Page 73 of Heartsmashed
This time, shockingly, she listened.
“Look at you,” Sawyer said, smiling proudly.
“I’m basically a cowboy now.”
“All you need is a sexy hat.”
“What, this helmet isn’t doin’ it for you?”
He laughed. “My lips are sealed.”
As we rode, Jasper and Duchess fell into a slow rhythm side by side, and after a while, the resort disappeared behind us like we’d slipped into a quieter pocket of the world. Every now and then I glanced over at Sawyer, noticing the way he’d tip his face toward the sun filtering through the branches. Out here he didn’t have to try to be brave or funny or unaffected or any of the things that wore him down. I wondered if he was starting to see what I could.
“So,” he said, glancing over at me, “Buttercup.”
I groaned. “I knew you’d circle back.”
“See, I can be patient.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
“Oh, come on. You casually mention childhood horse trauma and then I don’t get details? What happened?”
“Duchess, I need you to stop listening, please,” I said. She inclined her head slightly, but whether that was her agreeing or listening closer, I couldn’t tell. “My mom took me to a friend’s farm one summer when my dad was stationed in Virginia. She thought riding would be good for me.”
“And it wasn’t?”
“Buttercup tried to kill me, so no, that was not a fun trip.”
“Don’t stop there.”
“She took off, nearly bounced me off the saddle, then walked me straight under a low branch, trying to decapitate me. When that didn’t work, she waited until I got off her and started to leave before deciding to try to maybe kick my head off instead.”
“Oh my God.” Sawyer was laughing, the traitor. “What did your mom say?”
“She was laughing even harder than you.”
“Ah, see, it couldn’t have been life or death if your mom wasn’t panicking.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
He chuckled again, and I smiled before I could stop myself.
“Your mom sounds fun,” he said.
“She is.”
“Are you two close?”
“Yeah.” I kept my eyes on the trail, adjusting my grip when Duchess tried to wander again. “My dad was military, so there was always a lot of structure in our house. Strict rules. We moved a lot, so it was always new school, new routine, new people to figure out.”
Sawyer didn’t jump in, and that was one of the things I like about him. He talked a lot—Christ, did he talk—but when something mattered, he listened.
“My mom made it easier,” I said. “She’s the complete opposite of my dad. Warm, funny as hell. She always tried to make every place a home, you know? Like we’d lived there for years instead of days.”
“That makes sense.”
“Does it?”
