Page 13 of Captivated (Salvation #3)

Chapter Twelve

The sun was barely up, casting long amber shadows across the pasture.

Zeeb had been awake for hours, and he couldn’t account for it.

Usually he slept like a baby the whole night through.

In the end, he’d given up trying to grab more shuteye, but by the time he’d decided to drag his ass out of his bunk, everyone around him was stirring, which meant he had to do the same.

He was already getting enough ribbing about his schedule.

Matt could be heard through the door that led to the kitchen, humming to himself as he prepared breakfast. From the bathroom came yelps.

Yeah, that water’s pretty damn cold first thing.

Zeeb grabbed his hat, pulled on his boots, and went outside. He strolled into the stable, not surprised to find Paul there, grooming Sorrel and Lucy.

He grinned. “You sleep in here, don’tcha? You pretend to sleep in the bunkhouse with the rest of us, but the minute we’re snorin’, you creep in here.”

Paul laughed. “The conversation’s better. I can speak my mind and the horses don’t argue.” He tilted his head to one side. “Do you think Nate will want to ride today?”

“I won’t know that until I see him.” And speaking of Nate, it was time to sort out his breakfast.

“So what’s his story?”

Zeeb shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. He don’t talk much.” He couldn’t deny he was intrigued, however.

Except it went beyond intrigue. Nate fascinated him, and Zeeb had no clue why that should be. Maybe it was a combination of factors.

Maybe it was what Nate didn’t say, the hint that there was so much below the surface.

Zeeb couldn’t deny he wanted to know more about him.

When he walked back into the bunkhouse, all the hands and the guests were sitting around the table, drinking coffee and talking in low voices.

Teague had joined them, and he and two guests were locked into a discussion.

Zeeb couldn’t hear them, but it seemed kinda serious, judging by their expressions.

Matt had the bag waiting for him. He handed it to Zeeb. “You gonna grab yours after you’ve taken this to Nate?”

He nodded. “As long as you fuckers don’t hog it all.”

The door opened and Butch sauntered in, smiling and relaxed. “Mornin’, boys. And how is everyone this fine morning?”

Zeeb snorted. “Look who woke up on the right side of the bed.” He grinned. “Or did someone get lucky this morning?”

Butch’s eyes sparkled. “ Two someones, if you wanna know.”

“I didn’t, if you must know,” Zeeb quipped.

Walt cackled. “I thought you were walking funny.”

Zeeb shook his head. “An’ this is where I leave y’all to it. I don’t wanna hear about Butch’s love life.”

Butch grinned. “You’re just jealous ’cause your dick’s about to drop off from lack of use.”

For once, Zeeb was lost for a reply.

He waved a hand. “I’ll be back. Save me a place—and some breakfast.” Then he walked out.

As he headed for the truck, he pondered Butch’s jibe. It hadn’t hurt him none, but it did bring home the difference in their situations. Butch and Sol worked well as a couple. Zeeb had never seen Butch so content. And if he was getting some, Zeeb was happy for him.

Butch is right. I am jealous. But it wasn’t the lack of sex that fueled Zeeb’s envy—it was the knowledge that Butch had just come to them from the bed he shared with Sol, that he’d spent the night in Sol’s arms.

Zeeb envied him that.

He climbed behind the wheel and drove toward the cabin. The day was shaping up to be a scorcher, and if Nate was going to try his hand at riding for the first time, the morning would provide the best opportunity.

That’s if he feels up to it.

Zeeb was in no hurry. And from what he’d seen thus far, neither was Nate.

Maybe he’s got some healing to do before he gets to that point.

Because there was no doubt in his mind Nate was in need of healing.

Zeeb parked behind the cabin, and even before he rounded the corner, he could hear the creek.

I wonder what it would be like to hear that sound goin’ on all night.

Zeeb had a feeling it would lull him into a deep, restful sleep.

He was surprised to find Nate sitting on one of the Adirondack chairs, nursing a cup of coffee. One glance at Nate’s eyes told him plenty.

Looks like we both didn’t get enough sleep.

Zeeb approached the porch, keeping his steps slow and loose.

“Mornin’,” he said gently, stopping a few feet away. “You sleep okay?”

As if he didn’t know.

Nate glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “Fine.”

Zeeb bit back a sigh. Even after two days, he knew enough to recognize that was Nate in a word: fine.

He’s always ‘fine.’

