Page 13 of Saving the Rain (Crimson Ridge #4)

This? When he pretends I don’t exist at all, it feels like a murky, sticky tar in my stomach.

Even after all the crap with my mom, and the work I’ve done to repair the damage I caused more recently to those closest to me, this right here feels just as uncomfortable as any of that. A reaction I wasn’t anticipating myself to have at all.

We’re nothing to each other, that much I understand. But even so, this kind of situation puts doubt back in my head. Filling every corner of my mind with the white noise and scratching claws that remind me yet again of the fact that I’m an eternal fuck up.

I loathe feeling this way.

I hate feeling as if I’m so much of a terrible thing in his world that he’d rather ignore my presence completely.

Our meals fill the table, and conversation flows around me, a swirling pool of jokes and nonsense chatter.

But I’m not in the mood for any of it. Where normally I’d be chowing down, and enthusiastically in the thick of the subject my friends are talking about, tonight feels like it’s all too oppressive.

The company isn’t the problem. No, it’s got nothing to do with them and everything to do with my inner turmoil.

For some reason, the intrusive thoughts are front and center, loud as fuck, fixated on the fact everyone here has got their shit together.

It’s too much like being smothered by a blanket of happy couples being mushy and in love to the point I can’t breathe.

Yeah. That’s enough to get rid of my appetite.

Shoving a few more mouthfuls down—I’ve forced myself to at least eat enough up until now so that I won’t get dragged into talking if I’m not chewing—I mop up the last of my fries and sauce, then grab hold of my plate.

“I’m gonna drop this off to the kitchen,” I mumble, and haul myself out of the booth before anyone can ask me a damn thing.

If there’s anywhere I want to be right now, it ain’t sitting there, nor is it with the nagging pressure of knowing my stepbrother is only a few feet away.

Without looking back, I fist my jacket in one hand and head in the direction of the bar.

My eyes scan the room for the sight of wild blond hair.

“Seen Chaos?” Raising my voice over the music, I catch Knox’s attention as he’s running the soda hose along a line of tumblers crammed with ice set out on the bar top.

He slopes his head toward the end of the room. “Pretty sure he went outside.”

“Got it. Need any help with those?” I offer. At least if I’ve got something to keep my hands busy, I can try to ease this bullshit feeling bombarding me. My veins are burning up from the inside out, fizzing with something messy and uneasy that I can’t wait to get rid of.

“Nah, man. Shit’s under control tonight.” He flips an extra glass up onto the counter, fills it, then slides it my way. As he does so, the guy gives me a curt nod. Knox’s equivalent of telling me to kindly fuck off, quit bugging him, and leave him to it.

“Thanks.” I dip my chin and keep my ass moving.

Swiping up the soda after offloading my plate to the kitchen, I’m pretty fucking relieved to wander outside, leaving the crowd and thump of music in my wake.

If there’s anything I need right now, it’s fresh air.

Maybe that’s the thing eating away at me tonight?

A packed room usually doesn’t bother me in the slightest, but there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.

The night air is sharp on my senses when I step outside.

Fall has taken hold, dropping the temperature rapidly when the sun drifts out of sight behind the Peak.

The garden area is scattered with people at outdoor tables and a courtyard set up with strings of bulbs crisscrossing overhead.

A fancy fireplace, custom built, allows the night air to feel comfortable enough while being outside.

Shrugging into my jacket, I let my gaze drift around the small clusters of folks enjoying the night air and the softer bass of music floating through the doors each time they open.

Looks like Chaos has disappeared. Knowing him, there’s every chance he’s already long vanished for the night. Or, more likely, he’ll be hidden around the back somewhere with one of his fuck buddies .

He’s never going to turn down an invitation if his dick is interested.

Letting out a long breath through my nose, I figure this is more the pace I’m happy to stick at for the moment. I’ll hang here a while before deciding if I’ll just dip out and make my way back up the mountain to my empty house and cold bed.

I stroll in the direction of the blazing fire and park my ass up on the ledge of the wall running around the perimeter of the garden. It’s been built with a wide wooden rail on top to double as seating, and in the process of settling in, I put my glass down beside my hip while getting my phone out.

You drag me down here, then ghost me?

I’m out in the garden if you want to pull your dick out of someone’s mouth and actually hang.

Otherwise, pretty sure I’m gonna head off soon.

Swiping past all the other notifications sitting there, leaving them all unread, is easy business.

I’m not in the mood for her crap at the best of times, especially not right now.

Crossing my boots at the ankle, I scroll through Instagram for a bit.

I'm right in the middle of watching a clip Sage has posted from the most recent pro tour event when I feel someone hovering.

Lifting my gaze from my phone, the face in front of me is not one I recognize, but he must be in his early twenties. He’s sporting close-cropped dark hair and freckles, standing a foot or so away, offering a shy smile.

