Page 25 of Hung Up
I turn, finally meeting his eyes. Mistake. They’re striking, and there comes that warmth again.
“This isn’t a retreat for us, Denton,” I say, the bite slipping into my voice before I can stop it. “This is our life. It’s not about impressing anyone. It’s about not screwing up and getting someone hurt.” That one lands hard. His smile fades, and that easy charm disappears.
“Right,” he says quietly. “Got it.”
I shift in the saddle, guilt tugging at my chest. I’m being too hard on him. But this isn’t a damn photo op. Out here, one wrong move and you aren’t just embarrassed—you’re in the ER or worse. Still...he is trying—a lot harder than the usual guests we get out here. I can tell he actually wants to learn this way of life.
“You’re doing fine,” I mutter, almost too low to hear. He looks over, doesn’t smile. Just gives me a little nod, respectful, like maybe he understands a little more than I thought. As we're getting ready to move the next group of cattle, a shout rings out from behind us.
“Loose calf!” Larry, one of the hands, hollers in our direction.
“I got it!” Johnny shouts, spinning his horse in a circle like that’s gonna do anything.
I whip around just in time to see a lanky black calf take off toward the thicket. It’s running full speed across the open field, tail flagged high like it’s damn proud of itself.
“Of course,” I mutter, already turning Duke to give chase.
“I’ll come with you,” Denton says, kicking his mare into motion before I can tell him not to.
We break off from the herd, the sounds of cattle and hollering fading behind us as our horses pound across the pasture. The calf zigzags like it’s being chased by the devil himself, but to my surprise Denton keeps up.
I have to admit, he rides better than I expected. A lot of bronc riders don’t even know how to actually ride a horse—just get bucked off them. Denton rides deep in his seat, loose andbalanced, not gripping the reins like his life depends on it. I’m sure his mare appreciates him not pulling on her face.
We manage to get ahead of the little bastard, cutting it off before it can slip into the brush. I ease Duke to the left, and Denton moves to the right, flanking the calf in a perfect little pinch move.
“Well, look at you,” I say, unable to hide the flicker of surprise in my voice. “Real cowboy in the making.” I wink at him.
“Oh, is that right? Don’t you know, I’m as real as they get,” he puffs. “I ain’t no gunsel, Sorrel. But I will admit I’m mostly just praying this horse knows what she’s doing.”
I laugh, really laugh this time. It slips out before I can stop it. And damn if it doesn’t feel good. He looks proud of himself for getting it out of me.
We slow our horses as the calf reluctantly trots back toward the herd, now trapped between us. The poor little guy knows he lost the game.
The wind kicks up a bit, ruffling Denton’s shirt, and he gives me a look that isn’t cocky or smooth, just a sweet smile that says thank you.
I look at him for a long second, then give a small nod. “Thanks for the help, cowboy.”
We ride back in silence, but it’s a comfortable one this time. The kind that settles in when two people feel comfortable enough that they don’t need to fill the silence. Damn it, if I don’t hate how easy it is to enjoy riding beside him.
As we rejoin the group, Denton peels off to help one of the hands close the gate behind the second herd. I swing down off Duke to tighten my cinch, brushing dust off my jeans and trying to ignore the wave of happiness that has settled in me.
Sutton walks over, leading her horse by the reins, and leans in close enough that no one else can hear.
“Someone’s got a crush on the pretty country music star,” she whispers with a smirk, nudging me with her elbow.
I shoot her a sharp look. “I do not.”
She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right. That’s why you were grinning like a school girl after you and Denton were playing tag with that calf.”
I shake my head, ignoring her. I make myself busy with Duke’s mane, working the witches’ knots out of it with my fingers.
“Mmm-hmm,” she hums. “Stop trying not to feel anything. You’re allowed to be happy you know.”
Before I can fire back, she turns to mount her horse, leaving me there with the reins in one hand and my walls crumbling down just a little in the other.
Dash trotsbeside me as we walk through the west pasture, looking over a few broodmares with their babies. The air has cooled, finally, and the last blush of sunlight is bleeding off the mountains like a watercolor painting. I needed a minute to myself before dinner just to breathe. The quiet out here has always been a comfort. But tonight, it feels heavy. Like something is shifting.
As I walk toward the main house, I catch the sound of soft picking. The familiar rasp of guitar strings under calloused fingers. I pause.
