Page 38 of Chasing the Wild
I swear, it’s like Colt knew I was feeling proud of myself for staying well away from him and keeping myself occupied like the good little ranch hand I’m here to be.
The barn has been my safe-space to spend as much time in as possible with the horses, distracting my mind that wants to wander to thoughts of the cowboy sleeping just down the hall. I’ve been posting videos and photos of the horses, who are funny and sweet as all hell and seem to adore having my undivided attention heaped on them. Meanwhile, Sage is doing her best to flood my inbox daily with as manyridingrelated puns as possible.
At night I’ve perfected the art of making dinner then excusing myself to go and read before Colt has even sat down to eat.
If he’s got thoughts about my disappearing acts, he’s keeping them to himself.
Mind you, the man has hardly been around. So I suppose we’re approaching this whole awkward tension between us in much the same way.
But now, we’ve taken the horses to head out to some remote part of the property together and it’s the first real time we’ve spent around each other since that night when I definitely flirted a little too hard with the line in the sand.
Apparently the road will be clear tomorrow, and the weather has been settled all week. The sun has been shining the last few days, which means the snow has steadily melted little by little.
“You don’t say much, do you?” Colt turns in his saddle. His black cowboy hat affixed on his head making him look as dashing as ever against the crisp blue sky overhead.
I give him an arched eyebrow. This man is telling me I don’t talk much? The pot is busy throwing stones at the kettle from inside his glass castle.
My silence becomes an intentionally stubborn thing. Which makes him shake his head and look away, but not before I glimpse, spot the moment a tug threatens at the corners of his lips.
Colt readjusts himself in his saddle, and I have to drag my eyes away from the way his jeans hug his ass to perfection.
He’s your ex-boyfriend’s father—and your boss—I remind myself for the hundredth time.
This man is so far off-limits he might as well be galloping across the surface of the moon.
Except, in my head at night there’s a sordid little fantasy world where he and I are drawn together in the dark. Which is exactly where those thoughts have to remain.
“Here will do.” He slows the horses to a stop and hops off. I follow suit, still a little unsure of what we’re doing out here among the pine trees and banks of snow still thick around the trunks at ground level. We’ve finished up with mending holes infences and checking on the perimeter at the far reaches of the ranch, and instead of heading back as I expected us to, we’ve ended up here.
I’m even less sure why we needed to bring his rifle for this.
Uncertainty sits like a lead weight in my stomach.
What I want to be doing is hiding in the barn, grooming the horses and listening to them munch their feed. Not be out here in the wild with a wolf I can’t seem to resist no matter how hard I try.
My only line of defense has been to avoid him.
Which I certainly can’t do all the way out here.
“There’s a target over there.” Colt points towards a shape hidden amongst the trees. When I shield my eyes and squint, I can see faded rings of paint on it, and the wooden stand is riddled with holes.
“I don’t think I need to learn this.” I’m stroking Peaches’ neck and trying to find an excuse to head back up to the other end of the property. Far, far away from Colton Wilder.
“Yes. You do.” He grunts. Starting to load the rifle.
My palms are more than a little clammy.
“Get over here.” He’s trudging off toward a mound in the snow.
I don’t want to follow him.
“Layla.”
“I’ll just watch.” It’s not like I need to know how to use a gun anyway.
Colt fixes me with one of his death glares. “Layla.” He repeats my name, and it’s so full of venom, I shiver.
“Fine.” Grumbling under my breath, I make my way to where he’s standing.