Even when he wasn’t.

Especially when he wasn’t.

“About that riding lesson…” Zeeb placed the insulated bag on the porch, then straightened. “You don’t have to do it today if you’re not ready. We can take more time.”

“I said I’d try,” Nate replied, his voice low. “I keep my word.”

Zeeb studied him for a moment. The words weren’t stubborn so much as resigned. As though trying was the only thing left between him and giving up completely.

“Tell you what. I’ll leave you to enjoy your breakfast, and then we’ll see how you feel.”

Nate blinked. “You think I’m going to change my mind?”

Zeeb sighed. “No, I think you had a bad night. So if you decide you wanna spend the day in bed, or in that chair, that’s your choice. No one’ll think badly of you.”

Nate stared at him. “I didn’t realize it showed.” He swallowed. “Yeah, I had a bad night. A nightmare I couldn’t get out of.”

Zeeb gave him what he hoped was a sympathetic glance. “That sucks. Like I said, let’s see how you feel after you’ve eaten.” He inclined his head toward the bag. “Matt’s made his home fries this morning. I guarantee you’ll eat every last one.”

“That good, huh?”

He grinned. “You wait and see.” And with that, he left Nate to his breakfast.

As he drove back to the bunkhouse, the idea of Nate tortured by nightmares occupied his thoughts.

What waits for you in your dreams, Nate?

Zeeb leaned against the fence, arms crossed, watching the quiet figure standing by the gate.

Nate was every inch the skittish colt, looking as if he might bolt at any second.

His shoulders were rigid, his eyes shadowed beneath the brim of the hat Zeeb had given him.

Even now, Zeeb could see the tremor in Nate’s hand when he reached to adjust it.

Not from fear of the horses—at least, Zeeb didn’t think that was the case—but from something deeper.

Something from his nightmare, perhaps.

Something buried.

Sorrel was already saddled and waiting, so calm he could’ve been mistaken for a statue if not for the occasional flick of his tail.

“So we’re doin’ this?”

Nate nodded.

Sorrel snorted, drawing Nate’s attention. He focused on the animal, and Zeeb realized Nate had synchronized his breathing with Sorrel’s, slow and even.

“You said he’s calm, right?” Nate asked, breaking the silence.

“Calmest I’ve ever seen,” Zeeb said. “And smart. Picks up on moods quick.”

“Great,” Nate muttered. “He’ll know I’m a mess in thirty seconds.”

Zeeb chuckled. “He might. But he won’t judge you for it.”

Nate didn’t answer. He stepped forward slowly, his hand brushing Sorrel’s neck.

The horse turned his head, nuzzling into the touch.

Nate’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and Zeeb had the impression Sorrel’s tiny act of trust had undone him.

There was a flicker of something soft in Nate’s eyes, gone as quickly as it came, but Zeeb had seen it.

A thought rose unbidden in Zeeb’s mind.

Who broke you, Nate? And what were you like before they did?

He wanted to say something, anything to ease the weight Nate carried. But any words Zeeb could utter felt flimsy in the face of whatever pain he suffered.

And he is suffering. Of that, Zeeb was in no doubt.

In the end, he did what he did best.

He offered his presence.

“Ready when you are,” Zeeb said. “I’ll be right here the whole time.”

Nate nodded, stiffly at first, then with more purpose. He moved to the mounting block with the awkward precision of someone trying not to mess up. Zeeb stayed at his side, guiding without intruding.

As Nate swung a leg over the saddle and settled in, Zeeb saw it—the brief widening of his eyes, the surge of breath as if the wind had knocked something loose in him.

“You okay?” Zeeb rested his hand on Sorrel’s bridle.

Nate didn’t speak at first. He just sat there, his hands clenching on the reins, staring at the horizon. Finally, a whisper fell from his lips.

“It’s the first time I’ve felt taller than the weight.”

Zeeb’s chest ached. He wasn’t sure what Nate’s words meant, but it felt like a positive comment.

“That’s good,” he said.

Nate studied him then, his usual mask gone, and in its place was raw, guarded curiosity, as though he was deciding if Zeeb was for real.

Zeeb held his gaze, steady and patient.

Nate didn’t look away.

Zeeb never stood too close. Not physically, at least—he kept a respectful distance. But emotionally, there was something about him that made Nate feel exposed, as if the man could see all the pieces he kept hidden under layers of silence.

