Page 47 of Saddles and Snowstorms
I stared at him, trying to process his words. “You deserve better than what I can give you.”
“There you go again,” Rowan said, throwing his hands up. “Making decisions about what I deserve. Has it occurred to you that maybe what I want is someone who sees me for who I am? Someone who doesn’t have some agenda?”
Hank chose that moment to get up, stretch, and pad over to me, resting his head on my knee. I absently scratched behind his ears.
“Look,” Rowan continued, his voice softer now. “I’m not asking for forever. I’m not even asking for tomorrow. But what happened between us wasn’t just physical for me, and I don’t think it was for you either.” He paused, watching me carefully. “Was it?”
I swallowed hard, feeling cornered. Truth was, it hadn’t been just physical. Not by a long shot. But admitting that felt like exposing my throat to the knife.
“No,” I finally admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t just physical.”
Something shifted in Rowan’s expression then—a softening around his eyes.
“Then why push me away?” he asked.
I looked down at my hands, calloused and rough from years of ranch work. “Everyone I’ve ever loved has left me,” I said, the words feeling like they were being torn from somewhere deep inside me. “My ma, my pa, even old Joe who taught me everything I know about ranchin’. They all died or left. And each time, it damn near killed me.”
The fire crackled, filling the silence between us.
“So, you figured you’d just never love anyone again,” Rowan said, not as a question but a statement.
“It’s safer that way,” I muttered. “And besides, I’m not ready to tell all of Sagebrush I’m into men. Life’s hard enough without having to deal with all that.”
Rowan stood up, the blanket falling away as he moved toward me. He knelt in front of my chair, his green eyes searching mine. Hank shifted to make room for him, tail thumpingsoftly against the floor.
“Brooks,” he said softly. “I’m not going to leave you.”
“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “You will. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But someday… someday you’re going to die. All of us are. And then I’ll be right back where I started.”
Rowan cocked an eyebrow in my direction. “What makes you think you’re gonna out live me?”
I glared at him. “It’s not funny, Rowan.”
“I know it’s not.” He reached up, grasping my hand. “And I know you’ve been through hell. I don’t blame you for being scared of losing again or having everyone know what you are. That’s more understandable than you know. In fact, it’s one of the reasons I like you so much.”
“You like me because I’m a mess?” I asked, furrowing my brows. “That’s stupid.”
“No, it’s not. It makes you relatable.” He leaned in close, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Because whether you’ve realized it or not, we’re all a mess. Every single one of us. Life is messy, that’s what makes it interesting.” He looked up at me, his chin resting on my stomach. “So why not just embrace it and be happy?”
My stomach twisted, my voice shaking. “But… it won’t last forever. And then it’ll hurt…”
“That’s true,” Rowan nodded. “But isn’t it worth it?”
I stared down at Rowan, his face open and earnest in the firelight. The way he looked at me made something in my chest ache—something I’d thought long dead. His question hung in the air between us, demanding an answer I wasn’t sure I had.
“I don’t know,” I finally said, my voice rough. “I’ve spent so long not letting myself feel anything that I’m not sure I remember how.”
Rowan’s hand found mine, his fingers interlacing with my calloused ones. “Maybe I could help with that.”
The simple touch sent a current through me, and I couldn’t stop myself from tightening my grip on his hand. “What happens when the snow clears, and you go back to town? What then?”
“Then I come back,” he said simply. “If you want me to.”
“And what about the rest of Sagebrush? What about your practice? Your reputation?”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Brooks, I’m a grown man. I can handle small-town gossip.”
“You say that now, but?—”
