Page 10 of Hidden Memories

My nerves are on fire.

The cowboy leans back against the trunk and crosses his arms casually. “Afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” I reply.

His voice was as hot as the full lips it came from. Shockwaves blast through my system. Is my intuition telling me to leave? Or to stay?

I’ve never been good at reading my gut. When every aspect of your life is controlled, there are no opportunities to learn to trust yourself. Do I really know what’s best right now? I’m in the middle of nowhere with a guy who probably eats girls like me for breakfast and I’m not sure it’s the kind of eating that uses cutlery. I should turn around, right?

I can’t translate what the goosebumps on my arms mean and the fullness in my chest, but this man has given me a visceral reaction. It only grows stronger as he seems so much more comfortable than I am with the beat of silence that passes between us.

I cut through my nerves with a joke. “If you want to stay here. You’ll have to pay rent. That’s my tree.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Is that so?”

He smirks as if he likes what I said. Likes what he sees … butterflies explode in my rib cage, and my heart races. I want more than just that smile. I want to hear his voice again.

A stunning, painted horse, a picture-perfect cowboy’s sidekick, ambles up next to him. The cowboy raises his hand to pat the horse’s neck then pushes himself up to standingoff the tree and walks toward me, all broad shoulders, rolled-up sleeves, and tattooed arms.

Yup. There are no men like this at college.

Hell, there have never been any men like this in my entire life.

My mouth goes dry. I’m infinitely nervous and yet brave enough to try to impress him again.

His voice is like melted chocolate. “So this isyourtree?”

He’s at the end of Ares now and runs his hand from my horse’s forehead to his nose. When he stops stroking, Ares nudges him for more of his touch.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” he adds. “If this is your tree, I might have to report you for neglect.”

I suppress my smile. I think we’re flirting, and I love it. I swear he seems to want to talk to me as much as I do him. By the way he stalks one step closer, he might want more than just a talk, but then, maybe I’m reading into it because my body is telling meIwant more.

I pat my horse’s neck, but it’s like I no longer exist to Ares anymore. He’s completely concentrated on nudging the cowboy’s arm. This man is either a horse whisperer or has pony nuts in his pocket. My gaze falls to the cowboy’s hands, the enticing ink on the backs of them…

I shrug like some carefree girl I’m not. One who always has conversations with sexy strangers. “I come here every weekend.”

“Good thingsomeoneis here to keep the tree company on the weekdays then.”

He steps around Ares’ head, into my personal space, and I just about manage not to pull Ares back. The handsome stranger is so close. He doesn’t touch me, but heat sears up my thigh with him so near. He stares up at me fromunder the brim of his hat. This man was etched by God, with a voice marinated in molasses.

He licks his lips and when he smiles a dimple appears.Fuck me.

“Why don’t you hop down and we can work out a joint custody arrangement?” He smirks.

My stomach flops again. I’m not sure if it’s telling me I’m going to enjoy what happens when my feet hit the ground or if I should kick them into Ares’ flanks and turn around.

There’s something both welcoming and dangerous about him. I don’t have a lot of experience with anything but private school boys who are tremendously predictable. There’s an edge about this man, though my intuition tells me he’s kind. What do I know about following my instincts? I’ve been on train tracks since my dad set me on them at birth. We are in the middle of nowhere. Dad told me never to trust strangers, especially if they’re men.

But for some reason I work hard to dismount elegantly. When my feet hit the ground, I can now see he’s quite a lot taller than I am. I wish I wasn’t wearing a hard helmet and had on a cute felt hat instead. Dad always made me wear a helmet. But I feel like a dweeb now, standing next to this sexy cowboy, head-to-toe tumbleweed and duels and brothels and whiskey.

He smells nice, too.

I unstrap my helmet and remove it, loosening my hair by running my fingers through it, attempting to match his appeal. I perch my helmet on the side of my hip. “So what brings you here onmyday… sorry… I didn’t catch your name.”

“Santiago Mendez.”

He places his hand between us, and I take it in mine. Instantly, I get how Ares couldn’t let go.

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