Page 16 of Awaiting the Storm (Wildhaven #1)

B y the time the sun begins its slow descent behind the mountain range, I’ve convinced myself to get outside and do something useful.

Maybe the fresh air will help wash away some of this self-condemnation, and there’s nothing quite like hard manual labor to pull you out of a funk—or to cure a lingering hangover.

I pull an old Wildhaven Storm Ranch sweatshirt over my tee and a ball cap on my head, then tie my air-dried hair into a low knot at the back of my neck.

My body still aches, and my head is still a little swimmy, but the guilt and restlessness swirling in my chest from sitting in front of the television, recovering all afternoon, demands I get my ass moving.

Evening chores wait for no one, least of all a woman who made a drunken fool of herself the night before. And I know that the girls and Cabe must be running on empty tanks by now.

I find the crew already out by the barn.

Charli’s slowly hauling hay—more like dragging the bales across the dirt—Shelby’s scrubbing out water troughs, and Cabe’s swinging a muck rake with zero control.

No one says much when I join them. They all just glance over with varying degrees of curiosity. Exhaustion evident on all our faces.

“This is why we don’t go out when we have morning chores,” I say slowly.

They all groan. Then Charli looks up and gives me a little smirk and wiggles her eyebrows. I scowl at her, but it’s half-hearted.

“Don’t start. I don’t want to talk about last night. I’m just here to work,” I declare.

I grab a pitchfork and start spreading fresh straw in the stalls behind Cabe. The scent of hay and horses fills my lungs, and with every pass, I feel a bit steadier on my feet, like my system is being reset by getting back to what it knows. Work. Muscle memory. The ranch.

They don’t question me, and they all give me a wide berth in order to get my footing.

I’m mid-scoop when I hear the sound of an engine coming up the drive.

I straighten slowly, swiping sweat from my forehead as I peer toward the front of the barn. The sun is low enough now that the light casts the opening in a haze. I see a dark green pickup pull to a stop just beyond the door.

Caison climbs out.

My stomach flips. And then twists into a tight knot.

He’s in jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt this time, a black ball cap pulled low over his eyes. One hand clutches his keys as he shuts the door with his hip. The other holds something I instantly recognize—my hat.

The one I wore last night. The one I didn’t realize was missing.

Perfect.

I drop the pitchfork against the stall wall and wipe my hands on my jeans, but I don’t move. Not until Charli nudges me with her elbow.

“Look alive, Matty,” she says under her breath. “Your sexy cowboy’s here.”

I look over my shoulder and toss her a scorching look, but it doesn’t faze her.

I’m gonna be sick.

“Go on. You’ll be fine.” Her grin is annoyingly smug. “Just try to resist attacking him again. At least until you have him alone.”

I growl at her, but my feet are already moving.

Caison approaches the barn, gaze fixed on me. His eyes are unreadable, but the air between us tightens like it’s holding its breath. I know I am.

“You lose something last night?” he calls, twirling the hat that’s hanging from his fingertips.

“I guess I did,” I say, walking toward him in slow, measured steps. “Thanks for returning it.”

He holds it out to me. “Figured it might be important.”

I take it from him, the back of my hand brushing his as I do. A jolt of electricity moves through me, and I wonder if he can feel it too.

“It is. It was my mother’s. I appreciate you making sure it wasn’ t left at the bar.”

“Not a problem,” he says before searching my face and asking, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I snap, the sound coming out more high-pitched than I meant for it to.

His brow arches. “That was convincing.”

I cross my arms.

“Thought I might find you still in bed,” he says.

I sigh, shifting the hat in my hands. “What do you want, Caison?”

“I just wanted to check on you. And bring your hat back. And … ask you to dinner.”

My stomach tightens. “Dinner?”

He nods.

“Not for nothing, but I’ve barely been able to keep water down all day. I don’t think dinner is in the cards for me,” I say.

He chuckles. “Not tonight. I was thinking tomorrow. If you think you’ll have sufficiently recovered by then.”

I glance over my shoulder and see Charli and Shelby peeking out of the barn. They both give me a thumbs-up, and I scowl at them.

Turning back to Caison, I shake my head, but before I can say anything, he lifts his palms.

“Not a date. A truce. A conversation. You and me, talking. I figure after last night, maybe we crossed out of hostile-acquaintance territory. Hope so anyway.”

I hesitate. My walls are climbing back up with every breath. “Caison …”

“Just dinner,” he insists.

Charli appears suddenly at my side. “She’d love to.”

I whip my head around. “Charli,” I warn.

“She’ll go,” Shelby echoes from the troughs, grinning. “It’s just dinner, Matty. A girl’s gotta eat.”

I glare at both of them.

Caison smiles faintly. “Yes?”