And Zeeb never pushed. That was worse, somehow.

Nate was used to people who demanded things of him: his father, the camp counselors, even the therapists who thought tears were some kind of victory.

But Zeeb just stood there with those damn steady eyes, as though he was offering Nate a way out instead of another trap.

That scared the hell out of him.

“Ready to move?” Zeeb gestured to the halter. “I can walk him around the paddock, until you get used to the feelin’.

Nate nodded. “That would be good.” He realized how high he was sitting, a thing he hadn’t foreseen, despite Sorrel’s height.

Zeeb led Sorrel out into the center of the paddock, Sorrel moving beneath him like a river, smooth, steady, and sure of its course.

Nate kept his back straight, his hands light on the reins like Zeeb had shown him, but his heart was thudding as if it hadn’t caught on that this was supposed to be calming.

Little by little he noticed more details: the sunlight brilliant as it hit the windows of the house high on the hill, the sound of birds chirping in the distance. And yet, all Nate could focus on was how his body felt on the horse: foreign, vulnerable, exposed.

“You’re doing great,” Zeeb said from beside him, walking easily at Sorrel’s shoulder.

Nate wanted to scoff, but the words didn’t come. He didn’t feel great. He felt like a cracked mirror, reflecting enough to look whole but sharp in all the wrong places.

Sorrel kept walking, patient and calm. And Zeeb? He stayed there. Not pushing. Not pulling.

Just… there.

Maybe that was what was getting to Nate more than anything.

The way Zeeb showed up. No performance. No masks.

Nothing but steady hands and quiet strength.

The kind of presence Nate had only ever found in books or imagined during sleepless nights, in those rare as fuck moments when he still believed—still prayed—people like Zeeb existed.

They circled the paddock once, then again. Nate’s breathing began to slow. He didn’t realize how tense his shoulders were until they started to relax.

“I didn’t think I could do this,” he admitted, his voice almost too quiet for the wind to carry.

Zeeb stared up at him, a half-smile on his face. “Why not?”

Nate swallowed. “Because trusting something, even a horse, feels like asking to be broken again.”

The words hit like a hammer to Zeeb’s chest.

He kept his steps slow, but inside, something ached. He wanted to reach up, to put a hand on Nate’s knee, to offer something more than words. But he knew that’d be too much.

Too soon.

“Being broken doesn’t mean you’re not whole,” he said in a low voice. “Just means someone tried to tell you who you were wasn’t good enough.”

Nate stared back at him then, his green eyes dark and searching, the color of a stormy ocean.

“Yeah,” Zeeb admitted. “I’ve been there too. Which won’t surprise you, not after our conversation last night.”

The horse stopped at the edge of the paddock, as though he sensed something in the stillness between them. Nate didn’t speak, didn’t move, but gazed at Zeeb as if he was seeing him for the first time.

“Let’s head back,” Zeeb said in a gentle tone, giving him an out.

Nate nodded once, and Zeeb led him toward the stable.

Paul wasn’t around when they got there, and Zeeb helped Nate dismount, careful not to touch him unless it was necessary.

His hand brushed Nate’s arm as he steadied him, and for a second, neither of them moved.

The silence between them was thick, not awkward but full of all the things neither of them had said.

“Thanks,” Nate said, his voice low as he handed over the reins.

Zeeb nodded, walking Sorrel back into the stall while Nate leaned against a wooden beam, his arms crossed tightly as though he was holding himself together.

“You did more than try today,” Zeeb said over his shoulder. “You showed up. That counts.”

Nate didn’t answer right away, but watched as Zeeb moved with the horse, his hands gentle, his voice soft.

“I hate that I can’t trust people,” Nate said at last.

Zeeb’s heart ached for him. “But you’re here. That’s something, isn’t it?”

Nate stared at him, a tangle of emotions flickering across his face—fear, hope, longing. And something else. Something harder to name.

That’s enough for today.

He didn’t need Nate to open up all at once. He didn’t even need him to say thank you.

He’s shown up, and he’s let his mask slip a little.

That was more than Zeeb could’ve asked for.

“Is it okay if I go back to the cabin for a while?” Nate asked.

“Sure. Lemme tie Sorrel up, and I’ll take you there.”

Nate smiled. “I’ll meet you at the truck.”

As Nate turned to go, Zeeb let himself believe maybe this wasn’t just healing.

Maybe it was the beginning of something whole.