Page 62 of Sexting the Cowboy
“Same, girl.”
The gate at the end of the row creaks open, footsteps scuffing over the packed earth. I don’t even look up at first. People wander through all the time—hands, kids, fans who want something signed.
“Brick?” Soft, uncertain, and sharper than any pain I’ve got.
I look up.
Annie’s there, framed in the light from the gate, still in her scrubs. She’s got her medical bag slung over her shoulder, and there’s a line between her brows that wasn’t there this morning. Her hair’s pulled back, but a few strands have escaped, clinging to her temples from the heat. She looks like she ran here.
For a heartbeat, I forget how to breathe.
“I saw the ride,” she says, voice wan, walking toward me, quick but careful, like she’s not sure if she should be mad or relieved. “You’re limping.”
“I’m fine.” I stand, which immediately proves that I am, in fact, not fine. My ribs pull, my thigh cramps, but I hide it with a grin. “Takes more than a horse to put me down.”
“That was not a horse,” she says, eyes flashing. “That was a small, angry god with hooves. You could have—” She cuts herself off and drops her bag, staring at me. Voice goes softer now. “Where does it hurt?”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“Stop saying that.” Her voice trembles, not with anger, but something else. Fear. The kind that hits you after you realize what could’ve happened. I see it in her eyes, and it guts me.
“Annie.” I take a step toward her, slow. “Hey. Look at me.”
She does, and that’s it. That’s the end of pretending anything is simple.
Her eyes find mine, and all that worry and fire and relief collide in one look. The air between us changes. I don’t know who moves first—maybe we both do—but she’s running the last few steps between us.
By the time I reach for her, she’s already there.
She slams into my chest, her hands braced on my shoulders, breath coming fast. “You scared me.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“You never mean to,” she says, half laughing, half shaking, and that’s all it takes.
I tilt my head down. She rises on her toes. The world shrinks to the space between our mouths.
The horses shift around us, restless again, or maybe that’s just the sound of my pulse pounding in my ears. The air smells like sweat and hay and her shampoo, that clean, soft scent that found its way into my skin weeks ago.
“You’re impossible,” she says.
“So are you.” And then our lips meet.
It isn’t careful. It’s not the polite kind of kiss that makes sense. It’s the kind that happens after you risk too much for too little.
She tastes like salt and adrenaline. Her hands slide up to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, like she’s trying to make sure I’m really here. My own hands find her waist, her back, the warm, solid curve of her. I don’t even realize I’ve backed her against the stall gate until one of the horses snorts, loud and judgmental, and she laughs against my mouth.
That laugh. God, that laugh. It’s a sound that makes a man believe he hasn’t ruined everything yet.
I pull back just enough to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing quick. She looks up at me like I’m a problem she’s tired of solving but can’t walk away from.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she says softly.
“Why not?”
Her sparkling eyes dart all over my face, then settle on my mouth. “The stalls are public. What if Reno?—”
“Too late, remember?” My thumb brushes her jaw. “And I’ll remind you that you came looking for me.”