I glance toward the arena and freeze.

Carl is standing on the fence rail, watching. His expression is dark—jaw clenched, shoulders stiff, and eyes narrowed on us.

I turn back to Caison. “Fine. Dinner,” I agree, and I regret the words even as I say them.

His smile widens. “Great. I’ll be here to pick you up at six.”

I shake my head. “Work doesn’t stop around here until seven, and I need time to shower, unless you want your date to smell like manure.”

He nods, unfazed. “Eight it is then. We can throw some steaks on the grill at my place.”

I shake my head. “I’d rather it’s at a restaurant. And I’ll meet you there.”

That earns me a quirked brow. “You don’t trust me enough to get in a vehicle with me?”

I narrow my eyes at him because we both know I was curled up in the cab of his truck less than twenty-four hours ago.

I don’t trust me.

“Nope,” I lie, popping the P extra hard.

His smile shifts—less teasing now, more serious. “Fair enough, I guess,” he says. “Although I wanted to cook for you. Impress you with my culinary skills.”

“Still not going to your place.”

He chuckles. “Okay then. You pick the spot.”

“The Foraged Bistro,” I say, thinking of the little restaurant on the outskirts of town. Quiet. Excellent food. Less likely we’ll run into every busybody in Wildhaven.

“I know the place,” he says, and then—God help me—he steps closer. So close that I can smell the faint scent of sandalwood I remember. See the gold flecks in his dark eyes.

“I had a great time last night,” he says low, his voice a whisper over my sweat-slicked skin. “Didn’t sleep a wink, thinking about it. About that kiss.”

I suck in a breath, heat rising to my face. I can’t look away.

He leans just a little closer. “Tell me you didn’t think about it too.”

I swallow hard. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I barely remember leaving the bar. I passed out hard. Slept like a baby.”

His eyes search mine, looking for the truth.

Glancing away before he finds it, I add, “I’ll wash your shirt and bring it to you tonight.”

He shakes his head. “Keep it. ”

I blink. “What?”

“I like the idea of you tucked in your bed, wearing it.”

My heart slams against my ribs.

Before I can form a coherent response, the screen door swings open behind me, and Grandma Evelyn walks out onto the porch with a glass of sweet tea in one hand.

“You stayin’ for supper, Mr. Galloway?” she calls.

His eyes shift over my shoulder to her with a boyish grin. “Not tonight, ma’am. Some other time?”

I turn to see her nod once.

“You’re welcome anytime.”

“I appreciate that.”

He gives me one last look. “Tomorrow. Eight o’clock. Foraged Bistro.”

“I’ll be there,” I whisper.

He starts to turn, then glances back. “Got any more sexy dresses in the back of your closet?”

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t push your luck, Galloway,” I call after him. “Not a date. Remember that.”

He laughs and walks back to his truck, climbing in with practiced confidence. The engine roars to life. He waves once, then pulls out, leaving dust and loaded silence in his wake.

I don’t turn around until I hear footsteps crunching up behind me, expecting to see Charli or Shelby. Instead, I come face-to-face with Carl.

I stiffen.

“You tryin’ to make me jealous?” he asks, voice low and tight.

I exhale slowly. “No.”

“Well, it’s working.”

“I said no, Carl,” I mutter, exasperated.

I take a good look at him. He looks rough—sweaty, tired, eyes red-rimmed. But he’s still got that wounded charm he’s always wielded like a weapon.

“Galloway’s not your type, Matty.”

“And you think you’re an expert on who is my type?”

He flinches, but recovers quickly. “I know he doesn’t belong here. He’s not one of us.”

“There is no us, Carl. Not anymore,” I snap, feeling defensive .

“I don’t trust him, Matty. He’s playing a game. He’s got ulterior motives. Can’t you see that?”

I fold my arms. “And you don’t?”

He steps closer, eyes pleading now. “I was an idiot to leave. I know that now. I admit it. But I’m back now. I came back for you. For this ranch. To try and get back what we had. No ulterior motive, just a clear one.”

“That’s the thing, Carl. It’s what we had. Past tense.”

“You’re scared,” he says. “I get that. I deserve for you to rake me over the coals.”

“You’re right. I’m scared. Scared of making the same mistake twice.”

His shoulders sag. “You think I don’t know I screwed up? But if you just give me a second chance, I swear I’ll prove it to you. You’ll see I’m sincere.”

I look down at my boots.

“Please, Matty. We can be good again.”

“I need time,” I whisper. “Space.”

He exhales, defeated. “I can give you that. But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here, waiting. However long it takes.”

And with that, he walks away, leaving me standing here. Caught between the familiarity and comfort of what used to be and the uncertainty of whatever the hell is waiting for me tomorrow night.