chord of the country song was strummed. Here we stayed, for one long, frozen moment, his eyes holding steady with mine. Then he eased me upright as he winked and only then let go of me, but he didn’t move away. His mere presence was becoming addictive, and it hadn’t even been that long since he entered my life.

It reminded me of how quickly Kurt became a mentor for me, though this thing with Gunnar was a simple friendship. “I should get to bed,” I whispered unsteadily as he studied me, something indecipherable in his gaze. Something that pulled me toward him, drew me in with a single breath whispering across the still night air.

“Good night, Willow,” he softly replied, brushing a strand of hair from my face with a tender smile. Filling my lungs one last time, I dragged my feet away from him. It was a slow walk down from the patio through the field toward the bunkhouse. The same route that I trudged yesterday seemed to be longer and colder as the distance increased between Gunnar and me.

Following the forlorn dirt road that headed toward my sleeping quarters, I gave a heavy sigh. Tomorrow was a new day, another one in which to give Gunnar a hard time and continue to pester him to let me ride. Learning how to ride a cutting horse was something still on my list of things to get out of this trip, no matter what happened with my family. Or Gunnar, though nothing could or would because cowboys were off limits for me. A rule I’d set years ago when first dipping my toes into the water. Wait, so why was I even considering that something could—

“Where are you going?“ Marissa’s voice grated from behind me, pulling me to a halt.

“To bed? I’m tired,” I answered without turning to face her.

“I saw you dancing with that cowboy. He looks a lot like Ruger. You know, he doesn’t actually like you. He probably felt sorry for you because you look like a man,” she continued, her feet shuffling across the dirt to catch up with me.

Frustration boiled within me, and I shook my head, refusing to face her as I began walking again. “What’s your issue with me?” I shouted over my shoulder, soaking in the crisp air that was cutting through my sweatshirt.

“I don’t like fake people who are ungrateful for things practically given to them,” she snarled as she drew nearer. No lights lit the path here, leaving nothing but the stars to illuminate my progress. Bellows from cattle and a few scattered whinnies cut through the thick tension as I stopped in front of the bunkhouse door then turned and faced her.

“Tell me what I’ve been ungrateful for,” I snapped, throwing my hands up, watching as a sneer pulled her face tight.

“Not what, but who,” she hissed, and I clenched my jaw, doing everything possible to remain emotionless. “And you ran. I literally gave him to you on a platter, and you chose your petty desires over someone like him.”

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