Page 7 of Meant for You

His expression had gone hard, those eyes back to wild. “You willing to throw it all away, everything we are to each other?”

I looked at him in disbelief. “Me? You’re the effing one who threw it away.” I felt tears stinging the back of my eyes. I would not shed more tears over him. I wouldn’t, and especially not in front of him. “You threw me away. Not the other way around, Dane.”

He froze, and I didn’t waste a moment. I strode past him and, ignoring the gate, bounded over the fence and out to the field.

When I brought Zephyr in a short time later, Dane and his bike were gone.

Good.

That’s what I wanted, right?

Then why did I feel like he’d abandoned me all over again?

* * *

The next morning, I woke again to the sound of birds chirping, the sun shining, and, yeah, that effing rooster crowing like he was worried the neighboring towns couldn’t hear him.

I got up and looked out the window. Another gorgeous day ahead, doing what I loved most. Living and working on a ranch. Helping Cassy with her breeding program, the kind of work I’d wanted to do since I moved to my aunt’s property and she gave me my first horse.

She might have been strict and cold, distant, but she was the reason I had my love of horses. If it wasn’t for her, I might never have discovered my passion.

My room was stuffy, so I unlocked the door and opened it…

And jumped back with a shriek when Dane fell through again.

Only this time he was in a sleeping bag and had a thermos beside him and a bag with takeout boxes from Dino’s Diner.

“Morning,” he said, voice all sleep roughened.

I watched him in stunned silence as he unzipped his sleeping bag and climbed to his feet. He was smiling, but when his gaze moved over me, taking me in, it slipped from his face.

Color slashed his sharp cheekbones and he growled. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

Huh? I frowned. The ratty white tank I wore to bed had actually belonged to him. I’d stolen it out of his drawer before my aunt came to get me. So yeah, it was old and thin. It came to mid-thigh, was low at the front, and the armholes came halfway down to my waist, but it was comfortable.

Then it occurred to me that I wasn’t wearing a bra.

I wasn’t wearing a bra.

I looked down at myself and blushed. My boobs, which were not small by any definition of the word, were not well hidden by the thin fabric. Not only was there a whole lot of side boob showing, you could see my nipples, and not just the way they were poking out—at Dane—but the darker shade behind the worn white material.

I yanked another shirt out of my laundry basket and shoved it on. “I don’t exactly wear it in public.”

He scowled and was breathing strangely, kinda heavy. “Anyone could have seen you in that thing.”

“I don’t usually have people camped at my door first thing in the morning either, so it’s never been an issue,” I gritted out.

His head tilted to the side and he grabbed the collar of the shirt I’d just pulled on, yanking it to the side to get another look at the tank at my shoulder. “Is that…mine?”

I crossed my arms. “Well, yes.”

His gaze slid back up. “You’ve been sleeping in it since you moved in with your aunt?”

I rolled my eyes. “Not every night. I do wash it.”

“Why?” he bit out, and I got a flash of the barbell he still had through his tongue.

My attempt at sarcasm was lost on him. I flushed darker but not with embarrassment—with anger. “Because I like clean clothes, a-hole,” I said, purposely avoiding his question.