Page 58 of Tempted By the Broken Cowboy
“Since when are you a morning person?” She groans and buries her face back into the pillow.
I chuckle, nipping at her shoulder until she squirms. “It’s just for today. I have a surprise planned. Come on.”
Her eyes peek open again, suspicious but caught in the pull of my grin. “Beck Morgan, if this is one of your dumb stunts—“
“Not dumb.” I tug the blanket gently, coaxing her up. “Just this once, trust me.”
She sits up slowly, her hair a tumble of silk around her face, looking at me like she’s trying to read the truth in my eyes. For the first time in a long time, I let her see it—all of it. No games, no swagger, no deflections. Just a man who’s terrified of losing her and desperate to show her why he shouldn’t.
That’s what makes her sigh and swing her legs over the edge of the bed. “Fine,” she mutters, even as her mouth curves against her will.
Ten minutes later we’re slipping quietly out into the predawn chill. The air smells of dew, horses, and something sharp with promise. Two saddled mounts wait by the fence, steam curling from their nostrils as if they’re in on the secret.
Quinn stops dead. “You saddled them already?”
“Told you,” I say, sliding my hand to the small of her back. “Surprise.”
The leather creaks under me as I swing onto the saddle, but it’s Quinn’s silence that makes my chest tighten. She mounts with ease, the way only someone raised around horses can, and for a moment I’m caught watching her—the curve of her spine, the way her hair spills loose in the dawn light. She doesn’t notice me staring. Or maybe she does, and she’s letting me.
We set out at an easy trot, hooves muffled on damp earth. The ranch is still sleeping, the world pared down to the mist curling off the fields and the low hum of crickets giving way to birdsong. Every breath I take feels sharper, like the air itself is trying to burn this memory into me.
Quinn rides ahead for a stretch, her silhouette cutting clean against the paling sky. I can’t stop looking at her—the sunrise itself bows to her, painting her in gold. My chest aches with the weight of last night, with the memory of her voice telling me something I can’t ever take back. The shame gnaws at me like a raw wound.
I push my horse forward until I’m riding beside her. She glances over, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the sleep still clinging to her eyes. “You dragged me out here just to watch the sun come up?” she teases, voice softer than usual.
“Maybe.” My throat feels tight, but I force the words out. “Or maybe I wanted to see it with you. Just you.”
Her smile falters and turns thoughtful. She looks away, out over the rolling hills, where the first edge of the sun finally breaks free. Light spills over us, gilding her hair, her skin. She gasps quietly, and I swear it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
I don’t look at the sunrise—only her.
The silence between us isn’t awkward this time. It’s thick with everything unsaid. With what I need to tell her before it swallows me whole.
“Quinn,” I murmur, my voice rough.
She turns to me, eyes wide, expectant.
But I can’t say it here. Not yet. My plan isn’t finished, and she deserves more than a half-choked confession on horseback. So instead, I nod toward the rise ahead. “Come on. There’s something else.”
By the time we crest the ridge, the sun is spilling across the valley, drenching the world in amber light. Quinn reins in beside me, brow furrowed as her eyes catch on the blanket spread out under the old oak tree with an unopened basket right in the middle.
She blinks, then looks at me. “You planned this?”
I dismount first, boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. I nod a little sheepishly as I tug the reins free. My horse noses the grass, uncaring, while I glance back at Quinn. “It’s nothingfancy. Just thought you might enjoy a cup of coffee as we enjoy the sunrise.”
Her lips twitch, fighting a smile. “Coffee and… what’s in the basket? Don’t tell me you baked.”
I chuckle, shaking my head as I lift it open. “Oh, how I wish. I had one of the housekeepers make us some of your favorite pastries.”
Quinn swings down from her horse, and the sight of her walking toward me damn near knocks the breath out of my lungs. She kneels on the blanket, running her fingers over the edge as if she’s testing whether this is real.
“This is… romantic,” she says finally, glancing up at me through her lashes.
My chest tightens. “Is that a problem?”
Her smile softens, and it hits me harder than any punch I’ve ever taken. “No, Beck. It’s not a problem. I just never thought you had a romantic bone in you.”
“Maybe I was just waiting for the right girl to bring it out of me,” I retort as I settle beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of her body but not quite touching.
