Page 6 of Run to Me
I sit up slightly, propping myself on one elbow to search his face. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t hide the part of him that’s almost hopeful. “What do you see when you look out here?”
His eyes skim the horizon, the distant ridge cutting a jagged line through the dark. “Everything my father doesn’t want. My own spread, my own terms.”
I want to call him foolish, but my voice won’t let me. “You’ve always liked a fight,” I say instead, so soft the words barely exist.
“You should know, but someday I want a family… something to pass down to my kids,” he replies, and there’s nothing gentle about the way he pulls me back down, capturing my mouth with his.
I wonder if he feels the same ache I do, if his chest is as tight with things he can’t say. His lips move to my shoulder, the scrape of stubble raising goosebumps. He laughs against my skin, and it makes me tremble.
“Didn’t think you’d ever be the marrying kind. Figured you’d stay single for life.”
I make a sound that might be laughter. “Because you think I’ve got no heart?”
“Because I think you’ve got too big of one. You know what you want, and don’t settle for less.”
I fall back against the blanket, staring at the stars and wondering if I’m wrong about us.
“So you do want to get married,” he teases, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth.
I push him away playfully, but not far enough to break the contact. “I want to build something real. And do it my way.”
He looks at me like I’m the moon and he’s a wayward cowboy lost. It’s terrifying, how much I want to pull him in, keep him here, make him drown. I can’t. So I don’t. Instead, I settle against his side again, nestling into the crook of his arm. “You’re not the only one with visions.”
His hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together. Neither of us wants to move. Not yet. Not when we both know how this will end.
It should be easier than this, leaving. A casual affair that barely deserves a goodbye. But here I am, shivering in the breeze, watching as he runs a hand through his hair and puts distance between us with his silence. His leather jacket is the last thing he grabs. I pick up my blazer, shaking the dew off before slipping it on.
“Tonight was?—”
I cut him off, not ready for more promises, not ready to hear what I can’t stand to. “I’m unforgettable,” I quip, but my words have an edge that wasn’t there before.
He gives a half-laugh, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Always knew you’d run from anything that sounds like a compliment.”
“Just from you, cowboy.”
The way he looks at me, it’s more than I can bear. More than I deserve. He steps forward, just enough to close the gap I didn’t realized grew. His hand brushes mine, light and questioning, asking for something neither of us knows how to give.
I don’t pull away. Can’t. Not yet. I pull my hair back, tucking it behind one ear as I force a smile to my lips. My heart’s a stampede, wild and reckless, trampling every plan I had for us, for myself.
He runs a hand through his hair again, this time less certain, more boy than man. I know I should say something to send himon his way, but nothing comes. Nothing but the hope that this time he’ll be the one to walk away first.
Hearing what he wants, it hurts a little bit. I shouldn’t want it with him, but I do. Or is it just the adrenaline of being caught? Our families hate each other. It’ll never work. So, we continue to meet in secret, and push all the other feelings to the back burner, not wanting to admit that this can’t go anywhere but not wanting it to end.
OLIVIA
Rows of worn wooden chairs stretch out in the meeting hall. I walk in and feel eyes on me, sizing me up like the cattle to be auctioned later. A chalkboard stands front and center, scrawled with times, numbers, and promises of things to come. Ace leans against the wall in the far corner, his Stetson dipping as he looks down at his boots. I pretend not to notice and find a seat near the back, gripping my notepad like a lifeline.
“Welcome, everyone,” the elderly man begins. He doesn’t have to shout. “We’ll get started shortly. Please make sure you have the schedule and the auction terms in hand so we can field any questions before we leave.”
He lays out the ground rules like commandments. “Open auction, all bids public. Fair chance for everyone. You know the drill.” He’s telling me I’ve got the same shot as anyone. Telling me to prove it.
My grip tightens on the notepad. It’s all scribbles and crossed-out plans now, the raw sketch of something no one else sees yet. My stomach twists, a knot of excitement and dread. There’s too much at stake, too much to win or lose. My eyes steal another glance toward Ace. His face is unreadable. It’s maddening, the way he seems so sure, so unfazed.
It’s gotten harder lately to keep my eyes off of him, but we have an agreement. No one can find out about us. It’s the one rule we have had since high school. In public, we hate each other, but even sometimes he breaks it with his lingering glances.
The man gestures to the board, each swipe of his hand drawing us closer to what really matters. “Livestock lots posted,” he says, voice cutting through the murmurs. “Catalogs available for review.” Every word echoes the chance I’m here for. The risk. The opportunity. A slow burn starts in my chest.
I look back down, pretend to study the agenda like I don’t already know it by heart. The chatter rises. Everything hinges on these next few days. And him. Always him. Leaning there like he has nothing to prove. I focus harder, shut out everything but the facts on the page.
