Page 87 of Unruly

You finally texted back! About damn time.

Cash:

Be at the ranch at 6?

A smile sneaks onto my face.

Me:

See you then.

Cash:

Looking forward to it, Darlin’.

This still isn’t simple. I’m still scared—scared of the vulnerability, the what-ifs, the possibility of another heartbreak in a town where everyone knows your business.

I don’t know if I’ll tell him everything tonight, or if the words will stick in my throat. I don’t even know if he’ll stay once the full truth spills out.

But for the first time in a long time, I’m willing to find out.

CASH

Idon’t plan things.

Ask anyone.

Except, apparently, now I’m buying wine and ordering takeout and sourcing fresh flowers for a woman, and I’ve been lying awake at two in the morning thinking about whether the spot on the south rise has a good enough view.

It has a great view.

I’ve been going there since I was twelve; I know it has a great view.

I still checked it twice yesterday.

This is what Halle Dawson has done to me.

I want to be clear about that.

I’ve texted her every single day. A picture of the sunrise from the south pasture. A stupid meme Dawson sent me. A reminder that the diner still has her favorite pie.

I kept it light on purpose.

I haven’t seen her since that morning. The one where she woke up in my arms and then quietly asked for time to think. I’ve respected it, I’ve even stayed away from The Bar. But every night, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she’s going to decide I’m too much.

I’m already at the edge of the barn when she pulls in. She cuts the engine to the bike and swings off, shaking her pink hair loose from the helmet, and I give myself about three seconds to appreciate the view before I move.

She hears me coming this time—I make sure of it. I want her to know it’s me before I’m close enough to touch her … after everything.

So I let my boots scrape loud against the gravel on purpose.

“Hey,” she says quietly.

“Hey.” I can’t stop the small smile that pulls at my mouth just from seeing her face. “You came.”

She nods once, looking a little unsure. “Your forty-two text messages were enough to convince me.”

I want to close the distance between us, slide my hands into her hair and pull her against me until there’s no space left. I want to bury my face in the curve of her neck and breathe her in until the last week of silence stops echoing in my head. I’ve missed her in a way that feels stupid and pathetic for a guy my age, but I don’t care. I’ve missed the sound of her voice when she’s half-asleep. I’ve missed the way she rolls her eyes at me when I say something cocky. I’ve missed the way she fits against me when she finally lets herself relax.