Page 28

I stop short when I hear a man’s voice carrying out of the front of the building. “There’s nothing in the north building—and she’s not living at the townhouse address. We’ve been staking it out for well over a week now.”

Holy shit.

Another person speaks more loudly. “The bar is always busy. She’s never alone. It’s not an easy snatch and grab.”

My stomach drops as I listen. Their accents are ones I can’t place—they sure as hell aren’t from Kentucky.

This isn’t going to end with me introducing myself and asking them to politely leave.

I’m also not going to run away and see whether or not they’re going to take or hurt my horses. No fucking way.

I don’t waste any more time listening. I parked down by the farthest paddock gate, which can’t be seen from here, thank goodness.

The sight and sound of my car would have tipped them off.

I know these stables better than any other place—there are a total of ten stalls in each stable, and the three buildings were usually packed with young fillies.

During any other year, it would be rowdy.

The weekend prior to the Oaks and the Derby meant a packed house.

Every other year, until now, because people no longer associated with Finch they’re trained to move with the pressure of the body riding them, but we need to move .

It’s not clear if those men are armed, so I don’t look back.

I keep my body low and push to get to the edge of the tree line.

Fergie whinnies, picking up the pace, and runs along in time with Lady and me.

I twist my wrists to hold on to the reins tighter.

I haven’t ridden without a saddle in a long-ass time.

We don’t stop or slow. Instead, I have them go faster.

I’ll ease up when I hit the flat landscape and can see the peppering of black rickhouses with their white Foxx logos.

I’m squinting and out of breath when we finally hit shorter grass.

The farthest rickhouse from the main property swipes by my right, and we reach the well-manicured landscaping of the only place that’s ever felt like home.

With a still-pounding heart, I exhale the breath I’d been holding, seeing a familiar tall and broad body just getting into his sports car.

But I don’t let myself feel relief just yet.

I need to get to him. It makes no sense that even as he sees me, gets out of his car, and starts walking toward me that it’s not enough.

I haven’t slowed; I just need to get there.

He stops and doesn’t flinch as I ride right for him. The second I pull to a stop and slide down Lady’s side, hitting the ground with both feet, he rushes to me, grabbing Lady’s reins. “What happened?”

I’m out of breath, practically shaking with adrenaline as I say, “There were men.”

He walks closer, slowly approaching like I’m a wild animal.

I put my hands on my hips, and inhale, counting to three to lower my racing heart.

I do it again as I turn around and try to coax back the tears that have started to pool.

I’m not going to break over being spooked like this.

I wait for another handful of counts before I turn back to see him pulling out his phone.

In a stern tone, he asks, “What men, Hadley?”

I just shake my head. “I don’t know.” Even though I’m here, I’m not asking him to fix this. I simply needed someplace safe, someone safe.

“Del, thanks for taking this,” he says with a smile into his phone, eyes on mine. “There were some unwanted visitors over at Finch they’re burning and bright red from gripping onto her reins so tightly.

I hear Ace say more quietly, “She’s spooked, Del. I don’t know who they were, just that they didn’t belong there.”

As I’m rinsing off my hands in the utility sink along the exterior of his stables, he approaches my side, grabbing a towel for me.

“Tell me you’re alright,” he demands. I realize he must’ve hung up, because the only other sounds are the late afternoon bugs echoing and my horses drinking vigorously.

“I’d rather not lie to you,” I say honestly.

But my anxiety peaks, and I start to ramble, “Nothing is alright. For an entire year, shit hasn’t been alright.

Honestly, I’ll take sub-par. Even mediocre.

Plenty of people live happily in mediocrity.

I might have to be okay with that if Midnight Proof keeps tanking.

Can’t quite call it a success if I’m getting lucky with any busy nights now.

” I swallow past the lump in my throat, full-on spiraling.

“My mental health lately feels like I’m playing Marco Polo in the Atlantic or the Pacific, whichever one is bigger and more ominous.

So, yeah...” I release a heavy breath. “I’m the furthest thing from alright.”

He doesn’t say anything. He simply nods, turns away from me, and starts walking toward the house.

Something about watching him walk away has my anxiety morphing into frustration.

I take in his crisp white shirt tucked into those black suit pants with the faintest pinstripe as he plucks the jacket he dropped from the ground and tosses it over his shoulder, like he has no cares in the world.

I don’t know why that fires me up so much, or why I’m starting to seethe.

What the hell was I expecting? He called the cops for me; what else do I want?

Maybe it’s the after-effect of being scared and running.

Or maybe I’ve just had enough of this chaotic excuse for a relationship that I’ve been so quick to accept in any way he’ll offer it to me.

“You know what?” I say to myself and the damn horses, because his long legs are now far out of earshot.

“Fuck this.” Marching after him, I shout, “I don’t know what they wanted, but they were looking for me.

It’s not just random drop-ins at my bar, Ace.

Someone’s been watching me too; maybe the same guys, who knows, but they sent a fucking picture message of ME eating at Hooch’s the other day to spook me.

” I raise my arms, defeated. “And, it’s working.

” I try to make up the distance with long strides, and then pick up my pace so I can cut in front of him.

As soon as I do, he stops. The look on his face isn’t one that I expect—he’s angry.

“What? Are you mad at me that I came here?—”

But he cuts me off, dropping his jacket again, his hands moving to my waist as he guides me back so that I’m pinned to the large oak tree behind me. Any words I planned to say escape me on a gasp as he looks at my mouth.

“You’re going to say yes,” he says in his deep, low voice—the sound of it feeling like a front-row seat to pure masculinity and self-confidence at its very finest. “You’re going to say yes, Hadley. But then we’re going to play it my way.”

I can’t help the laugh that pulls out of me, but his face doesn’t break into a smile.

His grip along my waist pulses as I search the grays and blues in his eyes, the smell of oak and orange easing some part of me.

His mouth—oh hell, I’ve fantasized about all the things this man could say and do to me with his mouth.

All of it tamps the fire that was churning in my gut, and instead, it’s being replaced with a warm and eager tension.

The palpable energy that always seems to surface between us.

“Okay,” I breathe out. “What am I saying yes to?”

He glances down at my mouth again, before his eyes move back to mine, and releases a small hum, like I’ve pleased him. “Marrying me.”