Page 12 of Reining Her In

“Come in.” I shout louder than intended.

I clear my throat as my mom gives me a look of displeasure at my raised voice. But I’d invite the entire cast of the Kardashians’ show in here for a chat right now if it meant a distraction from June Cleaver.

She has always fussed and fretted with everything around her to avoid real conversation. I think anything that requires some sort of emotional connection to me must cover her in hives.

I’m expecting a nurse or orderly to come through the door. Or some other visitor that wants to suck up to my mother or annoy me with more questions about how I’m feeling.

Instead, the tall frame that fills the open door steals the oxygen from my lungs leaving a burning feeling in its absence. “Hi,” he says. That single word has to be one of the most stunning sounds I’ve heard in my life.

The sound of those two letters neatly put together falling from his lips nearly topples me off the pillows. His greeting is quickly matched by a smile that pulls up on the corners of Reed Sawyer’s lips, making my mouth start to water. When his steel gray eyes hit me, it’s like a silk fist to my chest. My stomach is full of those maniac butterflies or buffalo or whatever they are and I remember I haven’t brushed my hair since I dressed for the show yesterday.

My heart is thumping so hard it must be visible through my gown. My hands clutch at the white sheet covering my legs. I tug at it until it’s around my waist, trying to tuck it in so the view of my hospital gown is a bit less horrifying.

For a moment, I wonder if he’s just here to suck up like so many that have come before. With my family, that’s the first thing I think when someone new is nice to me. But someone like Reed Sawyer doesn’t need to suck up. He’s a force in and of himself. He doesn’t strike me as the suck-up type.

Reed gives my mother a single polite nod, a quick, “Ma’am,” then his focus is right back to me.

“For you.” He pulls his hand from behind his back. He’s holding a single rose, its petals unlike anything I’ve ever seen. They are ivory, with the edges of each petal tipped in bright red, like they’ve sipped on red wine.

“Thank you.”

“And this, too.” He reaches into his back pocket, pulling something out then handing over the flower and a photo as he steps forward. Only after he reaches the side of the bed and I take the items from him, does he turn to my mother again.

“Ma’am, I’m Reed Sawyer. I was fortunate enough to meet your daughter yesterday. I’m only sorry I wasn’t able to prevent her injury.”

“Reed Sawyer?” Mom puts on her best flirty face. “Well, of course, I know you. Everyone who’s anyone in our little horse world knows you. Thank you so much for helping Stanzie yesterday.”

“Constance,” I quickly correct her. I’m sure most women would prefer the more jazzy, hip version of my overly-formal name, but not me.

“I only wish I could have done more,” he answers Mom, but his eyes are back on me and I stare intently at his lips as they move. Watching his tongue and his teeth as a warmth gathers low in my belly. “I would have given anything to prevent your fall. I’m so sorry I didn’t move fast enough.”

He regards me, taking me in and I feel his gaze wherever it lights. But unlike when Travis lets his eyes roam when Reed does it it’s almost honorable. Like it’s his responsibility. His duty to look at me this way. And it’s sending some new sort of tingling sensation swirling over my skin and focusing somewhere deep in my core.

My mom shoots me a look, and I look away pretending she’s disappeared in a puff of Chanel No. 5.

“Well, I think I’ll go get myself a cup of coffee.” Mom chimes in. For once maybe she and I are on the same page. “Mr. Sawyer, is there anything you’d like?”

I see the glint in his deep-set gray eyes, the way they narrow a bit in thought.

“No, thank you.” He bites slightly on his bottom lip as he answers her in an even, polite tone. “I’d like nothing more than to just spend some time making sure Constance is okay.” He never takes his eyes from mine. When he licked his lips, I’m pretty sure my nipples poke two holes through the thin fabric of the hospital gown.

“Bye, Mom,” I say, clear and crisp.

I’m old enough to lay in a hospital room by myself, but she’s not so much as left me more than five minutes since we got here.

Something about his presence fills me with confidence. I feel a sense of pride in the way he looks at me. This monster of a man, with features cut square, and yet his look is rounded with softness. There is a calm, powerful confidence about him that bleeds into me and I want to reach out and see if I can feel it when I touch him.

I roll the stem of the flower in my fingers, my other hand pinching the photo as mom takes her leave.

“There are no thorns.” I look at the stem.

“I removed them. I didn’t want you to get hurt.” He steps forward, and I swear I feel his energy blanket me in warmth. He runs a hand over his close-cropped dark hair from forehead to neck before continuing. “How are you? What did the doctors say?” The sincere concern in his voice is a sound I’ve longed to hear from my own father.

“The doctors said I was fine. Besides the cut on my head, they did x-rays, MRI, Cat-scan. You name it; my parents made sure they did it. I drew the line at the ink-dye in my vein thing though. And in the end, they said I’m lucky and I should have no lasting effects. Not even a mild concussion, I feel fine. I wanted to go home last night,” I snap. “But my parents are a bit controlling. I was about to dress and leave when you knocked.”

My eyes drift down where his t-shirt pulls across his chest, lower to where it hangs cresting on the front of his jeans, and I swear I see a fullness there that makes my eyes dart back to look at the photo he handed me.

My cheeks light up bright as the sun when I finally look and see the image of Ruby staring back at me. Her eyes soft and sweet, a bandage wrapping around her neck with an IV tube snaking low and out of the picture.

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