Page 61 of Only Mine
“I brought Ivy’s jacket,” she says, holding up the small purple jacket. “It’s supposed to get windy.”
“Thanks,” I say, appreciating her forethought.
Our fingers brush when I take the coat from her, a spark of warmth shocking the cool morning air.
I pretend I don’t feel it, turning my attention to helping Ivy into her seat while Wrenley slides into the passenger side.
The SUV feels suddenly smaller when I get in, Wrenley’s floral, vanilla scent filling the confined space and expanding in my lungs with deadly accuracy.
I adjust the rearview mirror, catching Ivy’s grin in the reflection.
We pull away from the house, the tires crunching over the gravel drive. I keep my eyes fixed on the road ahead and clench the wheel at 10 and 2, despite never being in the habit of doing so.
Wrenley’s profile in my peripheral vision is a constant distraction. The curve of her cheek and the fullness of her mouth, the line of her jaw, her angles and curves are more mesmerizing than any landscape offered outside these windows.
“Miss Wrenley, did you know horses can sleep standing up?” Ivy’s voice cuts through the silence from the back seat.
“I did know that,” Wrenley replies, turning to look at her. “Pretty amazing, right?”
“Rome says they have special legs that lock so they don’t fall over.”
The road narrows as we leave the outskirts of town, winding through fields where morning mist still clings to the grass. Weathered fence posts line the roadside, some leaning at precarious angles after years of withstanding storms.
“Is Rome the owner?” Wrenley asks.
“He’s Papa’s best friend,” Ivy declares before I can answer. “He has tattoos too, but not as many as Papa.”
I catch Wrenley’s glance at my forearms where my ink peeks from beneath my rolled sleeves.
“I didn’t know your Papa had a best friend,” Wrenley says, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.
“Talon Ranch is the biggest one around here,” I say, finally breaking my silence while also avoiding the question. “Been in his family for generations.”
The road curves sharply, and a vista opens before us of rolling hills dotted with black-and-white cattle and the distant glimmer of the Atlantic visible on the horizon. The landscape unfolds like a painting, all blues and the burned-off colors of summer beneath the clear morning sky.
“It’s beautiful,” Wrenley murmurs, leaning forward.
“Wait till you see the horses!” Ivy exclaims. “Rome has seven of them. My favorite is Scribbles. She’s beige with all kinds of white dots on her.”
“Does Scribbles let you ride her?” Wrenley asks.
“Uh-huh! Rome lets me go fast too. Not like Papa, who says ‘slow down’ all the time.”
I frown into the rearview mirror. “That’s because Rome is irresponsible.”
“That’s not what you said when he fixed your car that time,” Ivy counters, her voice saccharine sweet.
Wrenley’s lips quirk, and she turns to look out the window, hiding what I suspect is a full-wattage smile. My stomach does a strange flip at the shy, quiet tuck of her chin as she tries to hide it.
Christ, I’d trade my best knife set to know what’s running through her head right now. Is she thinking about how pathetic I am, getting verbally outmaneuvered by a five-year-old? Or worse, is she filing this away as another reason she’s better off leaving? My brain’s like a lovesick teenager trying to decode if that smile means something, when I’m the idiot who made sure it can’t.
After one hard blink, I turn my attention to the weathered barns as we pass, stone walls draped in wild roses, and glimpses of the ocean between stands of pine.Anythingbut Wrenley Morgan.
A massive red barn appears on the horizon, its weathered face burnished gold in the morning light. We pull up a long gravel drive flanked by split-rail fencing, where horses graze in the distance.
“We’re here!” Ivy squeals, already fumbling with her seat belt before I’ve fully stopped the car.
“Easy,” I remind her, putting the SUV in park.
