Page 65 of Only Mine
“Turn around,” he instructs, his voice low.
I comply, my heart racing as he positions the helmet on my head. His breath stirs the fine hairs at my nape as he adjusts the straps, his movements careful and precise.
“Too tight?” he asks, his voice close to my ear.
I shake my head, not trusting my voice to get through all the goosebumps he’s caused.
“Words, Wrenley.”
“It’s fine,” I croak.
When I turn back around, Rome’s watching us with undisguised interest. Ivy looks between us, too, with a wide grin.
“Right,” Rome says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get you ladies on some horses.”
Ivy races ahead to the arena, leaving me walking between the two men. Our footsteps are the only sound until Rome asks, “Wrenley. Cool name. Where’d it come from?”
“Oh.” I laugh, surprised by the question. “My mother wasobsessed with birds. Our house was filled with feeders and identification books. She used to drag my father on these weekend bird-watching expeditions.” I smile at the familiar story. “One morning, they spotted a Carolina wren building a nest in the maple tree outside their bedroom window. That same afternoon, my mom found out she was pregnant with me.”
I adjust the riding helmet, feeling its unfamiliar weight. “My dad wanted to name me Carolina, but Mom thought Wrenley sounded more unique. Less like a state, more like a mythical creature. You know, half human, half bird.”
Rome nods appreciatively even though I might’ve just said the most nerdy girl sentence this cowboy has ever heard.
I glance sideways and catch Saint’s face transforming. The hard lines around his mouth soften with a warmth that wasn’t there before. He stares at me longer than necessary, studying me with new interest.
“That’s…” Saint begins, then stops. “I didn’t know that about you.”
“You never asked,” I reply, holding his gaze.
Unintentionally, my response is weighted with all the things about me he might have learned if circumstances were different. If he weren’t sending me away. If I weren’t leaving.
Rome clears his throat. “Well, let’s see if you’ve got any natural talent with horses, Carolina Wren.”
I break eye contact with Saint, my heart beating too fast.
“Actually, would it be okay if I recorded some of this?” I ask, pulling my phone from my pocket. “Your ranch is beautiful, and I’d love to have some memories of today.”
The word “memories” slows my steps. It’s a reminder that after today, memories are all I’ll have.
Rome nods easily. “Film whatever you like. Just keep a safe distance from the horses until you’re comfortable.”
“Thanks.” I unlock my phone, grateful for the distraction. “I promise I won’t post anything online. This is just for me.”
Saint’s head tilts slightly at this comment, but he says nothing as we approach the corral where Ivy waits, her face alight with joy.
I lift my phone, framing the shot of Ivy’s small form against the backdrop of rolling hills. Through the screen, everything looks more manageable somehow, like a perfect, contained moment I can revisit later when the ache of leaving this place, these people, becomes too much.
Saint’s eyes are still on me, watching as I frame the first shot.
“Wrenley, you coming?” Rome calls, lifting Ivy onto Scribbles’s saddle.
I lower my phone, tucking it into my back pocket.
The horses are much larger up close, powerful creatures with muscles rippling under glossy coats. A chestnut mare with a white star on her forehead watches me with liquid brown eyes that seem just as skeptical.
“That’s Penny,” Rome says, noticing my attention. “Gentlest horse in the stable after Scribbles. Perfect for a first-timer.”
My mouth goes dry. “I’m actually riding?”
