Page 33 of Craving Her Cowboy
“Just—thank you. For everything. I’ll be out before lunch.”
A soft laugh. “Not much for goodbyes, are you?”
Asha pressed the phone tight to her ear. “Never have been. But I thank you and Andy all the same for giving me this place, this space, to figure out what I want.”
“That’s what we’re here for. Drive safe. Don’t be a stranger.”
“I have one favor to ask of you and Andy, if you’re willing.” Asha told Miss Bee what she needed and hoped they would agree. Otherwise, what she needed to do next would be a bit more difficult.
After she finished packing, Asha stepped outside and walked the yard one last time. She watched the light hit the hills, watched the steam rise off the horse waterers, watched the hands shuffle in and out of the sheds. The sound of metal and cursing floated over from the work yard. She let herself hear it, let herself want it, just a little. She walked up to the ranch gate, leaned against the old wood, and looked out over the pasture.
She thought about every fight she and Gavin had, every time she’d told him to fuck off, every time she’d looked for him in a crowded room or across an empty stretch of fence. She let herself remember it all.
She checked the time. He’d be halfway to the airport by now. Maybe further.
She pulled out the letter from her pocket and looked at it again. She wanted to read it a fourth time, but she didn’t. Instead, she tucked it deep in her jacket pocket, where the warmth of her body could keep it safe.
Asha was ready for the next phase of her life to begin. She just hoped it would be worth it in the end.
Chapter 13
Five days of being back home in his own space and Gavin still hesitated when opening the door. His mind wasn’t sure what he was expecting to happen, but his heart knew. He missed Asha.
After ten years of constant travel, of shifting rentals, high-rise penthouses and five-star hotels, he’d put down roots in one of those Northern Virginia developments where every home cost more than a small country. It was a designer’s wet dream: gray brick, black steel, glass so thick it didn’t rattle even in a hurricane. The landscaping was surgical, every blade of grass imported, every shrub trimmed within a millimeter of its life. The driveway was wide enough for two full-sized trucks and a guest, but most nights it was just his SUV and the echoing silence surrounding him.
He sat in the SUV for a while, engine running, hands tight around the wheel. The sun was down, but the streetlights cast a false daylight over the lawn, making the whole thing look like a real estate listing. There was a light on in the foyer. He remembered flipping the switch before he left, but now it felt foreign.
His phone sat on the seat next to him, face up, notification screen empty. He resisted the urge to check it again, then killed the ignition and sat in the sudden quiet. He counted to ten, then opened the door and stepped out, locking it with a dry beep that was the only sound on the block.
The air was heavy with spring humidity, magnolia and wet pavement. He walked slow up the path, his shoes scuffing the stone. His bag was heavy on his shoulder, loaded down withthree days of crisis management paperwork and proposals from his team.
The porch was wide and wrapped around the house, all pale wood and white columns, custom-ordered from South Carolina. He had a set of teak chairs up there, the kind meant for bourbon and the slow drift of conversation. He never sat in them. The front door was smart-locked, unlocked as he got within range. He let the bag slide off his shoulder and reached for the handle.
Something stopped him.
A presence, not a sound. Like the hair standing up on the back of his neck, only deeper, in the bones. He looked to his right. There, in the shadowed half of the porch, sat a figure in one of the teak chairs. Boots on the railing, hands folded in her lap.
Asha. She was here.
She didn’t move, not at first. Just stared at him, face unreadable except for the way her mouth almost smiled. She looked like she’d been there for hours—maybe days, if you counted the time he’d spent wanting this moment and dreading it in equal measure.
For a full thirty seconds, neither of them spoke.
He was afraid to move. Afraid that if he blinked, she would dissolve right in front of his eyes like she did every morning when he woke up from his dreams.
Then she spoke, voice cutting the quiet like a razor: “Hey handsome. You gonna just stand there, or you gonna invite me in?”
His chest hurt. He tried for words, but all that came out was a strangled noise.
She lowered her boots to the porch and stood. She was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. In this light, she looked younger than he remembered, more dangerous, and morebeautiful than ever. She didn’t cross the distance. She waited, arms folded.
The words were almost stuck in his throat. “How did you—”
“Miss Bee and Andy,” she said. “Please don’t blame them. I asked. They seemed to be expecting it.”
He almost laughed but didn’t want to give away that he had already told them if she asked for any information on him to give it to her without hesitation. Instead, he closed the gap in three long strides, leaving the bag and his doubts behind. He stopped a foot in front of her, searching for a sign she was real. She met his eyes, and for the first time since Silver Creek, he felt like he could breathe.
“It took me a while to get here. I had to figure some shit out. But, Gavin, you should know. You’re worth the risk. I want this chance with you. For us.”