“Hey . . . uhh . . . you’re Kayce Wilder, right?” He looks almost apologetic.

“That’s me.” I flash a grin in return and slip my phone into my jacket.

Reaching out, I give the guy a brief handshake.

Between the rodeo community, Devil’s Peak Ranch, and the trail riding work I do for Beau, it’s easy enough for people to know me, or know of me, even if we haven’t properly met before.

His eyes brighten a little and he quickly rubs that same palm I just shook over the back of his neck, stepping a fraction closer as he does so.

“I saw you ride at the last event.” His words rush out. “You were really good out there.”

“Thanks.” I shake my head a little with a grimace. “Although... not quite enough to walk away with the win, as you woulda seen.”

“From where I was sitting, I thought you deserved it.” There’s something in the way he states those words, an earnestness that grabs my attention.

Suddenly I realize, with a stronger thud in the side of my neck, this guy is looking at me with the sort of keen expression I’ve only ever picked up on when talking to girls in the past.

Holy shit. That subtle recognition scatters my brain cells like tiny marbles. I haven’t ever looked at guys with that sort of awareness before, and right now, it feels like this is a whole new dance I gotta learn real fast.

In theory, do I find a guy like this..

. attractive? Am I into country dudes with his sort of clean-cut vibe?

A neat white button-down paired with pale jeans.

He’s about my height but has a much leaner frame, almost lanky.

Shit. I don’t even know. This is all so brand new for me that I’m still trying to awkwardly determine the lay of the land.

Still working out which way is up where my newly discovered, rather confusing, interest in men is concerned.

I sniff and take a sip of my soda, trying to collect my thoughts.

Do I dare say something that pushes into the kind of territory that might be considered flirting?

Do I let him take the lead with where this conversation might head?

Christ, I’ve seen Chaos fuck around with teasing and playing the field from up close plenty of times.

It’s not goddamn rocket science. I just need to chat to the guy.

So why do my words feel like they’re stumbling over themselves before even making it halfway to my mouth?

“Sorry. That sounds a bit stalkerish.” He laughs, a nervous flutter that fills my awkward silence. “I swear it’s not like I usually rock straight up to someone and blurt shit like that out of the blue.”

That makes my lips curve up a bit. Ok, at least he’s making a joke, being kinda endearing about it.

“Nah, it’s ok. I can talk rodeo all day.

” I rub my now very clammy palms over my thighs.

Still not quite sure whether I want this guy to get the idea that I’m interested.

Right now, in a normal situation like this, I’d happily sit down and chat about ranching and broncs and generally shoot the shit.

I’d do it without a second thought, because I never once assumed a man might be interested in anything else.

I never once considered that I might be looking for more . Maybe the kind of conversation leading to a night chasing desire and exploring a physical attraction.

But something nags at me, a voice of warning immediately announces itself. Clarity drops in with a thud that I don’t want to lead this guy on. Most importantly, not when I’m unsure if I’d even want anything more than a friendly chat with him.

Shit. Shit . This is way harder than I ever imagined.

“Have you ever competed?” I ask. Pushing to my feet, I step closer to the fire, needing to do something with my hands. Leading me to bend over and lift one of the stacked logs.

“No way. I couldn’t do what you do.” He chuckles softly. “You’ve got the gift of making it look effortless... when the rest of us mere mortals know it’s anything but.”

Shrugging one shoulder, I toss the wood into the flames, then reach for another. “Comes with practice, I guess.”

I hear him rustling for something in his pocket. “Man, you’re way too modest... practice, sure, but add having a fuck load of talent to that list.”

As I crouch down, that’s when I definitely feel the guy’s eyes all over me.

Heat races up the back of my neck, knowing he’s absolutely, undoubtedly checking me out while I’m not looking his way.

The flames build higher as I linger, not exactly knowing what to do in this situation, and my mouth feels more than a little dry.

“Thanks...” I add the next piece of wood to the fireplace, then slowly straighten up.

I haven’t quite turned around, when I see it out of the corner of my eye. With both hands cupped to his mouth, a click is followed by a flare of orange as he lights a cigarette.

He sucks in a long draw as he pockets the pack and lighter. That keen look reconnects with my gaze just as his lips purse and curve around the filter. It’s a crooked little smile that reaches up to his eyes with layers of hopefulness written there. Subtext I’d recognize from a mile away.

The kind of expression I’ve shared with any number of girls late at night, before going on to make terrible goddamn decisions. A question hovering in the subtle tip up at the corner of his lips, one that asks... what do you think ?

Just as I’m opening my mouth, unsure how to reply, my shoulder gets jostled from behind. A hand covered in ink shoots out. My jaw hangs wide as I watch the glowing cigarette get ripped from the guy’s mouth.

Followed by a heavy boot coming down to stomp it into the dirt.