Page 27 of Fooling the Forward

We jump back in the UTV and make the quick drive to the other paddock. The ponies come running over when they see us approaching.

“They’re social little things,” I say.

“Yeah, they love attention. You should see them when my sister’s kids come to visit. They go crazy trying to get to them.”

I smile. “I bet that’s adorable.”

“It is. And the kids are just as excited.”

I take a handful of carrots and hand the remainder to him. “Let’s do this.” I shoot each orange niblet one at a time toward each one of the ponies, trying to make sure they each get one. Ryder throws his portion across the paddock with the agility of a baseball pitcher. Some of the ponies remain vacuuming the closest carrots up while half of them run toward the other side. Splitting them up seems to have worked well.

“Enjoy your snack, cuties,” I call out as we step away from the fence.

We return to the UTV and start toward the house. Neither of us bother putting on the ear muffs since it’s such a short distance.

Once we’ve parked and the motor’s shut down, I glance at Ryder and find his eyes on me.

“Thank you. That was fun.”

His lips curve up. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it so much.” I make a motion to open my door and he interrupts. “Please, let me do it.” Removing his sunglasses, he places them in the dashboard cubby, then removes the key from the ignition.

While he’s getting out the driver’s side, I pluck the sunglasses from face and put them with Ryder’s. He opens my door and I take his extended hand as I climb out.

“Thank you.”

His answer is a gentle squeeze that presses our palms together. I expect him to relinquish hold of me, but he doesn’t. And it’s not as if the driveway is an uneven surface like we were on earlier. Then he had a legitimate reason to hold my hand. This feels more intimate, like the end of a date. As if this walk should lead to a kiss at the door.

But it can’t.

And even imagining it as a possibility is the equivalent of a self-inflicted form of torture.

When we reach the porch, he releases my hand and turns toward me. My heart skips a beat with anticipation. All the shoulds and shouldn’ts disappear, leaving behind a woman who desperately wants a kiss from the gorgeous man standing in front of her.

His eyes meet mine and, for a split second, I see that same desire echoed back at me. But then the heat in his warm brown irises cools before he grips the knob and opens the door.

“Go ahead,” he says, allowing me to enter first.

I give a curt nod. “Thank you.”

I’m annoyed I allowed myself to slip so easily into temptation while he maintained his grasp on clear headedness. If he had closed the distance between us, I wouldn’t have pulled away. And if our lips had met, a chain reaction of life-altering events for the both of us would surely have ensued.

I’m not looking to blow up our lives because of a… crush. But calling it something that simple isn’t really a fair representation of my feelings for Ryder. He’s different than I imagined—better than I imagined in every possible way. Which makes it damn near impossible to resist him. I guess I’ll have to do a better job of maintaining distance between us in every sense of the word. No more sharing personal information between us. No more nature walks. And absolutely no more hand holding.

* * *

It appears as if Ryder has plans of his own for avoiding me. After he ate the fish tacos I whipped up for lunch, he left the house and I haven’t seen him since. I’m not sure why his distance irks me like a pesky shirt tag rubbing the back of my neck. I should be happy he’s doing his part in preventing us from making a colossal mistake.

I’ve spent my life trying to be responsible, and doing the right thing has always come easy for me. Temptation in any form has never proved challenging for me. I’ve never been an alcohol drinker—at least not beyond a social drink or two. I’ve never tried drugs aside from an occasional hit of weed in college. And I’ve never been attracted to the bad-boy heartbreaker type. I like safe, dependable men, with data crunching jobs. I date the guys who won’t overshadow my world with their larger than life presence. I prefer predictable men.Not rascally hockey players who are friends with my brother.Maybe if I remind myself enough times it will stick.

I finish searing both sides of the steak in the cast iron skillet, then pop it in the oven where the potatoes are already baking. I add some dressing to the Caesar salad I made earlier, mix the contents around the bowl, and finish it off with a sprinkle of parmesan cheese on top.

Ryder strolls into the kitchen looking sexier than a man has a right to. I make sure to keep my gaze averted as he heads right over to sit on a barstool.

“Everything smells amazing,” he says.

“Thanks. I think you’re going to be happy with what I’ve prepared. And with all the leftovers from this weekend, you can easily eat for a few more days.” I add some salad to a bowl and pass it to him. I’ve already set his place with silverware and a napkin in addition to a bottle of water.

“Having home-cooked meals for a few more days will be amazing.” He picks up his fork and digs in.

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