Page 11 of Craving Her Cowboy
They stood there, not quite close enough to touch, not quite willing to break the silence. He found himself watching the curve of her jaw, the way her lips pressed together when she was thinking.
The last bit of light went out once the sun hit the hills. The last rays threw long, jagged shadows across the frame of the cabin and turned the grass below into a sea of gold. Gavin sat on the back of the Ranger, elbows on knees, watching the world drain from color to gray. He could hear Asha moving behind him, cleaning up the site, the thud and scrape of lumber, the metallic clang of tools dropping into a bucket. Eventually, her footsteps came up beside him.
She lowered herself onto the bed, leaving just enough space for the cooling air to slide between them, but not enoughfor it to feel accidental. She didn’t say anything, just gazed out at the lights blinking on in the distant ranch house and the faint glow of Ironhaven on the horizon. They sat there for a long time, not counting the minutes.
Gavin tapped the pad of his index finger against his knee, three times, then two, then three. After a moment, he heard the tap of Asha’s boot on the slab, the exact same pattern. He didn’t smile, but something in his chest relaxed.
When he looked over, she was looking away. He followed her gaze up to see what was so interesting. She was staring at the emerging night sky. The stars popping out, first one, then a hundred, then the whole sky.
“You believe in fate, Gavin?” she asked, so quietly he almost missed it.
He considered. “I believe in physics. Action, reaction. You do something, something happens back.”
She nodded, as if this was the answer she expected. “What if there’s nothing left to react to?”
He let that sit for a moment. The air got colder, enough to raise goosebumps on his arms. “You keep moving,” he said. “Even if you don’t know where you’re headed.”
She shot him a look, unreadable. “That a military thing or just you?”
He considered. “I don’t think there’s a difference anymore.”
A low, tired laugh. “Yeah.”
They fell back into silence. He felt the urge to say something else, anything to break the tension, but every choice seemed cheap. So he just sat, letting the nearness work on him.
Asha shifted, arms wrapped around her knees, her body turned slightly toward him now. He could feel the heat coming off her, could see the veins in her forearms, the way her breathing kept to its own pattern, but lined up just so with his.When he glanced at her face, he caught her profile in his view, and it gave him pause. Yes, she was strong, both in mind and body, but he also could see that she was tired. He was again struck by just how beautiful she was to him. Maybe not in the traditional damsel in distress way, but he couldn’t seem to look away from her.
He wondered what she saw when she looked at him. If it was the scars, or the bad attitude, or something less obvious. He didn’t want to ask. He was afraid of the answer.
She spoke first. “You ever get used to it?”
He blinked. “To what?”
She motioned at her arm, then at his side. “Any of it.”
He was honest. “No.”
A little nod. “Didn’t think so.”
The night thickened. Stars sharpened. The silence between them got heavier, but not awkward. More like it was packed with things neither of them could say.
She straightened, braced her hands on the concrete behind her, and stretched her legs out. “Tomorrow’s gonna suck,” she said. “That frame’s not going up by itself.”
He snorted. “I’ll bring extra Advil.”
Another beat. “I’ll bring the coffee. Stronger this time.”
They both stood at the same second, the movement so synchronized it startled them both. He turned to her, she turned to him, and for a moment neither backed off. Their eyes locked, not searching, not flirting, just… seeing the other person. The moment stretched, taut as a tripwire.
Then she looked away, and he did too. They started back toward the ranch buildings, side by side, boots hitting the dirt in time, arms close but not touching. The space between them was loaded, as if there was an electric charge building toward something neither was ready to say out loud.
He didn’t say goodnight when they split at the cabins. Didn’t need to. Tomorrow would come, and they’d both show up, and the work would go on. For now, the only thing that mattered was that she matched him, step for step, all the way to the end.
Chapter 5
Gavin sat on the bench in the tack room, back against the wall, thumb hovering over his phone like it was a ticking time bomb. He’d told himself that he wouldn’t check it until at least noon, but old habits were bastards. The minute his fingers stopped working, the need to know crept in.
The voicemail waited at the top of his notifications, courtesy of a number he recognized instantly. His father’s campaign chief, which meant this wasn’t a check-in, it was an order. He jabbed the button, half hoping the battery would die mid-message.
