Page 17 of Craving Her Cowboy
He hunched his shoulders as if trying to hide from someone. He walked fast, head down. Every few steps he glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to see someone witnessing his retreat. No one was up, not even the chickens.
He reached his own cabin and ducked inside, the door thumping closed behind him. He leaned against it, palms flat to the wood, letting the tension shudder out of his arms. He stood there for a long moment, eyes closed, just breathing.
When he finally moved a few minutes later, it was to the shower. He stripped with the same harsh movements he’d put himself together, every button and zipper a small confession. He turned the water on full blast, as hot as he could stand, and stepped in before it had time to heat and stayed until the hot water ran out. Only then did he dry off, get dressed in clean clothes, and sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, trying not to think.
He would not let this happen again. He would not be weak.
By full sunrise, Gavin was already half-dressed and out the door. He took the long way to the mess hall, skirting the main path and keeping his head down. The clouds hung low and dirty, the air humid enough to make the sweat break early along his spine.
He ate fast, barely tasting the eggs and fried potatoes Miss Bee dropped in front of him. She eyed him once, an eyebrowcocked, but didn’t say a word. He kept his answers to the minimum when asked about the day’s jobs, “Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am”, and bolted before anyone could slow him down.
He spent the morning at the south fence, fixing a sagging run that should’ve been left for the weekend crew. Each staple hammered into the post was a substitute for saying anything at all. The gloves chafed the scar on his palm, but he didn’t bother switching to a better pair.
He worked twice as hard as usual. Every time he wiped sweat from his brow, it was a rough, angry swipe that left his skin red and raw. When the fencing pliers slipped and bit his thumb, he slammed them down on the ground so hard the handle cracked. He picked them up again, jaw locked, and kept going.
By mid-morning, he’d circled half the ranch and fixed nothing inside his own head. Each time he bent to tie off a line or set a new staple, he saw her face. The deep burgundy flush on her cheeks. The scar at her eyebrow. Her breath in his ear. The scrape of her teeth along his jaw. The way she’d looked at him after, like she could see all the weak, ruined places he kept hidden from the world.
He hated how much he remembered what it felt like to be inside her.
He threw himself into the next task with double the effort. Hauled water to the north pasture, mucked out the barn stalls, even fixed the squeaky hinge on the main gate, something he wasn’t responsible for, but needed to do in order to stay busy. He grunted through the pain in his lower back. He told himself it was better than thinking.
It didn’t work. At every turn, he ran into a memory. The sting of rain, the heat of her skin, the sound she made when she came undone underneath him. He shook it off, tried to shake it loose, but all he managed was to knock more dirt loose from the post hole he was digging.
He checked his watch every twenty minutes, pretending he had somewhere else to be. When lunch came and went, he stayed out on the far side of the paddocks, eating a granola bar. He saw her only once, from a distance. She was crossing the pasture, head down, focused on getting to wherever she was headed. She didn’t look up, didn’t break pace, just kept walking. He should have felt relief. Instead, it twisted something inside him.
He caught sight of a ranch hand, the kid with the tattoos, leaning against the hay shed and scrolling his phone. The kid looked up, did a quick double-take, then straightened when he saw Gavin’s face.
“You good, boss?” the kid asked, tone casual but edged.
Gavin grunted, not stopping.
“Need a hand?”
He stopped then, looked the kid dead in the eye. “No,” he said, flat, but not unkindly. The kid nodded, wisely not pushing it, and slipped off toward the main house. Gavin finished the job himself. He coiled the hose with more force than necessary, threw the old trough onto the scrap pile, and wiped his hands on his jeans.
He made his way to the unfinished cabin on the ridge, climbed the bare stairs, and stood at the edge, watching the wind chase clouds across the fields. His muscles shook from exertion, his hands wouldn’t stop flexing. He thought maybe the view would settle him, remind him why he’d come out here in the first place. It didn’t. If anything, the silence made the memories louder.
He forced himself to stand there, just breathing. One count at a time.
He watched the sun fall closer to the hills, the shadows lengthen across the land, and knew it was only a matter of time before he had to face her. Face himself.
He looked down at his hands, shaking again. He wrapped them around the railing, held on tight, and wondered if maybe that was the point. To hold on, even when it hurts. Even when he knew it was feeling he didn’t want to face.
He found her in the far end of the stables. The light was low, the overhead bulbs barely reaching where she worked. She moved with that quiet, controlled energy he’d seen a thousand times. Each brush against the horse’s hide measured, precise, almost surgical. The chestnut mare stood perfectly still, eyes half-lidded, tail swishing only when Asha’s touch lingered a second too long.
Gavin stayed in the shadows by the tack room, letting the routine anchor him. He watched her arms, the flex at her shoulders, the easy way she handled a skittish animal twice her weight. It should have bothered him how she seemed so calm. How she seemed to have her shit together when he was running on fumes and making up scenarios in his head. All because he was hurt and pissed that she’d left him in bed alone. Like an afterthought.
But all he could think about was last night. Her hands on his back, the way she’d pulled him in and then let him go, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He waited for her to finish before stepping forward. His boots crunched on the bedding, the sound just loud enough to draw her attention.
She didn’t jump. Just paused, glanced over her shoulder, and then back to the mare. “You looking for something, Gavin?”
The question cut more than it should have. “Needed to check the schedule for the hay delivery,” he said, voice scraping out.
She didn’t answer right away. She kept her focus on the mare for a few seconds longer, then set the comb on the rail with a little more force than was necessary. “It’s posted by the office.You could’ve called Andy or walked over there yourself. You know where it is.”
He shrugged, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. “I was already in the area.”
