Page 15

T he sun’s still climbing, warm and golden through the kitchen windows, but it’s not the heat that’s got my palms sweating.

It’s him.

Zeke.

I see him through the glass, waiting out near the fence line with a horse already saddled and the full attention of the morning around him.

It’s like nature pauses for him—birds quiet, wind softer.

Just him and that steady, magnetic stillness.

I already called the home where Gramps is situated and was told he’s having a good day. He’s resting well and perfectly pleasant, which was good considering his recent dementia diagnosis.

That bastard of an illness was heartbreaking, but Gramps is still strong, and I promise myself I’ll visit him soon.

I’m seconds from walking out the door when Avery slides in beside me, a cup of herbal tea in one hand, the other resting on her swollen belly, and that all-knowing glint in her eye.

She doesn't say anything at first. Just takes a sip and glances out the window too, her voice casual when she finally speaks.

“This place gets under your skin, doesn’t it?”

I nod, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.

“It feels like something I didn’t know I was missing.”

Avery smiles, but it’s laced with something deeper. Something heavier.

“It’s not just the ranch,” she says. “It’s them.”

I glance at her, unsure.

“The men,” she clarifies gently.

“They’re not like most. They’re rough around the edges, sure, and gods know they growl more than they talk, but they love hard. Deep. For life.”

Something stirs in my chest. I look back out the window, where Zeke strokes the horse’s neck with those big, calloused hands.

“He’s intense, Av, but this isn’t love. I mean, we just met,” I murmur, but whether I’m trying to convince her or me is anyone’s guess.

Avery chuckles. “Agree to disagree about that. But intense is one way to put it. Zeke’s special. He’s seen more. Lost more. But he’s a good man. The best kind, really, if you’re brave enough to let him in.”

I wrap my arms around myself, needing the comfort.

Avery touches my elbow, grounding me.

“You’re welcome here, Casey. Always. But be careful.”

I blink. “Of what?”

She hesitates. Then, with a smile that’s more tender than teasing, she says, “Once you fall for one of these cowboys, nothing else will ever compare.”

And I know— somehow, I know —she’s not just talking about boots and bonfires.

She’s talking about something bigger.

Wilder.

Something that changes you.

I take a breath, heart thudding, and nod once.

Then I step outside, toward the man waiting like he’s already felt me coming.

Birds fly overhead, and critters scurry in the woods behind the cabin, but everything seems to stop to look at Zeke.

As if nature itself were seeking his approval.

Suddenly, I realize I’m one of them too.

There’s just something about him that feels like, well , like magic. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and I think I like it.

In fact, I know I do.

The second I step outside, I realize I’ve made a tactical error.

I thought I was ready.

But nope. I was so not ready.

Because Zeke Gordon is standing beside the biggest horse I’ve ever seen—and somehow, the man looks even bigger.

Broad shoulders wrapped in a soft black T-shirt, those muscular forearms flexing as he tightens a saddle strap. The reins rest loose in one hand like they belong there.

His hair is tied back in a low, lazy knot behind his head, the ends barely brushing the collar of his shirt, and his jaw flexes just slightly as he checks the cinch.

I have the sudden urge to fan myself with my own dignity.

He looks up as I approach.

His eyes are that stormy indigo-blue again. The color is so unique, it’s like something out of a dream.

Like calm water with danger lurking just under the surface.

Zeke’s gaze is focused. Hungry. On me.

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound breezy. “Nice day for a ride. If I knew how to ride that is.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

He just lets his gaze roam down my body, then back up slowly.

When he finally speaks, it’s low and rough and way too effective.

“I got you, Petals. You’re safe with me.”

Strong as he is, I’m not quite sure I believe him.

I swallow hard.

“Is this your horse?”

He nods. “Name’s Trouble.”

“Of course it is.”

He smirks, then gestures me closer. “Come on. This one is Peanut. I’ll help you up.”

I pause. “Fair warning, I haven’t ridden anything bigger than a yoga ball since my days in summer camp.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says, stepping close, “Besides we both know that ain’t true.”

My eyes practically fall out of my head as I catch his meaning.

He is closer now. Way too close.

Before I can offer a rebuttal or rethink this whole thing, his hands are at my waist.

His grip is firm, warm, steady, and in the next breath, he lifts me onto the saddle like I weigh nothing.

“Whoa,” I laugh breathlessly, wobbling for balance.

