Page 64 of Lost in the Reins

"Look at you," she laughs, breathless but keeping pace. "Actually giving instructions instead of strong, silent suffering."

"Don't get used to it." But I'm grinning, caught up in her joy and the ridiculous perfection of this moment.

We're actually pulling ahead, finding a rhythm that works. The barn approaches, our turning point in sight. That's when Paisley stumbles, throwing us off balance. I react on instinct, wrapping both arms around her waist as we go down.

We land in an ungraceful heap, my body taking most of the impact. For a moment, we just lie there in the grass, her weight warm against my chest, both of us breathing hard.

"Well," she says finally, lifting her head to meet my eyes. "This is dignified."

"Could be worse." I brush grass from her hair, letting my fingers linger. "Could've landed in the mud."

"Don't jinx it." But she's smiling, her eyes bright with something that looks dangerously like happiness. "I have to admit, this isn't exactly how I pictured our first date going."

"This a date?" I cup her cheek, thumb tracing her jawline.

"Well, we are tied together." She gestures at our still-bound legs. "Seems pretty committed to me."

Around us, other couples race past, shouting encouragement or sympathy. But I barely notice them. Not with Paisley looking at me like that, like I'm something worth holding on to despite everything.

"Guess we should get up," she says finally, though she makes no move to do so.

"Guess so." I don't move either.

Martha's voice carries across the square. "Are you two planning to stay down there all night? Because we do have other events planned!"

"We should probably—" Paisley starts, but I cut her off with a quick kiss that makes her words trail into a soft sound of surprise.

"Probably," I agree, pulling back just enough to see her face. The festival lights catch in her eyes, turning them to whiskey gold. "But I'm kind of enjoying the view."

"Shameless," she accuses, but her smile could outshine every lantern in the square. "What happened to the brooding cowboy who couldn't string two emotional words together?"

"He met a writer who wouldn't take no for an answer." I brush another piece of grass from her hair. "In my defense, you're pretty persistent."

"Have to be." She traces my jaw with one finger, the touch sending electricity through my skin. "You Montgomerys could give mules lessons in stubbornness."

"Takes one to know one," I counter, earning myself another one of those smiles that lights up her whole face.

Paisley laughs—that full, real sound that's become as familiar as morning coffee. "Are you calling me stubborn, Wes Montgomery?"

“Something like that.”

With considerable effort and not a small amount of awkward maneuvering, we manage to get upright. Our legs are still tied together, forcing us to stand closer than strictly necessary. Not that I'm complaining.

"Well," she says, steadying herself against my chest, "I think it's safe to say we're out of the running for first place."

"Probably for the best." I wrap my arm around her waist, ostensibly for balance. "Jake would never let us live it down if we won."

"Uncle Wes!" Emma's voice carries across the square. She's bouncing on her toes near the finish line, practically vibrating with excitement. "You're supposed to be running, not kissing!"

"That's not what Martha's checklist says!" Jake calls out, earning himself a swat from his clipboard-wielding commander.

"I think," Paisley says softly, her fingers playing with the collar of my shirt, "we might be the evening's entertainment."

"Let them talk." I press my forehead to hers, breathing in the scent of Emma's cotton candy shampoo mixed with something uniquely her. "They've been waiting years to see a Montgomery make a fool of himself over a woman."

"Is that what this is?" Her voice carries a hint of vulnerability beneath the teasing. "You making a fool of yourself?"

"No." I cup her face in my hands, needing her to understand. "This is me finally being smart enough to know what matters."

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