Page 27 of Craving Her Cowboy
She pictured herself leaving the ranch and Gavin behind. Packing her few bags, hitting the highway, rolling the windows of her car down on the first warm day and feeling the rush of freedom. She could almost envision the tiny apartment they’d reserved for her, smell the cold mountain air, taste the first cup of coffee in the office kitchen. She could almost convince herself it would be enough.
But then the image skipped, rewound, and she was back on the porch at Silver Creek, boots up on the rail, the dry burn of whiskey in her throat and the sound of Gavin’s voice somewhere just out of sight. She felt a quick, hot pulse under her ribs, a warmth spreading up her chest and across her face, the kind of heat that had nothing to do with coffee or the heater or the socks on her feet.
She wanted him and everything that meant. The push and pull. The harsh words and sweet kisses. She wanted the low, dangerous curve of his smile, the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the room who made sense. She wanted to wake up and find him in her bed, not just as a memory but as a fact. She wanted the reality of him, flaws and all.
The thought made her skin prickle, and then her shoulders immediately locked up. She didn’t trust it. She set her mug downharder than she meant to, ceramic clack echoing off the empty room.
“Get a grip,” she muttered to herself. Her voice sounded like her mother’s, rough and unimpressed. “You make one mistake and you’re already writing poetry about it.” She tried to laugh, but it died in her throat. She stared out at the ranch yard, watching for any sign of movement from Gavin’s cabin. She wondered how he would handle her saying goodbye if she took the job and left.
She checked her phone again, as if the job would vanish if she blinked. Still there. Still waiting for an answer.
Asha watched her reflection in the dark window. Her hair was stilled pulled back, eyes bloodshot from a night with too much thinking, and not enough sleep. She looked like someone halfway between running and staying, and she hated the indecision of it. She dried her hands on a dish towel, then folded it neatly over the edge of the sink. She glanced again toward Gavin’s cabin. Still dark, still no movement.
She thought about going over there and just knocking on his door. Ask him point-blank what he wanted from her. But she knew he’d just stare at her silently, not giving voice to the words she needed to hear. She knew she’d say nothing, and he’d say less, and they’d end up in bed again, the problem unresolved but momentarily irrelevant.
She closed her eyes and saw it clear as day. His hand at her waist, the way he said her name, the heat of his skin under her fingers. The memory left her breathless and aching, and she hated how easy it was to want something that was only half real.
She forced herself to move, to clean the mug and wipe the counter and get on with her morning. She ran through a checklist in her head—boots, hat, phone—then stepped outside. She let herself feel it, just for a second.
Then she squared her shoulders, set her jaw, and started down the steps toward the barn.
“Don’t get soft now,” she said under her breath, a warning and a promise all at once. But her hands were already shaking, just a little, and she knew it had nothing to do with the cold.
***
Gavin liked mornings best when he could hear the world before anyone else was awake. He’d already run two miles up the fence line and back by the time the barn crew started their shift. He fed the horses with methodical efficiency, every scoop of grain and flake of hay a kind of meditation. In here, things made sense: you did the work, you got the result.
He was mid-rake, fixing the bedding in the foaling stall, when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the caller ID, and every muscle in his jaw locked down.
It was his assistant, the only person in Virginia who knew exactly where he was and exactly how much he wanted to be left alone.
He wiped his hands on his jeans, braced the rake against the stall, and thumbed the green button.
“Yeah?”
The voice on the other end was fast, almost out of breath. “Mr. McAllister, I know you’re off-grid, but we have a situation. The Pittsburgh project’s gone off the rails. Tech is in the red, and legal says it’s already on the radar for outside audit. Sir, I think you need to come back sooner than planned.”
Gavin sucked air in through his teeth. “What about Jeremy? What about Ellis?”
“Both are handling comms, but everyone’s waiting on you for a plan. I told the board I would reach out and try to have you back in town by end of the week.”
He looked at the dust motes spinning in the sunlight. Out here, nothing felt urgent. But he could already sense the slow panic building up in his chest.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. I’ll call you in an hour. Get me the rundown. You got it?”
“Of course. Glad to have you back in the loop, sir.”
He hung up. Set the phone down with deliberate care on the feed barrel. He just stared at it for a minute, like if he looked hard enough, he could somehow will the problem away.
He tried to go back to what he was doing before, but couldn’t seem to get his mind right. He paced the barn from front to back, counted the boards on the ceiling, tried every trick he knew to slow his thoughts. None of them worked. He stopped at the stall door, braced his arms on the frame, and breathed in deep. The horses didn’t care about outside audits or failing projects. They just wanted oats and a dry place to shit. There was a lesson in that, but he didn’t want to think about that right now. There were other things pressing down on him.
He knew what he had to do. He had to pack up, get on a plane, and become the Gavin McAllister everyone expected. The version that didn’t need a ranch, or a woman, or even a reason to be anything but a machine for fixing other people’s screw-ups.
He left the barn, walked the hard-packed earth to the bunkhouse. He paused at the edge of the yard, trying to spot her. She wasn’t on the porch or by the main house. He caught movement near the east pasture. He turned and walked toward her. Each step away from the barn made his head lighter, less anchored. He caught up to her by the paddock fence, where she was looping a lead around the neck of a skittish mustang.
She glanced at him and her features softened. Her lips tilting in a smile.
He stood at the rail, hands in his pockets, watching her without saying a word. After he left, he may never get to see this sight again.
