Page 48 of Resisting Isaac

I do my best to lighten the mood. “Aww. Was that your first time, cowboy?”

His stare presses into me. “It was the first time anything felt like that. And I think you already know you’re special.” His voice lowers, softens. “Honestly, I’ve been trying pretty hard not to say a lot of things. But it seems like you hear them anyway.”

I say nothing. But I get it.

I may never understand how my family, who I’ve known my entire life, doesn’t seem to get me. But this man who barely knows me has been able to read me from day one.

He doesn’t say anything else for a long beat. Just watches as I tape the gauze down over his wound.

The air between us stills. He reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear with the same touch he used on that injured horse—gentle, reverent. Like I might bolt if he’s not careful.

“Woman of many talents. You’re good at this too,” he says, gesturing to his bandaged hand.

Something thick swells in my chest.

I nod toward my work. “All done. I think you’ll be okay.”

He leans closer, breath brushing my cheek. “Will I?”

It’s teasing, but barely. There’s something else in his voice now.Need.I recognize it because I’m fighting it every time he’s around.

Before I can respond, a soft breeze kicks up, and the smell of horses and leather and warm skin surrounds me. I want to lean in. Want to press my lips to his. Want to feel him inside me again.

Instead, I stand and turn toward the door. “I should get inside. It’s getting late.”

He stands too, but not before sliding his palm across the small of my back in a slow, familiar touch that stops me where I stand.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he says quietly.

I only stare up at him, waiting for whatever sensitive spot of mine he’s about to uncover next.

His green eyes are sharp, searching. “Why acting? You’re a natural with horses. You calmed that mustang before Colter could even blink. You a wild horse whisper in your free time?”

I laugh, but it catches in my throat. “No. Not really. Maybe in a past life.”

He smirks. “You’re good—like could do this for a living good. But I guess being a movie star pays better, huh?”

I look down at my hands. “It’s not that I don’t love this. I do. Horses will always feel like home.”

“Then why leave it behind?”

“Because I had to.” My voice is steady, but my chest tightens. “Growing up, we didn’t have much. I was an only child so I worked our small patch of family land in one way or another from the time I could walk. But every time I saddled up, every time I lost myself on a trail, it felt like freedom.”

“I get that. Some days I can’t believe getting to do what I love is my actual job.”

“But there was always the question of money. We never had any of it.”

He stays quiet, so I keep going.

“At sixteen, I won this silly modeling competition at a local mall. Two years later, I had enough money saved up from modeling gigs for a year of college. I took an acting class and I was good at it, from years of being an only child I guess and playing pretend with farm animals. I started acting because I needed a way out. But once I got a little traction, I realized it wasn’t just about me anymore.” I’m rambling now. And I’m self-aware enough to know that I am but not strong enough to stop. “There are girls out there—little girls from nowhere towns who’ve never seen themselves as the star in their own story. Never seen someone like them win. Because the world wants to make women who look like me the maid or the mistress, but never the main character. I wanted to show them they didn’t have to settle for the poverty they were born into, and that their worth isn’t measured by how many kids they have or who they marry.”

He shifts in his seat, nodding slowly. “I get it. I figured itwas about more than the spotlight as you don’t seem too into that aspect of it.”

“I wanted a platform. To give them something to believe in. Something I didn’t have growing up when life seemed like a lost cause.”

He looks at me then—really looks—and it nearly undoes me.

That’s…brave as hell, Elena.”