Page 89 of Unruly

I think about that. “Is that a normal thing?”

She scoffs. “Yes, Cash. Some women don’t wash their hair every single day.”

“That’s kind of gross.”

“Men are gross in general, so we’re even.”

She’s been pressed against my back for the last several minutes, hands gripping my shirt, thighs tight around mine, and every bump in the road makes her press in closer. I can feel the heat of her through my clothes. Every time she shifts or readjusts her grip, it goes straight to my dick.

I’m twenty-two years old, and I’m having a genuinely stupid amount of trouble keeping this ATV in a straight line.

This is fine. I’m fine.

I am absolutely not fine.

She doesn’t loosen her hold even a little. If anything, she leans in more, her cheek brushing the side of my neck like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

“You’re holding on tighter than you need to,” I say, because I need to say something.

“I literally cannot see anything.”

“That’s the point.”

She doesn’t answer, but she also doesn’t let go.

I stop at the south end of the ranch and cut the engine.

My favorite part of this property is how quiet it gets the further out you ride. Most of the ranch noise drops away until it’s just the land and the sky. Out here, the sky at dusk feels endless—golds bleeding into deep oranges, then darker at the edges, like the day’s giving up without a fight.

I help her off the ATV and take the blindfold off slowly, watching her eyes adjust to the light.

She blinks a few times, then takes in the view first.

I’ve got a blue blanket laid out from Dawson’s barn, a bottle of the Malbec she likes, two containers from the diner, and a jar of daisies I cut from my mom’s garden before I left the house. Nothing fancy, just something I put together because I wanted her here.

Halle takes it all in, her face caught somewhere between surprise and something softer.

I stay quiet for a second, letting her look.

“This spot has always been mine in a way the rest of the ranch never really was.”

She glances over at me.

I shove my hands in my pockets and look out over the land instead of at her.

“Rhett’s got the main operation, Dawson’s got the horses, and I’ve always been … the wild one. The one who shows up and works and does what he’s told, but doesn’t really have a claim on any of it. Grandpa left the ranch to all of us, but we all know how it actually works. Rhett’s the one who’s supposed to carry it. I’m just here.”

I let out a short breath. Almost a laugh, but not quite.

“Sometimes it feels like I don’t actually own any of this. Like I’m just borrowing space on land that was never really meant to be mine.”

I look at her then.

“But standing out here … I don’t know. It still feels like mine. Not because of paperwork or bloodlines or whatever the hell is supposed to matter, but because I love it. Because I’ve bled on this dirt and ridden every inch of it and I know the way the wind sounds depending on which pasture you’re standing in. That’s mine. Even if no one else will say it out loud.”

I shrug, a little self-conscious now that I’ve said it out loud. “Guess I’m still figuring out what that means.”

Halle doesn’t say anything right away. She just watches me with that steady look she gets when she’s actually listening.