“Relax,” he murmurs, adjusting the stirrups. “I’ve got you.”

It’s not the words, it’s the way he says them that makes me want to swoon.

Like it’s a promise.

His gaze is unwavering and just like that, I do as he says.

I relax. I settle into the saddle, watching as he swings up onto his horse, Trouble, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He doesn’t even have to look to find his balance. He just moves with an easy, predatory grace that makes my insides melt.

We start riding. Well. I’m mostly just hanging on.

Zeke is patient. Sweet. Tender.

We go slow at first, following a wide dirt trail that winds around the edge of the property, where the fence line meets the trees.

“You’re doing good, Petals,” he murmurs, and his subtle praise warms me to my toes.

I smile and breathe deep.

The air smells like wildflowers and summer grass.

Birds call overhead.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear cows. Probably judging me.

For a while, we just ride in silence.

But it’s not awkward.

It’s peaceful.

Zeke rides beside me, one hand loosely holding the reins, the other resting on his thigh.

Every now and then, he glances over— just a flick of his eyes —but each time, I feel it like a touch.

Eventually, I can’t take it anymore.

“So, you do this often?” I ask.

He grunts.

“Ride? Every day. I work on a ranch,” he says, canting his head as he looks at me curiously.

“Yeah, but you’re not working today, are you?” I ask, casting a glance his way as our horses walk side by side.

Zeke looks over at me, a slow grin curving his mouth in a way that makes my stomach flutter. “No. I guess I’m not.”

“So…” I smile, shifting in the saddle, trying to play it cool. “What are you thinking about right now?”

His grin fades— just a little .

His jaw tightens, the muscle flexing beneath the stubble, and for a second, I think he won’t answer.

Then his voice drops, low and rough, like he’s pulling the words from some place deep.

“Right now? I’m trying to remember why I ever thought it was smart to keep my distance from you.”

Oh.

Oh damn.

I stare straight ahead, trying to remember how to breathe, my heart doing its best impression of a hummingbird trapped in my chest.

“That so?” I ask, pretending to be casual, like my hands aren’t slick with sweat and every nerve ending in my body isn’t on high alert.

“Yeah,” he says, voice dipping into something deeper, darker. “You don’t make it easy.”

“Good.”

The word slips out before I can second-guess it. And it hangs there between us like an open door I just stepped through.

He chuckles, quiet and warm and just a little dangerous. It slides over my skin like smoke and makes me want to lean into him.

I shift again, trying to calm the riot in my chest. “This place is beautiful,” I say, more to ground myself than anything.

“That it is,” he agrees, the corners of his mouth still curled.

“You know, I had no idea New Jersey had big ranches like this.”

“Oh, there are a few,” he says. “This is probably more farm than ranch, technically. But with the dairy and the animals and everything else we’ve got going on, it fits.”

“It’s peaceful,” I murmur.

“It is,” he agrees. “Most days. Others it’s a riot of noise and one catastrophe followed by another.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” I say, and note the glitter in his eyes.

He doesn’t answer, but that’s okay.

There’s this lull. But it isn’t awkward.

Just quiet. Comfortable.

I glance over again, watching the way he rides.

Confident, easy, like he was born to straddle a saddle.

He belongs here.

In this world. In this moment.

“What made you want to do this kind of thing?” I ask. “Ranch life, I mean.”

He thinks about it for a beat, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

“Like my space,” he says at last. “Like working with the animals. They don’t talk much. Don’t lie. It’s a good fit for me.”

His words are simple, but they hit somewhere deep.

“And you?” he asks, flicking those steel-blue eyes to mine. “Always wanted to be a school nurse?”

I laugh, but it’s hollow. “Oh. Um, not—not really,” I say, the truth clawing at the back of my throat.

I don’t offer more.

And Zeke— intuitive, impossibly sexy, alarmingly perceptive Zeke —doesn’t push.

He just nods like he gets it.

Like he understands what it’s like to live with a truth you’re not ready to speak aloud.

For the first time in what feels like years, I don’t feel like I’m scrambling to prove myself. I don’t feel like I have to fight to be heard or twist myself into a more palatable version of me.

I feel wanted.

Safe.

Seen.

And as the wind brushes my skin and the sun warms my back, I realize something that makes my throat go tight.

Falling for this cowboy?

It’s not a question.

It’s not a risk.

It’s already done.

And I am so screwed.